I made my way along the busy city streets, the taps of my shoes against the stone growing

progressively faster each time I checked my watch. Late again. I laid no blame on myself for
this apparently inexcusable atrocity. It was, after all their obligatory dress code that had me
spending extra time in the morning trying to fit into that strait jacket they called a suit. They
had no idea how hard it was after a life of footy shorts. My morning contemplation was cut
short and I stumbled into the office, sweating from my run to work.
"Coach would have been proud," I thought, trying to prevent a grin finding accommodation on
my face. They said the office was no place for grinning. The artificial smell of conditioned air
drifted into my nose and I fell into my chair in front of my only friend. They said paper work
was my friend, and in doing extra, I was taking one for the team. They laughed as a gazed at
my surroundings and my eyes fixed on a poster. A football poster above someone's desk. That
brought back memories; I knew what a real team was.
***
"Get in here team," yelled coach and we gripped each other on the shoulders, in a reassuring
huddle. An early morning sun reflected off the grass on which we stood. Bottles were
exchanged along with smiles as each felt the inescapable rush of the game. A quick talk. A
simple plan of attack. I felt hands patting me on the back as we walked back onto the field,
that familiar last quarter feel welling up inside every team member. The bruises on my legs
throbbed but I cherished them as each was taken for the team. The outcome of the game lost
significance as I stepped onto that turf. We called ourselves winners regardless.
***
They called it the office Christmas party. A few budget decorations hung loosely from the
ceiling in a last minute attempt to brighten the monotony. One man looked upon them with
amusement, his smile quickly fading as he noticed the lack of an open bar. The facade went
on all night.
How are you enjoying the office?
Great new desks in HR...
It's Italian leather...
What was your name again?

Shallow conversation implemented by our superiors. They said it was to create workplace
connection, a codename for their never ending 'make employees work harder' scheme. If I
were in charge it would be more appropriately terms 'the waste of my bloody time' scheme.
The music pounded on, a playlist of seemingly non-directional noise. The supporting
instruments? Dim chatter that coursed through the night and radiated the dullness of the
event. It was about eleven when he approached me, a grin lingering on his face from a
previous conversation as he transitioned seamlessly into mine. A well practiced and well
executed manoeuvre. Why does he stand so far away... he keeps glancing over his shoulder...
how much cologne does one need? As he spoke, my gaze was again fixed on that football
poster. I wondered who owned it. Remembering the conversation I was supposedly
participation in, I made an attempt to look interested.
"This is great don't you think? What a way to wind down post game." I nodded reluctantly.
***
Post-game dinners were paramount. Mrs Stuart would cook and Mr Stuart would talk footy
with us, a bottle of beer and his had inseparable.
"Only on special occasions mind you!" he laughed. We all had our own indentation on that
lounge and one found that sitting elsewhere felt foreign. After about an hour of talk, the
familiar smell of roast pork drifted into the room. It enveloped my senses and the count down
until dinner begun. We waited patiently but it only took a quick shout from the kitchen for
manners to be dismissed in the chaotic rush to the table.
"Home is where the pork is," we said.
***
It was a Friday afternoon as I watched the seconds tick by, a small amount of hope restored
with each click. It was within a few minutes of my freedom that something remarkable

happened. A group of employees, most I had seen around, started leaving the office. One girl
- who I suddenly realised was the owner of the mysterious poster - carried a ball under her left
arm. I could not believe my eyes and I knew without a doubt where they were going. I flicked
off my computer and without wasting a second, sprinted out of the office after them.
I could survive in the office, but I belonged on the field.