Salty and Boof

In small country towns, prone to cyclones, floods and bush fires, nothing unites like a natural disaster. And nothing divides like a game of footy.

‘The Salty’s are over!’ The voice of the ground announcer boomed over the raucous cheers of the crowd. ‘They hit back with a try in the corner. What a finish! What a try!’

That was my cue. Finally.

I activated my glutes to stand from the hard metal bench beneath me. No point trying to use my arms. They were too short, stuck inside the holes on either side of my chest. They jagged out where I could wave them about, and as the music blared around the grounds, I started to dance. It was awkward with a tail. I felt like I was going to overbalance and face plant. Another thing my tiny arms were useless for – breaking my fall. It was that, or I would fall backwards onto my tail, and I’d be stuck with my pathetic little legs waving in the air.

‘Hey, Salty!’ I didn’t pause my dance moves, but I pirouetted awkwardly in the direction of the voice. ‘Over here!’

Suede covered arms, with hooves on the ends, waved above the Brahman bull’s head. I threw my tiny arms up as far as they’d go to convey, ‘Yeah, what of it?’

‘The way you dance, I’m surprised they don’t have you playing halfback,’ the Brahman hollered. ‘Could only be an improvement on the clown out there now.’

The remark came through loud and clear from the opposition bench, even though it was muffled by Boof the Brahman’s boof head. A bunch of drunk Northsiders in red and yellow jerseys cackled away behind him. A compliment on my dancing, or an insult to the half back? I decided to take it as both.

I did have some sympathy for the poor bugger. The Brahman’s head must have weighed a ton. That, plus the sizeable hump on his back, made me think I might at least have the better deal of the two – team mascot for the South Portabinda Saltwater Croc’s rugby league team, rather than the North Portabinda Brahmans. It easily could have gone either way, but when I moved to Portabinda a month ago I picked up a rental south of the river, and my fate was sealed. It had to be the Salty’s, I was told in no uncertain terms by my new workmates at the hospital. You didn’t cross the river for footy. You just didn’t.

What I didn’t know was that as the newcomer to the team, I was expected to take on the role of team mascot until I proved my worth at training. A month later, there I was, still waving my tiny little arms around and geeing up the crowd, while my team received its weekly thumping at the hands of the Brahmans. The life of a mascot was full of trials. The life of a mascot for a team that stank – don’t even get me started.

I turned and twerked my saltwater crocodile butt in the direction of Boof. Empty drink cans flew over my head, and someone loudly threatened to seduce my mother for the fifty-fifth time that night.

The halfback lining up the kick for goal from the sideline gave me an excuse to sit back down. I groaned as I controlled my decent. Half time soon. I was going to need a bathroom break, or Salty was going to need dry cleaning.

* * *

I adjusted my head as I emerged from the men’s room and started to make my way back from the clubhouse out to the sideline. I hadn’t gone far when I found myself rebounding off something soft, but bulky.

‘Hey! Watch where you’re going!’ a hostile voice exclaimed.

I tilted my head down so I could see out through my jaws. Boof was before me. He attempted to fold his arms across his chest. Though he was blessed with full length arms, they didn’t reach each other around his rotund torso, so it looked like he was giving himself a cuddle. It was kind of cute.

‘Sorry. My head was out of alignment. Couldn’t see where I was going.’

I was startled when Boof’s hoof poked me in the chest, hard. Through the padding, I barely felt it, but still, it was rude. ‘See this line here, mate?’ said Boof, nothing of the ‘mate’ in his tone. I looked at the ground in front of me, where Boof was indicating.

‘Ah, nope.’ There was no line.

‘It’s a proverbial line, you idiot!’ he shouted. ‘One you don’t cross around here.’

‘But…the men’s is… how do you…’

Boof scoffed, looked left and right, and then yanked off his head. He – I mean, she - shook out a head of long, vibrant red hair. A strand fell across her eyes, eyes that blazed at me as she took another step forward into my personal space. ‘How do I what, Salty?’ she said, venom dripping from every syllable.

‘I-I God, I’m sorry, I just assumed–'

‘Yeah, you did, didn’t you,’ she snarled. ‘This might be a boys’ club, but I’m the boss of it, and you’ll play by my rules. Don’t let me catch you around here again.’

‘But, the bathrooms–'

‘Shut up!’ she snapped. ‘I haven’t got time for your whining. Manage your fluid intake like a grown up.’

‘I…guess I’ll try,’ I muttered. Something about Boof– the person inside the Boof suit– was familiar. ‘I feel like we’ve met.’

The woman looked startled for a second and then slammed her head back on, giving it a tap on the top for good measure. Her voice was muffled as she spoke now and disguised the higher register that would have outed her as a woman earlier.

‘Everyone’s familiar in this town, Salty. It don’t mean nothing. And you’ll take this conversation to your grave, or you’ll be getting there much earlier than you planned.’

With that, Boof crossed the proverbial line, and strode back to the field.

* * *

The Saltys' poor performance was the hot topic in the lunchroom, as it was every Monday.

‘What do you reckon Dan, will they give you a game soon?’ one of the junior doctors asked me.

‘I don’t know. Maybe not at fullback, but I reckon I’m in with a chance of a spot on the wing. The guy on the right botched a try and from the way he runs, I suspect weak knee ligaments–'

I stopped dead as I realised why Boof was familiar. In she walked, in nurses’ scrubs, her red hair in a tight bun on top of her head. Under the fluorescent lights, I could see the subtle freckles smattering her nose and cheeks and notice her eyes – a pretty hazel. Boof was…attractive…without the hump. And I was sure she was the nurse who helped me walk a patient last week.

Boof spotted me, and her eyes widened a little, before she put her head down and made a beeline for the coffee machine. This might be a good opportunity to build some rapport, I thought. To get a bit of mascot solidarity happening. I approached cautiously, since our last interaction had been laced with the threat of homicide.

‘Boof, hi. I’m Dan, the new Physio–'

‘SHHHHH!!’ Boof hissed violently. Her gaze swept the room and then she tugged me firmly towards a door at the back of the tearoom. She opened it and pulled me inside, then shut us in. It was compact in there. Mops, brooms, and shelves of cleaning chemicals lined the walls. ‘I thought I made myself clear!’ she whispered. ‘You don’t know who I am. Nobody can know who I am!!’

‘Hey, I’m sorry. I just thought at work you might be a little more…rational.’

‘RATIONAL?’ she whisper-shouted at me. She grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me in so we were nose to nose. ‘Listen here, Salty. I won the role of Boof fair and square through a rigorous blind audition process four years ago. I am Boof. This–,' she gestured to her scrubs, ‘pays the bills. Boof is sustenance for my soul. You stuff this up for me and I’ll –'

‘I know. You’ll gut me.’ And I was starting to believe it. ‘I just thought-'

‘No, you didn’t, Salty. You didn’t think about those poor innocent people out there.’ She gestured to the tearoom, a place I once felt safe. ‘What do you think it would do to them if my true identity was revealed?’

‘I’m…not sure.’

‘Devastation, Salty! They’d be devastated. The magic– gone!’

‘Magic? You’re not the Easter Bunny.’

Boof shook her head and gave a wry laugh. ‘Not the Easter Bunny. You’re a funny guy, Salty.’

‘You can call me Dan at w-'

‘You think this is a JOKE??’

‘No, you’re right,’ I said meekly. ‘This isn’t funny.’

‘Let’s get this straight, Salty. At work, I’m Jen. Clinical Nurse. My infection control is on point and I’ve never missed a vein. At footy, I’m Boof. The meanest team mascot this town has ever seen. Never the twain shall meet.’

‘Got it…so…’ I glanced hopefully towards the door, but Boof threw an arm around my shoulders, and puts her other hand on her hip.

‘So, now that’s sorted, how about a rumble in the jungle?’

‘I-I beg your pardon?’

‘Picture this. These mop and broom heads are a vast canopy of tropical leaves. The damp scent in here isn’t thanks to mould formation, but rather the humid jungle air–'

‘Are you asking me if I want to…with you…in here??’

She dropped her arm, aghast. ‘Oh, God Salty! Get your mind out of the dumpster and dust it off, you pervert!’ She narrowed her eyes at me. ‘My blood runs red–'

‘So does mine.’

‘–and yellow–'

‘So, orange?’

‘Shut up Salty! My point is you don’t stand a chance with me, you dirty Southsider. I’m asking if you want to fight!’

‘You want me to fight you? In the cleaner’s cupboard?’

She shrugged. ‘Good a place as any.’

I laughed to cover up my fear. ‘I’m going to get back to work, Jen. It’s been…fun.’

* * *

It had been a long season, and with the right winger’s knee failing to succumb to the ACL injury I had anticipated, I found myself stuck as Salty indefinitely. Now it was time for the final humiliation of the season. The mascot’s race. Held annually at half time of the final game. It couldn’t really be called a grand final since there were only two teams in the comp and we played each other every week.

Boof looked as serious as I’d ever seen her. She was limbering up and revving the Northsiders like this was a bigger event than the game itself. And maybe it was. Even the Saltys' team coach gave me a pep talk before I walked out. Boof hadn’t been beaten in four years, he told me- no coincidence it was the length of Jen’s reign. This, Coach said, could be the year. If I was to beat Boof, prove my speed, tenacity and dedication to the team, then, he reckoned, that spot on right wing might just have my name on it.

A whistle blew to signal us to get ready to race. It was a hundred metre dash from one goal line to the other.

‘Take your marks.’ We approached the line.

‘Get set.’

Boof looked my way. ‘Good luck, you bastard. I hope that cardiac arrythmia you’ve been ignoring doesn’t come back to bite you,’ she said, and sets her arms.

A hooter blared and we were off. My legs were short, and my tail was heavy, but by God, I wanted out of that suit. I pumped my miniature arms and raced like my life depended on it. My heart was going at a gallop. I hoped she wasn’t right about the arrythmia.

At halfway, I edged in front. Boof was straining. Her strides were longer, but Salty was leaner. The weight she was carrying slowed her down. I pushed myself harder. I heard a groan, that became a growl as Boof veered desperately towards me and threw out a leg.

I hit the ground face first. For a moment, I couldn’t do anything except eat dirt. When I managed to lift my head, I saw Boof clambering to her feet and stumbling for the finish line.

Her blood might have run orange, but my butt was sick of that cold metal bench, so I wasn’t done yet. With the last of my strength, I pushed myself up through my arms and brought my knees underneath me. I wouldn’t be able to balance myself to stand because of my tail. I would have to crawl. A caught up with her metres from the finish line. I knew it was Jen in that suit, and I knew what I was about to do was wrong, but all I was seeing in my desperate state was a mad bull, about to win the race and doom me to another season on the sidelines. She cried out as I lunged and took her to the ground into a spiralling death roll. The great beast struggled in vain.

But before I knew what was happening, rough hands grabbed me and pulled me off, and then I was set upon. The next few minutes went past in a blur. Red and yellow jerseys clashed with the green and white of the Saltys' supporters. Fists were thrown. Hair was pulled. Stuffing flew in all directions. I heard Jen shriek, and cuss, and then a heavy silence descended- the sound of magic evaporating from the air around us.

‘No! Boof! Look what you’ve done!’ Jen cried. A couple of local off-duty police officers pushed the crowd back as Jen fell to her knees, cradling what was left of Boof’s head. Murmurs started amongst those gathered. My tail, long since ripped from my body, was no longer an impediment to standing, so I rose unsteadily to me feet.

‘All right, nothing to see here,’ I said. Head home, the lot of you.’ I helped the police to usher the spectators away and then plopped to the ground next to Jen. I wanted to say something comforting, but I realised I had no idea what to say to a mascot who’d had their secret identity revealed and their head torn to pieces.

‘This isn’t how Boof would’ve wanted to go,’ Jen said sadly.

‘No. It’s…’ I knew it was insensitive, but curiosity got the better of me. ‘How do you think he would’ve wanted to…go?’

‘With dignity. He would’ve wanted to end up a 750g rump steak on the Porty Hotel’s Special’s Board,’ Jen said with a sigh.

‘Are you going to be OK?’ I asked gently.

She glanced my way. ‘Yeah. I guess so.’

I stood and offered her my hand to pull her to her feet. She accepted. ‘How about we go to Porty’s and have a steak with chips and gravy in honour of Boof?’ I suggested.

Jen scoffed. ‘Northsiders don’t have gravy on our chips. We bleed red and yellow. It’s tomato sauce and mustard for us.’

‘Jen, there’s only one pub in this town, and everyone who eats there has the steak with chips and gravy.’

‘Do what you like. I’m having tomato sauce and mustard.’

‘Suit yourself,’ I said with a defeated laugh.

As we limped towards the sidelines, battle weary and deflated, Jen reached up and ruffled my hair. ‘This will be quite the story to tell the great nieces and nephews one day, won’t it Salty?’

‘It sure will Jen. Quite the story.’

* * *

‘Grandad, you didn’t really death roll nan on the middle of the football field, did you?’

‘You wanna bet, kiddo?’

‘But you could’ve hurt her!’

‘Nah. Boof had plenty of padding.’ I lift my seven-year-old grandson off my lap. ‘Now, off you go and play with your sister. Home time soon.’ He runs off, and I watch from the back patio as he makes for the sandpit, where my granddaughter has a castle on the go.

Long arms wrap around my neck where I sit. ‘Quite the story there, Salty.’ A pair of hazel eyes, as pretty as the first time I saw them, come into view as she kisses my cheek. ‘How about a rumble in the jungle once the grandies head home?’ She waggles her brows at me, and I brush her long, red hair, peppered with grey, back from her eyes.

‘Righto, Boof. I’ll meet you in the cupboard.’