UNscripted

Jack Keating was more than convinced that the Bears would qualify but when Mike arrived, he heard Jack sounding a little confused and not confident. He was saying to the team:

“W-what are you talking about? W-we haven’t lost a practice in all the lead-up weeks,” Keating wailed like a spoiled child. “Why shouldn’t I feel confident that we will win?” The question was aimed at Dorian.

“Sir, please don’t doubt it, and please trust that I am very positive, but I just want to remind you that the team dynamics will change. Having the Balboa brothers replace you and Burton makes the goal rating go up, as you are aware,” Dorian explained.

“Jack,” Burton said, “I am confident in Dorian and Trevor playing with the Balboa brothers; you’ve seen them in the practices where they played brilliantly. But again, as Dorian told you, the dynamics change as far as the team goes.” Burton picked up his helmet and went to mount his horse. That communication didn’t make Jack happy and Trevor added to Jack’s dilemma.

“There will be an all-star line-up of players, including two famous Argentine horseman we haven’t met yet, or seen play,” Trevor said, putting on his helmet, “Word has it that they intend to display superior athleticism as they ride their mounts across the polo field.”

“Humph,” Jack said, “superior athleticism . . . but, they won’t have the mounts that we have and remember, the Balboa brothers will be playing some of our horses as well,” Jack retorted as the groom positioned the mounting steps for Jack to get up on his horse.

“Sir, I just don’t want you to think we have it in the bag—please understand that it’s going to be bloody difficult to play these teams equipped with all pros,” Dorian said from the top of his horse, taking the mallet his groom was handing to him.

“Okay, teammates,” called Trevor, “let’s concentrate on winning this practice. Jack, you and Burton have been great teammates and we will miss you.”

“So let’s go out now and kick ass like never before,” Dorian encouraged.

“These horses are ready dudes! Go out and play them like it’s twenty-two goal, up the margin for our last win together as a sixteen-goal team, yeah,” he told them confidently.

They took their positions as always and entered the field abreast of each other, walking out ready for battle.

Jack was pensive and while entering the field for his last practice he thought, Hmmmm, so it’s not in the bag? Shit, I’m depending on winning. We have to win. I have too much at stake, too many contracts and deposits taken, not to win. I need to guarantee this victory and I have just the person to do that. I know of this veterinarian in Argentina who could guarantee this final win at the Open.

********

The following week the game got underway as scheduled. Jack stood with some clients as people continued to flock to the field. Attendance at the Belltrees polo grounds through the week had been more than expected and today, at the Ellerston grounds, was proving to be no different. Jack was his usual nervous self, and anxiety showed on his face and in his manner as the Bears team fought to take immediate lead in game three.

I have so much riding on this tournament, Jack thought nervously.

The Bears battled well, but Facara took a 6-3 lead by the third chukka. The Bears stepped up a bit in the fourth and fifth chukkas. Dorian Toole was very sharp in counter attacks, causing a good turnaround in the mid-fifth, bringing the score to 8-7. Trevor Garrison came through with a nice acceleration between players to score another goal, tying the game at 8-all. Keating almost lost his breakfast those first three chukkas. He could barely speak to his Japanese guests.

Team Facara took a new one-goal lead on a 40-yard conversion but during the next throw-in, it was Dorian Toole who worked his magic with the ball. Luis Balboa followed up on the play and tapped the ball through the goal posts, tying the game at 9-all. The crowd roared and the excitement was staggering as everyone knew that now the heat was on and the competition could go either way. Jack Keating was not happy and paced back and forth, sweating out his panic and frustration over his team’s unnecessary predicament.

Why the fuck did they relax in those first chukkas? They should know better. Goddamn it! This is way too close, Jack thought, feeling disgusted with his team.

For the sixth and final chukka, Dorian Toole rode out onto the field with Cuervo; they looked like a warriors as they displayed their brilliance, causing the crowd to jump to its feet. Team Facara was unsuccessful with three attempts at goal, and it was Trevor Garrison who converted a 60-yard penalty shot in the Bears’ favor. That chance at goal took them to the lead: the score was now 10-9 and Jack was able to breathe again. The teams battled with players connecting with the ball on a one-minute back and forth play, eventually shooting from a deep angle for the insurance goal, taking the Bears to 11-9. But Facara quickly scored another goal after winning the ball at the throw-in, with their #1 galloping up the field taking it straight to goal, making it 11-10 for the Bears.

Jack’s hands were now in his trouser pockets jiggling his spare change, and his nervous pacing quickened. With the next throw-in, Facara won the ball and both teams battled it out as the Bears showed strong defense. Suddenly, Facara unexpectedly stole the ball, and their #2 went galloping down the field for a chance at one last goal to tie the score and take the play into overtime. Everyone held their breath as the time on the scoreboard showed the seconds digitally counting down . . . finally the horn sounded. The Bears had won! Impulsively, Jack threw up his arms cheering; he had never been so excited or so animated. That sound was music to his ears—the Bears defeating Facara 11-10 was money in his pocket. The crowd had witnessed a close game—they had certainly got their money’s worth today.

Keating left the stands and waited at the boards for the players to be done congratulating one another. The Bears walked their horses off the field and Jack strode aggressively across the field to team’s tent. When he arrived, the players were just getting off their horses, Jack didn’t care who heard as he yelled, “That was a little too close for comfort.” Surprisingly, the players ignored him—they weren’t feeling too happy and were aware of the way they played, knowing they had relaxed after winning the first two games by large margins.

“Sorry, Mr. Keating,” Dorian finally replied. “We won’t let that happen again,” he said, wiping his neck and head with a towel.

Keating was surprised. He could tell that his team wanted to do well for him and by the looks on their faces, now was not the time to say any more. They looked exhausted and were slumped into their chairs in a despondent manner, even though they had won. Burton walked over and told Keating quietly, “Jack, they knew you would be unhappy with today’s performance. Let them be, okay? We did win!” Burton gave him an encouraging slap on the shoulder.

Keating nodded and walked away in thought. Well, that performance only validates my plans to guarantee the Australian Open win.