Naked Hero - The Journey Away

the Langham lobby heading purposely towards the bar. He was five minutes late, and he didn’t like being late, not even by such a trivial amount. Punctuality was a virtue that had been drummed into him as a boy and one that he still held dear now that he’d reached the age of thirty and was possibly on the threshold of a new career. Scott was in Melbourne to do some commentating on the Open for the American Broadcasting Corporation who in conjunction with Australia’s Channel Seven was covering the event. It was a trial run for both parties. He was contracted for the Australian Open only, and that suited him fine as Scott was uncertain if this was what he really wanted to do. It was a far cry from when he was in Melbourne nine years before, and became the surprise winner of the tournament. In doing so, he announced himself to the world as the new kid on the block. His successful defence of the title the following year came as no surprise - he was the world’s number one player by then, and had added the French Open title along with a string of others. The US Open crown was claimed at the end of that glorious year when he also defended his title at Roland Garros. The only blight was losing in the final at Wimbledon which prevented the American from achieving the elusive Grand Slam – winning all four majors in the same calendar year. Many thought that he could still go on and do it, but sadly injury plagued his career thereafter and put a halt to his dominance of the game. He battled on for several more years, but the glory days were gone, and he decided to retire at the age of twenty-seven. After three years away from the game, Scott welcomed this opportunity to get involved again, but it wasn’t really how he saw himself occupying his days... days which had recently stretched too long before him.
    Jim spotted him immediately as Scott entered the bar. He looked a bit odd dressed in a blue summer suit, white button down shirt and a blue patterned tie – not the normal attire you associated with Scott Taylor, but the man was unmistakeable. There were a few extra pounds on his six foot two frame, but he still looked pretty trim. The light ginger hair was a tad shorter than Jim remembered, but as unruly as ever and just as dazzling, even in the low lighting of the bar. The face under the mop was equally individual with an abundance of freckles and those emerald green eyes. It was a fine looking face, strong and manly, Celtic in its roots, but make no mistake – Scott Taylor was All-American to his red blooded core.
    Late afternoon and there weren’t many people in the bar, but Jim stood up and waved as Scott scanned in search. Spotting him, the American acknowledged the coach with a wave of his own then strode over for the obligatory shake.
    “Mr. Taylor ! Thanks for seeing me.”
    “Please, call me Scott. And it’s my pleasure, Jim.”
    “Can I get you something to drink?” enquired the older man, not totally at ease.
    “Water will be fine,” said Scott as he sat down whilst the edgy looking coach remained on his feet and moved towards the bar. “It’s okay, Jim - he’ll come over,” added Scott, beckoning for him to sit down as well.
    “Aye, of course he will,” was the flustered response.
    “You’re looking a bit stressed, Jim, is everything okay?” asked Scott.
    “Och, it’s nothing... just a wee tangle with the ATP earlier. They’ve fined Lewis fifty-thousand dollars.”
    “That’s steep,” replied Scott after a whistle, genuinely surprised at the amount. A fine of any sort would normally have come as a surprise - the ATP had turned a blind eye to plenty of indiscretions in the past, but sadly the unofficial rules didn’t always apply. An example was clearly being made, but the message had a sickening ring to it. Scott gave the best advice that he knew. “Just take it on the chin and forget about it. Better not to dwell on that sort of stuff, Jim.”
    “Aye, I know.”
    “How is Lewis, anyway? It’s not been the best run up to the Open for him, and this isn’t going to help.”
    Jim bristled at the reference but forced an answer. “He’s good actually. I’m a bit surprised to see it myself, but he seems to have reacted well to the incident in Sydney. Every cloud has a silver lining I suppose.” Jim was relieved to see the barman approaching. He certainly didn’t want to linger over this line of conversation. He waited as Scott’s order was taken before he continued in a