Naked Hero - The Journey Away

outclassed boy, and he even got some claps. Go Aussie Go? Well, perhaps they all should. Their boy was getting slaughtered by some nasty Scottish poof. It was practically all over, they’d given all they could. Heckle, barrack, jeer and boo. Macleod didn’t seem to notice, and it didn’t look like he was going to crack.
    But looks can be deceiving - one call was all it took.
    Stupid really! Seventh game second set - he was already up a break. Perhaps it was all too easy. That’s why his guard came down. A ball was called out that Lewis saw in. On a show court he could have challenged and watched the replay on the big screen, heard them ‘whoop’ as they followed the ball, see the verdict clear and bold: ‘IN’ or ‘OUT’. It would hardly matter which - it was just a point after all, and Lewis was well in control. Justice would have been done, either way, and then he could have moved on, still well in control. And control was what it was all about.
    But not here!
    Here he had an umpire who refused to overrule and chants of ‘whinging queen’ that at last found their mark. One call was all it took for reality to come crashing through the barricade he’d erected. One call and then he cracked and told them all to ‘Go to hell’.
    Well of course they didn’t! The fun had just started. No one had any intensions of going anywhere now. Not now that Macleod was getting rattled, and their boy had just broken back.
    Lewis tried to pull himself together at the next change of ends. He tried to block it all out again, and pretend they weren’t there. Compartmentalise - that was the trick he was supposed to perform. Put them in a box, and make them disappear. He tried his mantra. A fat lot of good that turned out to be - he could hardly hear himself above the racket from behind. He thought about turning round and having a few words. There was plenty he had to say to that bunch of misfits. Lewis would happily give them a piece of his mind. But he thought better of it - he had already said too much. There was no point in encouraging them any further. Instead he turned to the umpire and asked if there was not something he could do to quieten the rabble and allow a fair match to be played? A splaying of hands was the response, which Lewis found a bit ambiguous. What was that supposed to signal: impotence; indifference? Either way, there was to be no help from there.
    Back on the court Lewis tried to buckle down. He tried to blank it all out, this nonsense that surrounded him as the set drew to a close. It was far from a lost cause - win this set and that should be it. Even with ‘Rent a Mob’ egging him on, the Aussie lad was too inexperienced to come back from two sets down. But Lewis’s mind had gone on walkabout - it was heading back in time. It was off across the water to SW19, and what was left in Melbourne barely knew the game. Lewis flicked onto autopilot, and it wasn’t good enough. With ‘Rent a Mob’ egging him on, the Aussie lad took the second set.
    The third set didn’t start any better for Lewis. The serve was with him, and some points had slipped away. 30-40 apparently was the score, but Lewis barely noticed that he was breakpoint down. He noticed the sound though – the ecstatic crowd and the choice phrases they shouted, none of which were ever going to help him out. Not even bothering to wait for quiet, Lewis went through the motion. He served a double fault to roars of delight. Who would have believed it – but it was happening again.
    A few minutes later, Lewis stood behind the opposite service line, waiting to receive. The Aussie lad was about to thunder, but Lewis had already cracked , the will to fight had left him. In desperation, Lewis looked over to the area where he’d seen Jim earlier, hoping to find some inspiration. But there was nothing on offer - Jim’s head was in his hands, a defeated man. Only Mike, who sat beside him, had some encouragement to give - words that were lost amidst the chanting and abuse, and a clenched fist that he pounded on his heart. Lewis knew what he meant, but all he could offer was a grimace in return.
    Of course ‘Rent a Mob’ loved it. They could see the defeat sitting on his face. The rest of the crowd had quietened down, awkwardly embarrassed by the display, both on and off the court. But those boys weren’t finished - they had scented blood and now roared for the axe to fall. A few more minutes and then they could enjoy the execution.
    But first