Give me a try...
We are Team
By Anjaliss
Disclaimer: This story is fictional (not real, didn't happen). Not true in any way.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Little story on some of my favourite swimmers - Michael is a bit nervous...nothing better than Brendan, Jason and Aaron to make things just fine!
Acknoledgements: A very special thank you to the milky way, who's just the sweetest and most patient girl ever!!
“Same as usual, Mr. Phelps?” asked the waiter, in a strangely quiet and soft voice.
“Yep, yep, thanks…and it’s Michael, just Michael, please!” he answered, smiling reassuringly.
He hated to be called Mr. Phelps; it somehow made him feel so old and it was way too formal. And forced him to remember he wasn’t ‘just Michael’ anymore, unfortunately. There were times when all he actually wanted was to really be a normal Michael, just a boy…
But tonight he was sitting there and for the very first time during these Olympic Games he was alone, waiting for his BigMac, his chips and all the rest…
Not that he minded all that much being alone on a normal day, but still, he felt like he could do with some company now. Plus, today was not a normal day.
He looked around and realised, that a part from a couple of other Team USA girls, whom he thought were soccer players, the fast-food place was desolately empty. To think that at times he would have paid to have it like that: quiet, silent and strangely static. Even the radio had been turned off.
And Ryan had turned him down…Ryan, who was notoriously big when it came to MacDonald’s! Truly, even Michael could not beat him whenever he planned to eat like a trash bin. Michael thought Ryan should have received a special honour prize from McD, for the “Best trash-bin eater of all times”…He made a mental note to himself not to ever mention that to Ryan.
And for the very first time in years, he felt genuinely nervous. ‘That’s normal…Tomorrow is just about…the most damn important day of my entire sports life!’ he thought. He found himself realising that his accomplishment was at stake and that all he had put into it depended just on the next day’s relay. To think that he had tried to force his mind to stay elsewhere in the past hours, but apparently these thoughts had remained hidden in the depths of his brain.
He found himself wishing Ryan would be there, eating like a pig, humming lightly as he did so. ‘Oh man!’ Now, he really felt worried…
What surprised him the most, though, was not this insane wish, nor the sort of atmosphere he could sense around him. No, what worried him the most were the nerves mounting…his nerves.
He was simply never nervous before a race, never…and now, exactly when it was important to keep calm and controlled, he felt tense and worried like a violin string all of a sudden. Great timing, as always.
Every single TV channel in the USA and possibly some more around the world were talking about him, turning his life inside out, hoping to get an interview with him and he, he was sitting alone, miserable and hungry at a McDonald’s table in Beijing. Jeez…
All around him everyone was silent and calm, almost seemed scared to disturb him and ruin this precious moments of solitude and concentration. What they did not understand was that this was not only useless, but even irritating!
He only wanted to have a bloody normal day! With chaos, people shouting and teasing each other around the Olympic village and all. Why couldn’t they behave naturally? After all they were not the ones who had to win the 8th Gold Medal in 9 days!
He decided to take out his MP3 player, hoping that listening to some songs would help, but, to his big disappointment, he soon found out that Rap did not soothe his mind at all. He then tried to quietly sing along in his head, but he soon lost track of words and started thinking about ‘tomorrow’ again.
‘I’m exhausted…’ was the sentence that formed, unwanted, into his mind. ‘I have to hold on! One more day and it will all be over! Just a fucking day and I’ll be done, for good or worse.’
He knew that bad thoughts never came alone and in fact, after a second, he started to picture himself saying ‘Sorry, I did my best!’ to all those who had counted upon him and would feel disappointed at his failure. He was only about to virtually read the headlines of papers and magazines saying he had let the whole US down, when the waiter arrived, almost startling him, with his order.
“Oh, I am sorry, Mr. Ph…Michael.” the waiter said, a troubled expression onto his face.
“It’s ok…I was just elsewhere. Thanks!” he answered, turning off his player and putting it back in his pocket. He flashed the waiter his best and most natural smile, badly wanting him to stop behaving like he was tending a sick person on his death-bed, allowed his last wish.
The waiter was still standing there, as if to make sure everything was alright, when Michael took a first, tasty, greasy and sad bite of his lonely BigMac.
“Make it two, man!” a voice said from somewhere close by. A voice he knew.
Michael lifted his eyes and found himself staring at Brendan, who heavily sat down by him and ate one of his precious fries. “I am starving…” he said, frustratingly.
“Hey! What are you dong here, man?” Michael asked, genuinely surprised. Brendan ate much sooner than him and it usually was not MacDonald’s.
“I fell asleep while watching TV and when I woke up I decided to come here for some trash…I might as well eat that! It’s done wonders on you, after all!” Brendan answered with a yawn, eating another chip, oblivious to Michael’s killing stares. Brendan was just like that. “My mum sends her love and some luck, by the way…she also told me to thank your mum for the recipe of that cake she gave her.” he added.
“Oh, that’s ok!” Michael answered. “I wish I could have slept this afternoon as well…My mum called me about 50 times and my sister another 50. And she was always in tears. This is getting a bit out of control…”
“Nah…Thanks, mate! - the waiter, always cautious, had arrived with more food for Brendan - If there’s someone who’s always in control, that’s you! I don’t know how you manage that. I would make such a crap of things to last me a lifetime! Hey, that soccer player is hot…”
Michael felt his spirit liven up already. Brendan was one of the simplest guys he had ever met. And he did not mean it in a negative way. He could make everything seem easy, relaxing, exciting and, well…simple.
Michael shook his head, as a smile spread over his face.
The two ate in silence for a short while, and Michael was relieved to hear that it wasn’t just Ryan, who hummed while eating McDonald’s. Was that the effect of some natural and possibly legal doping substance in MacDonald’s burgers?
“You know what? I prefer burritos, but I might get used to this stuff, poison and all…” Brendan said, finishing off his chips, ready to attack his strawberry milk-shake.
“Too much time spent in Texas, man…” Michael answered.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right, man!” Bren answered, drawling as bad as he could.
Michael couldn’t but laugh at that and his laughter resounded loudly in the empty room, catching the attention of the soccer players, who were still sitting there. At which point Brendan actually flashed them one of his infamous smiles. Michael had seen him achieve the unachievable with that smile of his and with his puppy eyes. He was not surprised at how many girls loved Brendan to pieces!!
“Oh, stop that, Bren! - came a voice from behind them - You might end up with a wife as well!” It was Jason, his cell phone still in his hand. He sat down beside Michael.
“Rough call?” Bren asked.
“What do you think? I do love my wife a lot, honest, but sometimes, I just feel like gagging her. It’s amazing how many words can get out of her mouth in one minute! And I usually understand a bare quarter of ‘em! Nobody could actually get more than a quarter of ‘em!”
“Do you want anything to eat?” Michael asked, more out of kindness, than actual need to have an answer.
“Are you kidding? I am 33…and I am not a rookie like you who could digest a rusty car! I don’t wanna die!”
“Poor, old Jay! You did not feel so old on that podium the other day, did you?” Brendan teased him.
“Nope! And you know what? I could kick your ass right now, if only we did not need you tomorrow!” Jay teased back.
The word ‘tomorrow’ brought Michael back to his doubts for a second, but it did not last for long, because their group was about to grow larger.
“Hey, hey, am I late for something?” a third voice asked.
“Stupid question, Aaron! You are always late!” It was Brendan again, evidently in his best teasing mood.
“Hahaha…I was on the phone…” Aaron tried to defend himself.
“I have never ever heard this excuse!!! Very original, man! - Jay interrupted ironically - My personal favourite is ‘Sorry, I thought it was Wednesday!’ Jeez, I pissed myself that day. And he was only 17!”
“Dave believed me!” Aaron said triumphant.
“He believed you, because he knew you were such a dork as to forget days…but then he found out you are always late and then started to take notes of your craziest excuses.”
Everybody knew that about Aaron. He was great, Michael thought, really. Spending time with him was always cool, but there was no way he would show up in time. You already knew he would be at least 15 minutes late...but if you were really unlucky, oh well, then he would be 35 minutes late.
Coaches usually had to keep their fingers crossed anytime he had a race, hoping and praying he would not arrive in the call-room too late to compete (which had almost happened in more than one occasion!). Thank God, Aaron never usually got late at the end of a competition…Everybody knew that about him as well.
“I really was on the phone, you jerks…with Amanda.” Aaron insisted.
“Oh, well, then it’s a totally different matter - Jason said, changing his tone completely, while Brendan and Michele whistled - I am right with you there, mate! How many words per minute?”
“Huh?” muttered Aaron, whose eyes were busy scanning the table for some food to nick.
“You don’t want to start Jay off on marital status, do you, Aar?” Bren suggested.
“Nope. No way! I plan to stay unmarried as long as my girlfriend will bear it! No hurry!” Aaron answered, finally defeated in his search for food!
“Good boy!” was Jay’s reaction to the statement. Aaron even received a playful pat on the shoulder.
“Hey! Watch out! I need to be in shape for tomorrow! And I want some junk food as well…”
This time Michael almost did not feel a thing at the mention of the ‘T-word’.
Aaron stood up and moved straight to the bar, talked a bit with the same waiter who had served his two friends and came back in a couple of minutes with his arms stuffed of food.
“You mean to eat all that and actually float tomorrow?” Jason asked, a smirk on his face.
“Nope! But you’ll help me with it, guys!” Aaron said, smiling “It’s all on me…suit yourselves!”.
Brendan did not wait for a further invitation and took possess of a portion of chips and a yoghurt with wild berries, followed by Mike, who went for some more burger meat.
Aaron then pushed a Greek Salad towards Jason, who looked at him with deep loathing, as you would only look at a demon trying to put you into temptation.
“Come on, Jay! This is all veggies…almost!”
“I hate you for this…” Jay said.
“Yeah, I know! Eat!” Aaron tucked in his own chicken salad, without listening to Jason’s further muttered complaints about “health…and excessive fat…and disgusting…and inconsiderate…I’m captain…I should give an example…”
In the end, they were all so full that standing up seemed almost impossible. So it was that they decided that sitting there wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
“You know what, guys? - Aaron interrupted the silence - I think we should stay here until it’s time to swim! Eddie would freak out and call the Chinese Security to report us: ‘I have lost four athletes! They have to swim in about 40 minutes! Find them! Like NOW!’ Man, that would be fun! Even the Chinese wouldn’t say no to a pissed off Ed!”
“He’s tough, uh?” asked Michael, who had never actually trained with Coach Reese, though feeling deep respect for him.
“Strict and serious, yes. Tough, no! I like him, even if when I get out of that pool I am so fucking sore that I can barely make it back home! And they ask me why I do not have a serious girlfriend...Let them try!” Brendan answered.
“It’s the same with Bob…plus the shouting! I guess his lungs are bigger than mine. Gosh, he is a bit tough! Probably he’s right! I am not easy…” Michael added, feeling a gush of affection for his coach, who knew him so well.
“None of us is, Mike…and even if he shouts and gets angry, I am sure Bob’s so proud of you…as are we all.”
Jason meant it. Michael could feel it in his voice. He looked at Aaron and Brendan, just to realise, that their silent serenity was a way to agree with what their captain had said.
A knot rose into Michael’s throat, making it a little bit difficult to speak and he felt his eyes on the verge of wetness. “Thanks, guys… - he mumbled - …I know I got all the attention, when I know well that I wouldn’t even be at this point, if it wasn’t for what you have done for me…and no one sees that, I…”
“Ah, don’t get all mushy, Mike! You know we are beside you! Don’t give us this crap…You are a bloody fish and we can only look at you making history in our sport. We are simply proud of what you are doing and of being part of it! We don’t care if you win 8 medals or not, nor if they ask more interviews and pictures to you then to us. We know what you have done to achieve this. That’s huge and you deserve it and have our respect.” Aaron exclaimed, heating up a bit.
“We are team, man. We are so not going to let you down! My race was shit, I fucked it up big time, I know. But I won’t, repeat, WON’T mess this up. I’ll give it 200%, for you, for myself and for everybody out there, who wants to see you become a fucking legend! - Brendan stood up mid-sentence, leaning on the table, for emphasis, as if he were a lawyer, trying to convince a jury - We are so going to kick ass, men! I am angry! Aaaaaarghhhhh…” It was Brendan’s typical way of cooling things down a little bit, by roaring and attracting the attention of the football players again.
Aaron slapped him on the head, while Michael and Jason started laughing at their friends.
“Ouch! You jerk…” Brendan started throwing some bits of chips at Aaron, who defended himself with a tray, while Jason told them off for being ‘TWO big jerks and morons!’.
Right at that moment, with his mates, friends and brothers behaving like boys, simple, silly boys, Michael felt all his troubles and uncertainties simply melt away, leaving a deep sense of relief and peace.
He would make it, he decided, exhausted or not.
He would make it, because he was not alone in this and because he owed it to them and his family, not to Tvs, sponsors and fans.
And even if he failed, after all, he now knew that none of those he really loved would care.
For them he was Mike, just Mike and that was all that mattered.
That was enough!
By Anjaliss
Disclaimer: This story is fictional (not real, didn't happen). Not true in any way.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Little story on some of my favourite swimmers - Michael is a bit nervous...nothing better than Brendan, Jason and Aaron to make things just fine!
Acknoledgements: A very special thank you to the milky way, who's just the sweetest and most patient girl ever!!
“Same as usual, Mr. Phelps?” asked the waiter, in a strangely quiet and soft voice.
“Yep, yep, thanks…and it’s Michael, just Michael, please!” he answered, smiling reassuringly.
He hated to be called Mr. Phelps; it somehow made him feel so old and it was way too formal. And forced him to remember he wasn’t ‘just Michael’ anymore, unfortunately. There were times when all he actually wanted was to really be a normal Michael, just a boy…
But tonight he was sitting there and for the very first time during these Olympic Games he was alone, waiting for his BigMac, his chips and all the rest…
Not that he minded all that much being alone on a normal day, but still, he felt like he could do with some company now. Plus, today was not a normal day.
He looked around and realised, that a part from a couple of other Team USA girls, whom he thought were soccer players, the fast-food place was desolately empty. To think that at times he would have paid to have it like that: quiet, silent and strangely static. Even the radio had been turned off.
And Ryan had turned him down…Ryan, who was notoriously big when it came to MacDonald’s! Truly, even Michael could not beat him whenever he planned to eat like a trash bin. Michael thought Ryan should have received a special honour prize from McD, for the “Best trash-bin eater of all times”…He made a mental note to himself not to ever mention that to Ryan.
And for the very first time in years, he felt genuinely nervous. ‘That’s normal…Tomorrow is just about…the most damn important day of my entire sports life!’ he thought. He found himself realising that his accomplishment was at stake and that all he had put into it depended just on the next day’s relay. To think that he had tried to force his mind to stay elsewhere in the past hours, but apparently these thoughts had remained hidden in the depths of his brain.
He found himself wishing Ryan would be there, eating like a pig, humming lightly as he did so. ‘Oh man!’ Now, he really felt worried…
What surprised him the most, though, was not this insane wish, nor the sort of atmosphere he could sense around him. No, what worried him the most were the nerves mounting…his nerves.
He was simply never nervous before a race, never…and now, exactly when it was important to keep calm and controlled, he felt tense and worried like a violin string all of a sudden. Great timing, as always.
Every single TV channel in the USA and possibly some more around the world were talking about him, turning his life inside out, hoping to get an interview with him and he, he was sitting alone, miserable and hungry at a McDonald’s table in Beijing. Jeez…
All around him everyone was silent and calm, almost seemed scared to disturb him and ruin this precious moments of solitude and concentration. What they did not understand was that this was not only useless, but even irritating!
He only wanted to have a bloody normal day! With chaos, people shouting and teasing each other around the Olympic village and all. Why couldn’t they behave naturally? After all they were not the ones who had to win the 8th Gold Medal in 9 days!
He decided to take out his MP3 player, hoping that listening to some songs would help, but, to his big disappointment, he soon found out that Rap did not soothe his mind at all. He then tried to quietly sing along in his head, but he soon lost track of words and started thinking about ‘tomorrow’ again.
‘I’m exhausted…’ was the sentence that formed, unwanted, into his mind. ‘I have to hold on! One more day and it will all be over! Just a fucking day and I’ll be done, for good or worse.’
He knew that bad thoughts never came alone and in fact, after a second, he started to picture himself saying ‘Sorry, I did my best!’ to all those who had counted upon him and would feel disappointed at his failure. He was only about to virtually read the headlines of papers and magazines saying he had let the whole US down, when the waiter arrived, almost startling him, with his order.
“Oh, I am sorry, Mr. Ph…Michael.” the waiter said, a troubled expression onto his face.
“It’s ok…I was just elsewhere. Thanks!” he answered, turning off his player and putting it back in his pocket. He flashed the waiter his best and most natural smile, badly wanting him to stop behaving like he was tending a sick person on his death-bed, allowed his last wish.
The waiter was still standing there, as if to make sure everything was alright, when Michael took a first, tasty, greasy and sad bite of his lonely BigMac.
“Make it two, man!” a voice said from somewhere close by. A voice he knew.
Michael lifted his eyes and found himself staring at Brendan, who heavily sat down by him and ate one of his precious fries. “I am starving…” he said, frustratingly.
“Hey! What are you dong here, man?” Michael asked, genuinely surprised. Brendan ate much sooner than him and it usually was not MacDonald’s.
“I fell asleep while watching TV and when I woke up I decided to come here for some trash…I might as well eat that! It’s done wonders on you, after all!” Brendan answered with a yawn, eating another chip, oblivious to Michael’s killing stares. Brendan was just like that. “My mum sends her love and some luck, by the way…she also told me to thank your mum for the recipe of that cake she gave her.” he added.
“Oh, that’s ok!” Michael answered. “I wish I could have slept this afternoon as well…My mum called me about 50 times and my sister another 50. And she was always in tears. This is getting a bit out of control…”
“Nah…Thanks, mate! - the waiter, always cautious, had arrived with more food for Brendan - If there’s someone who’s always in control, that’s you! I don’t know how you manage that. I would make such a crap of things to last me a lifetime! Hey, that soccer player is hot…”
Michael felt his spirit liven up already. Brendan was one of the simplest guys he had ever met. And he did not mean it in a negative way. He could make everything seem easy, relaxing, exciting and, well…simple.
Michael shook his head, as a smile spread over his face.
The two ate in silence for a short while, and Michael was relieved to hear that it wasn’t just Ryan, who hummed while eating McDonald’s. Was that the effect of some natural and possibly legal doping substance in MacDonald’s burgers?
“You know what? I prefer burritos, but I might get used to this stuff, poison and all…” Brendan said, finishing off his chips, ready to attack his strawberry milk-shake.
“Too much time spent in Texas, man…” Michael answered.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right, man!” Bren answered, drawling as bad as he could.
Michael couldn’t but laugh at that and his laughter resounded loudly in the empty room, catching the attention of the soccer players, who were still sitting there. At which point Brendan actually flashed them one of his infamous smiles. Michael had seen him achieve the unachievable with that smile of his and with his puppy eyes. He was not surprised at how many girls loved Brendan to pieces!!
“Oh, stop that, Bren! - came a voice from behind them - You might end up with a wife as well!” It was Jason, his cell phone still in his hand. He sat down beside Michael.
“Rough call?” Bren asked.
“What do you think? I do love my wife a lot, honest, but sometimes, I just feel like gagging her. It’s amazing how many words can get out of her mouth in one minute! And I usually understand a bare quarter of ‘em! Nobody could actually get more than a quarter of ‘em!”
“Do you want anything to eat?” Michael asked, more out of kindness, than actual need to have an answer.
“Are you kidding? I am 33…and I am not a rookie like you who could digest a rusty car! I don’t wanna die!”
“Poor, old Jay! You did not feel so old on that podium the other day, did you?” Brendan teased him.
“Nope! And you know what? I could kick your ass right now, if only we did not need you tomorrow!” Jay teased back.
The word ‘tomorrow’ brought Michael back to his doubts for a second, but it did not last for long, because their group was about to grow larger.
“Hey, hey, am I late for something?” a third voice asked.
“Stupid question, Aaron! You are always late!” It was Brendan again, evidently in his best teasing mood.
“Hahaha…I was on the phone…” Aaron tried to defend himself.
“I have never ever heard this excuse!!! Very original, man! - Jay interrupted ironically - My personal favourite is ‘Sorry, I thought it was Wednesday!’ Jeez, I pissed myself that day. And he was only 17!”
“Dave believed me!” Aaron said triumphant.
“He believed you, because he knew you were such a dork as to forget days…but then he found out you are always late and then started to take notes of your craziest excuses.”
Everybody knew that about Aaron. He was great, Michael thought, really. Spending time with him was always cool, but there was no way he would show up in time. You already knew he would be at least 15 minutes late...but if you were really unlucky, oh well, then he would be 35 minutes late.
Coaches usually had to keep their fingers crossed anytime he had a race, hoping and praying he would not arrive in the call-room too late to compete (which had almost happened in more than one occasion!). Thank God, Aaron never usually got late at the end of a competition…Everybody knew that about him as well.
“I really was on the phone, you jerks…with Amanda.” Aaron insisted.
“Oh, well, then it’s a totally different matter - Jason said, changing his tone completely, while Brendan and Michele whistled - I am right with you there, mate! How many words per minute?”
“Huh?” muttered Aaron, whose eyes were busy scanning the table for some food to nick.
“You don’t want to start Jay off on marital status, do you, Aar?” Bren suggested.
“Nope. No way! I plan to stay unmarried as long as my girlfriend will bear it! No hurry!” Aaron answered, finally defeated in his search for food!
“Good boy!” was Jay’s reaction to the statement. Aaron even received a playful pat on the shoulder.
“Hey! Watch out! I need to be in shape for tomorrow! And I want some junk food as well…”
This time Michael almost did not feel a thing at the mention of the ‘T-word’.
Aaron stood up and moved straight to the bar, talked a bit with the same waiter who had served his two friends and came back in a couple of minutes with his arms stuffed of food.
“You mean to eat all that and actually float tomorrow?” Jason asked, a smirk on his face.
“Nope! But you’ll help me with it, guys!” Aaron said, smiling “It’s all on me…suit yourselves!”.
Brendan did not wait for a further invitation and took possess of a portion of chips and a yoghurt with wild berries, followed by Mike, who went for some more burger meat.
Aaron then pushed a Greek Salad towards Jason, who looked at him with deep loathing, as you would only look at a demon trying to put you into temptation.
“Come on, Jay! This is all veggies…almost!”
“I hate you for this…” Jay said.
“Yeah, I know! Eat!” Aaron tucked in his own chicken salad, without listening to Jason’s further muttered complaints about “health…and excessive fat…and disgusting…and inconsiderate…I’m captain…I should give an example…”
In the end, they were all so full that standing up seemed almost impossible. So it was that they decided that sitting there wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
“You know what, guys? - Aaron interrupted the silence - I think we should stay here until it’s time to swim! Eddie would freak out and call the Chinese Security to report us: ‘I have lost four athletes! They have to swim in about 40 minutes! Find them! Like NOW!’ Man, that would be fun! Even the Chinese wouldn’t say no to a pissed off Ed!”
“He’s tough, uh?” asked Michael, who had never actually trained with Coach Reese, though feeling deep respect for him.
“Strict and serious, yes. Tough, no! I like him, even if when I get out of that pool I am so fucking sore that I can barely make it back home! And they ask me why I do not have a serious girlfriend...Let them try!” Brendan answered.
“It’s the same with Bob…plus the shouting! I guess his lungs are bigger than mine. Gosh, he is a bit tough! Probably he’s right! I am not easy…” Michael added, feeling a gush of affection for his coach, who knew him so well.
“None of us is, Mike…and even if he shouts and gets angry, I am sure Bob’s so proud of you…as are we all.”
Jason meant it. Michael could feel it in his voice. He looked at Aaron and Brendan, just to realise, that their silent serenity was a way to agree with what their captain had said.
A knot rose into Michael’s throat, making it a little bit difficult to speak and he felt his eyes on the verge of wetness. “Thanks, guys… - he mumbled - …I know I got all the attention, when I know well that I wouldn’t even be at this point, if it wasn’t for what you have done for me…and no one sees that, I…”
“Ah, don’t get all mushy, Mike! You know we are beside you! Don’t give us this crap…You are a bloody fish and we can only look at you making history in our sport. We are simply proud of what you are doing and of being part of it! We don’t care if you win 8 medals or not, nor if they ask more interviews and pictures to you then to us. We know what you have done to achieve this. That’s huge and you deserve it and have our respect.” Aaron exclaimed, heating up a bit.
“We are team, man. We are so not going to let you down! My race was shit, I fucked it up big time, I know. But I won’t, repeat, WON’T mess this up. I’ll give it 200%, for you, for myself and for everybody out there, who wants to see you become a fucking legend! - Brendan stood up mid-sentence, leaning on the table, for emphasis, as if he were a lawyer, trying to convince a jury - We are so going to kick ass, men! I am angry! Aaaaaarghhhhh…” It was Brendan’s typical way of cooling things down a little bit, by roaring and attracting the attention of the football players again.
Aaron slapped him on the head, while Michael and Jason started laughing at their friends.
“Ouch! You jerk…” Brendan started throwing some bits of chips at Aaron, who defended himself with a tray, while Jason told them off for being ‘TWO big jerks and morons!’.
Right at that moment, with his mates, friends and brothers behaving like boys, simple, silly boys, Michael felt all his troubles and uncertainties simply melt away, leaving a deep sense of relief and peace.
He would make it, he decided, exhausted or not.
He would make it, because he was not alone in this and because he owed it to them and his family, not to Tvs, sponsors and fans.
And even if he failed, after all, he now knew that none of those he really loved would care.
For them he was Mike, just Mike and that was all that mattered.
That was enough!