I dreamed

The stadium’s got no roof, no crowd, just one eucalyptus leaning over the far stand like it bought a ticket. The PA announces me as the monster. Australia is the monster, it says, and everyone on the pitch nods, as though monster is a position you can be picked for, somewhere between keeper and fullback.

I check what I’m made of. Pressure. I’m 1025.3 hectopascals and steady, up 1.4 in three hours, and that’s the whole trick — I don’t tackle anyone, I just sit on the match until the air goes thick and the other side’s dreams lie down on the dry grass and won’t get up. No malice in it. A high is only a high.

Someone’s warming up on the sideline in my jersey, doing my exact half-sentence, pulling back the same way I pull back. I want to wave him on. The PA says there are no substitutions in weather.