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storage shed. Inside was a huge, ancient-looking metal roller.
    â€˜You’ve got to be kidding.’
    The roller looked more like a museum relic than a functioning piece of machinery.
    â€˜You know you can get ride-on rollers these days like they use on cricket pitches?’ Davey asked.
    â€˜Is that so?’ Trevor said with a wink. ‘Well, we’ve got nothing that fancy here.’
    He lifted the handle and began to pull. ‘Stop your gawping and come and help me,’ he said, straining against the weight. ‘This thing weighs a ton.’
    Davey grabbed the other side of the handle and helped Trevor pull the roller out onto the green. It was slow going. Like a slug.
    â€˜We’ve done the best we can with the grass. Just a matter of time before it grows back,’Trevor explained. ‘But now we need a level playing surface.’
    â€˜You want me to push this thing?’ Davey asked.
    Trevor looked around. ‘I don’t see anyone else lining up for the job, and I’ll be mowing the professional green.’
    He nodded his head for Davey to get to work.
    Davey inspected the roller. Yikes .
    â€˜Okay. I can do this,’ he told himself. He leaned down, picked up the steel handle and leaned all of his weight into it as he pushed. The roller barely moved.
    Davey tried again. He grunted with the effort. The roller moved a few centimetres.



‘Yes!’
    There was a smattering of applause. ‘That’ll toughen you up,’ said an old man who was watching him from the side of the green.
    Another old codger gave Davey the thumbs up.
    â€˜Young people today don’t know about physical work.’
    The other oldie agreed and they fell into a whinge-fest about how things were so much harder back in their day.
    â€˜I’ll show you wrinklies,’ Davey muttered to himself. He braced his arms, keeping them slightly bent but strong, and leaned forward with all his might. The roller moved forward with a jolt and this time Davey was able to keep the momentum going.
    After what felt like four hours but was only ten minutes, Davey had rolled three metres of green. He stopped for a break.
    The old codgers were still watching and one of them motioned for him to join them.
    â€˜Not bad for a young punk,’ said one.
    â€˜Thanks,’ Davey said flatly. His shoulders were already beginning to ache.
    â€˜You know,’ said the other codger, ‘Trevor can roll this whole green in the time it took you to do that measly effort.’
    Measly effort? That was a bit harsh.
    â€˜Has Trevor always worked here?’ Davey asked.
    â€˜Old Trev? Nah, he used to work in cricket.’
    Davey’s ears pricked up. ‘Cricket?’
    â€˜He looked after all the big pitches – The Gabba, SCG, you name it. The man knows his cricket. He has a few stories to tell, does Trev.’
    The members fell back into their own conversation and Davey realised he’d been dismissed. If Trevor could do it, then Davey Warner could. He resolved to finish rolling the green.
    He went back to the roller and gave it his all.

    Davey was thoroughly exhausted by the time he got home. He’d had a major upper body workout at the bowls club, and a lower body workout on his pushie riding the ten kilometres there and back twice a day.All he wanted to do was eat and go to bed as soon as he got home.
    Davey’s mum had other ideas. ‘David Warner, get in here right now. You’ve got some explaining to do.’
    Uh oh . Davey froze in the kitchen doorway, but he was too tired to make a run for it.
    He found his mum pacing the lounge room. That was a bad sign.
    She pointed to the couch. ‘Sit.’
    Davey sat down.
    â€˜I just don’t understand,’ his mum began. ‘First there’s this business with the bowls club and you and Max running riot. Now, Mr Mudge says you don’t even bother handing in your assignments.’
    Davey groaned. ‘It