El Coconuto
Great White
*Warning, this is an extremely long-winded piece taken straight from my column written for the benefit of those who wondered about my experience as an NYC Assistant Coach during this week. Trust me, it's best read only if you have the time. Ok, let's roll...
17 Again!
By [El Coco]
14th August 2010
The Sports Neo
When I was presented with the opportunity to spend a couple of days tailing Joey Grima and his Cronulla-Sutherland Sharks NYC team in the lead up to their Round 23 clash against the joint competition leading Sydney Roosters, I immediately started thinking about questions that I wanted to have answered by the end of the experience.
Do the players utilise the same preparations as First Graders? Does the coaching staff come down on them as hard as they do in the elite leagues? How many of the players are we likely to hang onto in the near future? Am I taller than Joe Rokoqo? Is there anyone that I’d beat in a five-metre dash or a pie eating competition?
Above all else, I wanted to solve the mystery of Matthew Wright: the young star that played First Grade for the Sharks last season but mysteriously fell into a funk and looked notably disinterested during much of the Toyota Cup season. What was he like in real life? Was he really as disinterested in his football at the Sharks as it seemed? Was he just another tragic story of a young gun who got too much too quickly and resented it when it was all taken away?
I wanted to know all that (and more) by the end of my experience; a 28-hour bender that included a film review session, a training session, the pre-game atmosphere in the sheds, a game of football in the coach’s box and on the sidelines and the euphoric feeling of walking across the hallowed Toyota Park pitch on Friday Night Football’s return home to the Shire.
And since I didn’t want to forget a thing, I kept a Mo-Jou of the whole experience. I remember...
...Feeling as disruptive as Chad Ochocinco when I turned up to the video review session on Thursday night five minutes late after frantically formatting the BELIEVE video that would play on the big screen prior to kickoff the following night. Then having coach Joey Grima greet me with a big smile, a firm handshake and saying “If you were one of my players, I’d have to fine you” before wrapping his arm around me and escorting me into the room.
...Being introduced by Joey to the entire NYC team; structurally sitting across three rows of chairs and each holding notes to be studied prior to the game against the Roosters, each of them half-smiling at me and half-looking at me with the “Whao! If that were me, I’d be removing Joey’s boot from my rear, doing a thousand push-ups and twenty laps of the stadium by now!” face. Thank goodness I wasn’t one of them.
...Meeting each of the coaching staff involved with the NYC team. Each pleasant enough. Each rapidly flicking through the notes Joey had prepared for the lads.
...Joey heading to a lap top at the back of the room as the rest of the NYC team focused on a big screen mounted to the front wall, projecting the image from Joey’s lap top. On the first screen, a full listing of the team’s Do’s & Do Not's for the Roosters game. On the second screen, a map of the entire Roosters squad (including their pictures) along with their strengths and weaknesses, followed by seventeen minutes of straight video of their opponents from throughout their season. If Bill Clinton had been this thorough in office, we would never have found out who Monica Lewinski was to this day.
...Trying to decipher some of the code words used during the presentation, only working out that “Alfie” stood for the dummy, a move made famous in the modern era by Allan ‘Alfie’ Langer and perfected in more recent times by Jonathan Thurston. The sucker dummies that you know are coming, but fall for every time.
...Watching the footage of the Roosters previous games and hearing Joey emphasize to the players one strength of the Roosters that they had to shut down if they wanted to contest the game: the offloads. “Offload. Offload. Offload. Look, another offload!” he'd repeat. “You’ve gotta shut that DOWN!”
...Heading out of the video session after 45-minutes and onto the football ground as the players and coaching staff carried out one final training session before the big game. Feeling giddy as I walked through the tunnel and onto the pitch, pretending that I was a First Grader running onto the field in front of a sold out Toyota Park...only Toyota Park was completely empty and the stadium was only half lit. Whatever.
...Staring into the empty stands and hearing Joey scream “Hey coach!” in my direction. Turning around to see a football that had been passed by Joey hurling right toward me. Hoping like hell that I didn’t drop the ball, or worse, being ‘falconed’ and inadvertently looking like the black kid that couldn’t catch anything but a toilet roll in The Little Giants. Fortunately, it stuck. If I could do that consistently and on the run, I’d be more serviceable then Ben Pomaroy.
...Jake Anlezark being the first player to come up to me and introducing himself. That intro did two things;
1. Made me feel a little bit more comfortable around the boys. And...
2. Made me realize what Gary Coleman must’ve felt like all his life. Not too many people that I speak to have to turn their heads 45 degrees south in order to make eye contact with me. Jake did, and from that moment on inherited the nickname AnJake The Giant, in memory of the great WWF wrestler Andre The Giant, who I’m pretty sure never had to look up to converse with anyone in his life. RIP, Gary and Andre.
...Joey putting the boys into two teams of eight and running a drill similar to a game of scrimmage where the objective of one team was to offload the ball as often as they could, whilst the objective of the other was to lock the ball up as best they could. If the boys were to stand any chance of beating the Roosters, they HAD to learn how to stop the offload. Anyone who failed to lock up the ball was sent to the sidelines and told to "take a break". No retreat, no surrender!
...My “moment” arriving when the players broke for a drinks break, allowing me to take the field and fulfill one of those “only in your dreams” scenarios by slotting a field goal over the black dot. I remember running to the 50m line. Too far. 40m line. Still too far. Eventually getting to the 33m vicinity and deciding that it was going to happen from there. Looking around to see that nobody was watching just in case I served up an epic fail. Seeing all the boys staring right back at me, some of them clapping and yelling “Let’s go, coach!” in the background. “****!“ Either I’m coming out of this looking like Clive Churchill, or I'm coming out of this looking like or Ben Ikin. There’s no in-between. Bouncing the ball to the floor, striking it with my right foot and watching it sail and carry, and sail and carry (and sail and carry). And it looked like it was heading in the right direction, and it looked like it has the distance, and it’s gooooood! And it all happened in a pair of slacks and dress shoes. I remember turning around to a clap from the boys, again feeling relieved that I just didn’t make an ass of myself. And the whole point of that spiel is this: I will be going to my grave forever wondering if the boys were in fact clapping my field goal, or the fact that my right shoe went nearly as far as the ball as well.
...Watching Matthew Wright time and time again as more drills ran out. He seemed casual, but fast and strong. Still couldn’t work out what his deal was. Happy? Unhappy? Who knew.
...Laughing along with everyone else as the boys finished up training with a good old game of fun touch football. It was like watching one of those Sports Flicks where a team know they’re not going to be together for much longer so they spend their last practice having fun. That was this lot. Flick passes between the legs, hooting and chest bumping, the whole shebang. The boys even finished with a fake biff, throwing air punches at each other, giving themselves a leg up for a potential career in the WWE should football ever fall through.
...Wandering into the First Grade shed on my way out and seeing a lonely figure sitting on the bench unwinding the strapping tape from his wrist. Not a moment after I walk in, the person – built like an M4 Sherman – stood up, raising both of his eyebrows with a smile, walking over to me with an outstretched hand and saying “Hi, I’m Johnny”. Yup, Johnny Mannah. The same man who battled cancer and of whom this round is primarily dedicated to, finishing up his NSW Cup practice. I’m not sure if it’s just me, but I always appreciate it when people of note introduce themselves with their first names only. In a strange way, I think it shows a degree of humility. When celebrities introduce themselves using both of their names, I feel like they do so as if it’s our duty to recognise them and their stature in society. I still remember this conversation happening with Karmichael Hunt in Brisbane three years ago:
Me: “Hi, how are you?”
KH: “Hi, I’m Karmichael. Karmichael Hunt.”
Me [Fixed eyes, a little thrown off]: “I’m sorry, what was your name again?”
KH: “Karmichael Hunt. I play for the Broncos.”
Me: “I’m sorry, I’ve never heard of you or the Broncos, but have a nice day.”
Needless to say, Johnny wasn’t like that. He explained what purpose some of the things in the change room serve. I can’t help but to ask him about the three pairs of boots that seem to sit atop each player’s locker. “One for every occasion” comes the reply from Johnny. “Some for training, some for games and some for just giving away”. We end up having a short conversation about how he’s progressing. He’s had people ask him this question a million times over, but he’s happy to talk about it again. In five short minutes I learn more about Johnny Mannah than any book or cheesy Channel Nine production could’ve ever told me.
...Friday morning rolling in without a cloud in the sky and wondering if it was a sign of the apocalypse. “Friday Night Football” and “Clear skies” are certainly two phrases you don’t hear often as a Sharks fan.
...Turning up to Toyota Park on game day for the NYC team meeting in the First Grade change rooms at 3:45PM, just a couple of hours shy of kickoff, where Joey gives them a briefing on the day. “I saw a couple of Roosters players as I walked in and couldn’t help but notice how cocky and confident they looked” he tells his troops before rehashing much of what he did at the video and training session. He isn’t dramatic about anything he doesn’t need to be. He doesn’t serve up one of those timely tear-jerking movie speeches the way they do in movies. He keeps it simple, choosing to inspire through calm and control rather than the diabolical trap of metaphors. Mathematically, the boys can still make the top eight. In reality, it’s not going to happen unless the stars align in a fortunate but unlikely way. He saves the gimmick and tells them to play hard, smart and to enjoy their footy. Smart coach.
...Having a fifteen minute conversation sitting right between Chad Townsend and Joe Rokoqo whilst the team gets strapped and geared up. Listening to them talking about the merits of living in different parts of Sydney. The north, the west, the south. Eventually, Joe starts talking about his native Fiji and everyone involved in the conversation agrees that they’d love to go there.
...AnJake The Giant coming over to me and asking me to help him with his strapping by cutting the tape around his arm, the only problem being that there were no scissors in town and the tape was refined enough that I had to resort to the most humiliating form of cutting sports tape that’s known to man: biting it with my teeth. Player card revoked for life.
...Curiously watching most of the players write different things on their tape. The range of things the players would write seemed to have no end. Names, girlfriend’s names, places, instructions from the coach, song titles and pictures all find their way from pen to tape. Each carry messages that remind them of either where they’ve come from or where they’re going. Except for the smiley face on Chad Townsend’s right wrist. I have no idea what that represents.
...4:40PM hitting and all the players returning to the sheds for Joey’s last spiel. Even though the game is still an hour away, he won’t talk to them again after this until half time. He talks to them about Johnny Mannah and the yellow arm bands that they are wearing, reminding them about spirit and continually avoiding clichés. Joey’s style of coaching is entirely his own. After giving them his last instructions, the boys pile out of the sheds and onto the back paddock to warm up.
...Being amazed by how small but incredibly strong our boys were. When the Roosters NYC team rolled out to warm up beside our own, I couldn’t help but to think this was a mismatch of David vs. Goliath. Where we had one AnJake The Giant, the Roosters seemed to have thirteen of them. Still, we had the likes of Teni Waipouri (incredibly solid) and our own AnJake The Giant leading the way, as well as a forward pack that boasted the likes of Kyle O'Donnell, Tyson Frizell and Duncan Reilly, each of whom are likely to play First Grade at some stage of their careers.
...Wanting to burn my “manhood” card when one of the trainers told me of an occasion where Duncan Reilly dislocated his shoulder in practice, had it popped back into place before playing the next day, and only because when I dislocated my pinkie playing Slamball in the backyard with my baby brother I made my wife drive me to the hospital to have it X-Rayed, and wouldn't let the doctor pull it back into place until I'd had an injection. They may be younger, but these kids are still as tough as nails.
...Hearing the “two minute warning” siren that goes off in the sheds just before kickoff. From there, it’s a scurry to the top coach’s box where Joey and his team are waiting, ready to rock and roll.
...Walking into the coach’s box (where Joey and his team had previously assembled) and being amazed that there were no holes or blood stains on the walls from Ricky Stuart’s tenure at the club. Of course, that box probably became a safe place to be by Round 10 when it became painfully clear that Ricky had stopped caring.
...Everyone checking their walkie talkies were on and that we were all systems go. It felt like I was on in a space shuttle about to launch into orbit or something. Cronulla, we have liftoff!
...Chad Townsend driving his first kick right down the throat of the Roosters fullback, prompting Joey to get on the walkie talkie down to one of his assistants on the sideline with a direct message for Chad Townsend to kick to the corners. Two seconds later, one of the trainers runs from the sideline right towards Chad. On the next play, Townsend placed a perfect kick right to the corner. Fascinating sequence. The whole thing couldn’t have taken more than thirty seconds to happen.
...Being impressed with how intimately Joey knew his team. Listening to him on the radio identifying his players that had come straight from their labouring jobs earlier that morning and keeping a close eye on them. You don’t have to worry about this as a First Grade coach but do as an NYC coach.
...Getting giddy as the boys broke away to a 16-0 lead with a pleasant but audible Joey constantly relaying messages to the sidelines. When someone did something stupid, he gets on the walkie and has a trainer run out and tell that person he is lucky to still be playing. When someone does something spectacular, a message of encouragement is delivered in the same manner. When the boys need reminding of things they’ve been taught in practice, Joey instructs the trainer to run across the back of the line simply yelling one or two words. On one occasion (when the boys were struggling to contain the Roosters offloads) he sent the trainer out yelling two words “OFFLOADS! ALFIE! OFFLADS! ALFIE! OFFLOADS! ALFIE!” just to remind everyone of what had to be done.
...Seeing a battered team come into the smaller change rooms at half time, battered and bruised. They looked entirely different to the team that had taken the field only forty minutes earlier. People were puffing, bleeding, grabbing, hurting. Within the Sharks sheds, there is a smaller change room adjacent to the First Grade change room that the NYC boys occupy so as to not disturb the arriving First Graders in their own match preparations. Imagine a cave within a cave. That’s what it’s like for the NYC team from half time onwards.
...Taking my place on the sideline for the second half. Watching the Roosters claw their way back after an impressive Townsend try as the Sharks lead slipped away. 20 point lead. 16 point lead. Again, the message would continue to go down. “OFFLOADS! ALFIE! OFFLADS! ALFIE! OFFLOADS! ALFIE!” as the clock kept ticking. And everyone kept getting nervous. Myself included.
...10 point lead. 4 point lead. This couldn't be happening. “OFFLOADS! ALFIE! OFFLADS! ALFIE! OFFLOADS! ALFIE!” Dying a slow and painful death on the sidelines. Sometimes the clock runs like Usain Bolt and at others it runs like Kristie Alley. Right then, it was running like Kristie Alley. And the Roosters kept getting possession, and had the ball on the last play of the game just inside the half way line, and they keep tossing it, and tossing it, and tossing it, before...
...Forward pass! (Yesssssssssssss!) Sharks defeat the joint-competition leading Roosters 20-16. The boys all jump off the bench. Joey hugs everyone around him. It’s a stellar win and puts the boys in a position to become the first ever Sharks NYC game to win three on the trot next week against the lowly Storm.
...Kneeling on the field after the game with the victorious boys whilst Joey gives them one of the most thought provoking and sensible talks I have heard any coach of any sport give. He could’ve said anything at that point. He chose to say this: “Go out and celebrate tonight...but do it in pairs. Don’t let anyone have a drink without having someone else there with them. Enjoy yourselves, but be sensible. That’s all I ask of you men tonight.” If Pacman Jones had been coaching these guys, he would’ve given them business cards to the local strip joint and told them to have a ball. Not Joey. He’s one of the good breed of coaches that care more about the safety of his players than their success. You see, whilst these kids are the wave of the future, they are still kids. They think and act like most other people their age. Some of them still go to school. Others work during the day before turning up to practice. They talk like every other teenager boy, dance and celebrate like every other teenage boy and as a learnt at half time, pass gas just like every other teenage boy. Joey knows this. He knows how to treat his boys like men whilst always remembering that, ultimately, they’re still just teenagers stuck in phenomenally athletic bodies. As a winner, Joey treats them like men. As a coach, he treats them like they were his own kids.
...Walking down the tunnel with the boys and hi-fiving kids on the side as if I were a player myself. Bloody hell, it had to be done.
(Random sidenote and true story: Last weekend at the Warriors game a little boy came up to me with his Johnny Mannah badge and said “Can you sign my badge, Johnny?” I didn’t know whether to sign it and risk fraud or tell the truth and make the kid feel like a dork. I did the latter and told Johnny about it in the shed after the NYC practice. He laughed and told me that next time it happened I had his permission to scribble on it.)
...Sitting in the sheds with a loud, jubilant group of teenage men that had just played their hearts out. Waiting patiently for Joey to come in before all the lights shut off. By this stage, the First Graders had arrived and were in their final preparations before taking the field. They were watching the BELIEVE video that would play on the big screen shortly before kickoff. The same BELIEVE video that had made me late to the video session only a day earlier. Eventually, the lights came on, Joey came into the sheds and then, louder than I’ve ever heard before...
...”UP UP CRONULLA, THE BOYS IN THE BLACK, WHITE AND BLUE! UP, UP, CRONULLA, NAME OF THE SHARKS FITS YOU! SHARKS, SHARKS FOREVER, GO ON AND PLAY WITHOUT FEAR! NOW’S THE TIME TO SEE GOOD FOOTBALL, FOR THE SHARKS, ARE, HERE! UP THE SHARKS!” You’ve never heard the club song until you’ve heard the players themselves singing at the top of their lungs in the sheds, banging like hell against their lockers making it sound like there’s fireworks exploding next to your ears. Unreal in every sense of the word.
...Saying goodbye to each of the boys and thanking Joey for the marvellous experience while a combination of water and Gatorade was tossed all around the room. Exiting the sheds for the last time, wondering if I’d ever get back in there for an experience like that. Highly doubtful.
When I took my seat in the ET Grandstand only moments later, the whole thing had already started to feel like a dream. Had I really just been through all of that? Had that all happened within the space of two short days?
Every question I had wanted answered had been answered except one: Just what do we make of Matthew Wright? I thought my night was going to end without knowing. Then, just before half time of the First Grade game – on my way to grab a Mrs Mac pie, of course – I bumped into Matthew and Joe Rokoqo standing by the van and downing a meal of their own. “Coach!” they said with that sarcastic glint of happiness as I walked past. “You coming down to Melbourne with us next week?” asked Matthew. “No”, I answered. “Love to, but I don’t think so”. We laughed, spoke about superstitions and lucky charms for a few moments before I gained the courage to ask the question of Matthew that I had wanted to ask him for the longest of time; “How are you feeling about your time here?”
He grinned and (unaware that he was on the record) said “I have another year left on my contract. After that we’ll see what happens. But I love it here. I don’t want to leave. In a way, this is home” before taking another bite into his burger. It was in that moment I learned something about Matthew Wright that I could never have learned watching his games or anything similar. It isn’t that he’s disinterested, or that he’s bitter about being back in the NYC Team. It isn’t that he dislikes the place or that he wants to leave. The body language, the calm demeanour; it’s just who he is. He's like the Iceman stuck in a Polynesian body; the kind of guy that outwardly generates himself to be a person whose emotions constantly flat line only they aren't. He feels the highs and lows just like everybody else, only the highs aren’t nearly as visible because he’s naturally shy, timid and reserved.
I realised then that you can’t always scope someone solely by how they carry themselves on the field.
And you can’t always think the worst of someone who turns up late for video review, either.
http://www.sportsneo.com/articles?id=69
(Forummers: Obviously there was MUCH more to the experience than this. More conversations that I was privy to but which, at this stage, I think would be best kept under wraps for now. You'll all know about most of these things soon enough anyways
)
17 Again!
By [El Coco]
14th August 2010
The Sports Neo
When I was presented with the opportunity to spend a couple of days tailing Joey Grima and his Cronulla-Sutherland Sharks NYC team in the lead up to their Round 23 clash against the joint competition leading Sydney Roosters, I immediately started thinking about questions that I wanted to have answered by the end of the experience.
Do the players utilise the same preparations as First Graders? Does the coaching staff come down on them as hard as they do in the elite leagues? How many of the players are we likely to hang onto in the near future? Am I taller than Joe Rokoqo? Is there anyone that I’d beat in a five-metre dash or a pie eating competition?
Above all else, I wanted to solve the mystery of Matthew Wright: the young star that played First Grade for the Sharks last season but mysteriously fell into a funk and looked notably disinterested during much of the Toyota Cup season. What was he like in real life? Was he really as disinterested in his football at the Sharks as it seemed? Was he just another tragic story of a young gun who got too much too quickly and resented it when it was all taken away?
I wanted to know all that (and more) by the end of my experience; a 28-hour bender that included a film review session, a training session, the pre-game atmosphere in the sheds, a game of football in the coach’s box and on the sidelines and the euphoric feeling of walking across the hallowed Toyota Park pitch on Friday Night Football’s return home to the Shire.
And since I didn’t want to forget a thing, I kept a Mo-Jou of the whole experience. I remember...
...Feeling as disruptive as Chad Ochocinco when I turned up to the video review session on Thursday night five minutes late after frantically formatting the BELIEVE video that would play on the big screen prior to kickoff the following night. Then having coach Joey Grima greet me with a big smile, a firm handshake and saying “If you were one of my players, I’d have to fine you” before wrapping his arm around me and escorting me into the room.
...Being introduced by Joey to the entire NYC team; structurally sitting across three rows of chairs and each holding notes to be studied prior to the game against the Roosters, each of them half-smiling at me and half-looking at me with the “Whao! If that were me, I’d be removing Joey’s boot from my rear, doing a thousand push-ups and twenty laps of the stadium by now!” face. Thank goodness I wasn’t one of them.
...Meeting each of the coaching staff involved with the NYC team. Each pleasant enough. Each rapidly flicking through the notes Joey had prepared for the lads.
...Joey heading to a lap top at the back of the room as the rest of the NYC team focused on a big screen mounted to the front wall, projecting the image from Joey’s lap top. On the first screen, a full listing of the team’s Do’s & Do Not's for the Roosters game. On the second screen, a map of the entire Roosters squad (including their pictures) along with their strengths and weaknesses, followed by seventeen minutes of straight video of their opponents from throughout their season. If Bill Clinton had been this thorough in office, we would never have found out who Monica Lewinski was to this day.
...Trying to decipher some of the code words used during the presentation, only working out that “Alfie” stood for the dummy, a move made famous in the modern era by Allan ‘Alfie’ Langer and perfected in more recent times by Jonathan Thurston. The sucker dummies that you know are coming, but fall for every time.
...Watching the footage of the Roosters previous games and hearing Joey emphasize to the players one strength of the Roosters that they had to shut down if they wanted to contest the game: the offloads. “Offload. Offload. Offload. Look, another offload!” he'd repeat. “You’ve gotta shut that DOWN!”
...Heading out of the video session after 45-minutes and onto the football ground as the players and coaching staff carried out one final training session before the big game. Feeling giddy as I walked through the tunnel and onto the pitch, pretending that I was a First Grader running onto the field in front of a sold out Toyota Park...only Toyota Park was completely empty and the stadium was only half lit. Whatever.
...Staring into the empty stands and hearing Joey scream “Hey coach!” in my direction. Turning around to see a football that had been passed by Joey hurling right toward me. Hoping like hell that I didn’t drop the ball, or worse, being ‘falconed’ and inadvertently looking like the black kid that couldn’t catch anything but a toilet roll in The Little Giants. Fortunately, it stuck. If I could do that consistently and on the run, I’d be more serviceable then Ben Pomaroy.
...Jake Anlezark being the first player to come up to me and introducing himself. That intro did two things;
1. Made me feel a little bit more comfortable around the boys. And...
2. Made me realize what Gary Coleman must’ve felt like all his life. Not too many people that I speak to have to turn their heads 45 degrees south in order to make eye contact with me. Jake did, and from that moment on inherited the nickname AnJake The Giant, in memory of the great WWF wrestler Andre The Giant, who I’m pretty sure never had to look up to converse with anyone in his life. RIP, Gary and Andre.
...Joey putting the boys into two teams of eight and running a drill similar to a game of scrimmage where the objective of one team was to offload the ball as often as they could, whilst the objective of the other was to lock the ball up as best they could. If the boys were to stand any chance of beating the Roosters, they HAD to learn how to stop the offload. Anyone who failed to lock up the ball was sent to the sidelines and told to "take a break". No retreat, no surrender!
...My “moment” arriving when the players broke for a drinks break, allowing me to take the field and fulfill one of those “only in your dreams” scenarios by slotting a field goal over the black dot. I remember running to the 50m line. Too far. 40m line. Still too far. Eventually getting to the 33m vicinity and deciding that it was going to happen from there. Looking around to see that nobody was watching just in case I served up an epic fail. Seeing all the boys staring right back at me, some of them clapping and yelling “Let’s go, coach!” in the background. “****!“ Either I’m coming out of this looking like Clive Churchill, or I'm coming out of this looking like or Ben Ikin. There’s no in-between. Bouncing the ball to the floor, striking it with my right foot and watching it sail and carry, and sail and carry (and sail and carry). And it looked like it was heading in the right direction, and it looked like it has the distance, and it’s gooooood! And it all happened in a pair of slacks and dress shoes. I remember turning around to a clap from the boys, again feeling relieved that I just didn’t make an ass of myself. And the whole point of that spiel is this: I will be going to my grave forever wondering if the boys were in fact clapping my field goal, or the fact that my right shoe went nearly as far as the ball as well.
...Watching Matthew Wright time and time again as more drills ran out. He seemed casual, but fast and strong. Still couldn’t work out what his deal was. Happy? Unhappy? Who knew.
...Laughing along with everyone else as the boys finished up training with a good old game of fun touch football. It was like watching one of those Sports Flicks where a team know they’re not going to be together for much longer so they spend their last practice having fun. That was this lot. Flick passes between the legs, hooting and chest bumping, the whole shebang. The boys even finished with a fake biff, throwing air punches at each other, giving themselves a leg up for a potential career in the WWE should football ever fall through.
...Wandering into the First Grade shed on my way out and seeing a lonely figure sitting on the bench unwinding the strapping tape from his wrist. Not a moment after I walk in, the person – built like an M4 Sherman – stood up, raising both of his eyebrows with a smile, walking over to me with an outstretched hand and saying “Hi, I’m Johnny”. Yup, Johnny Mannah. The same man who battled cancer and of whom this round is primarily dedicated to, finishing up his NSW Cup practice. I’m not sure if it’s just me, but I always appreciate it when people of note introduce themselves with their first names only. In a strange way, I think it shows a degree of humility. When celebrities introduce themselves using both of their names, I feel like they do so as if it’s our duty to recognise them and their stature in society. I still remember this conversation happening with Karmichael Hunt in Brisbane three years ago:
Me: “Hi, how are you?”
KH: “Hi, I’m Karmichael. Karmichael Hunt.”
Me [Fixed eyes, a little thrown off]: “I’m sorry, what was your name again?”
KH: “Karmichael Hunt. I play for the Broncos.”
Me: “I’m sorry, I’ve never heard of you or the Broncos, but have a nice day.”
Needless to say, Johnny wasn’t like that. He explained what purpose some of the things in the change room serve. I can’t help but to ask him about the three pairs of boots that seem to sit atop each player’s locker. “One for every occasion” comes the reply from Johnny. “Some for training, some for games and some for just giving away”. We end up having a short conversation about how he’s progressing. He’s had people ask him this question a million times over, but he’s happy to talk about it again. In five short minutes I learn more about Johnny Mannah than any book or cheesy Channel Nine production could’ve ever told me.
...Friday morning rolling in without a cloud in the sky and wondering if it was a sign of the apocalypse. “Friday Night Football” and “Clear skies” are certainly two phrases you don’t hear often as a Sharks fan.
...Turning up to Toyota Park on game day for the NYC team meeting in the First Grade change rooms at 3:45PM, just a couple of hours shy of kickoff, where Joey gives them a briefing on the day. “I saw a couple of Roosters players as I walked in and couldn’t help but notice how cocky and confident they looked” he tells his troops before rehashing much of what he did at the video and training session. He isn’t dramatic about anything he doesn’t need to be. He doesn’t serve up one of those timely tear-jerking movie speeches the way they do in movies. He keeps it simple, choosing to inspire through calm and control rather than the diabolical trap of metaphors. Mathematically, the boys can still make the top eight. In reality, it’s not going to happen unless the stars align in a fortunate but unlikely way. He saves the gimmick and tells them to play hard, smart and to enjoy their footy. Smart coach.
...Having a fifteen minute conversation sitting right between Chad Townsend and Joe Rokoqo whilst the team gets strapped and geared up. Listening to them talking about the merits of living in different parts of Sydney. The north, the west, the south. Eventually, Joe starts talking about his native Fiji and everyone involved in the conversation agrees that they’d love to go there.
...AnJake The Giant coming over to me and asking me to help him with his strapping by cutting the tape around his arm, the only problem being that there were no scissors in town and the tape was refined enough that I had to resort to the most humiliating form of cutting sports tape that’s known to man: biting it with my teeth. Player card revoked for life.
...Curiously watching most of the players write different things on their tape. The range of things the players would write seemed to have no end. Names, girlfriend’s names, places, instructions from the coach, song titles and pictures all find their way from pen to tape. Each carry messages that remind them of either where they’ve come from or where they’re going. Except for the smiley face on Chad Townsend’s right wrist. I have no idea what that represents.
...4:40PM hitting and all the players returning to the sheds for Joey’s last spiel. Even though the game is still an hour away, he won’t talk to them again after this until half time. He talks to them about Johnny Mannah and the yellow arm bands that they are wearing, reminding them about spirit and continually avoiding clichés. Joey’s style of coaching is entirely his own. After giving them his last instructions, the boys pile out of the sheds and onto the back paddock to warm up.
...Being amazed by how small but incredibly strong our boys were. When the Roosters NYC team rolled out to warm up beside our own, I couldn’t help but to think this was a mismatch of David vs. Goliath. Where we had one AnJake The Giant, the Roosters seemed to have thirteen of them. Still, we had the likes of Teni Waipouri (incredibly solid) and our own AnJake The Giant leading the way, as well as a forward pack that boasted the likes of Kyle O'Donnell, Tyson Frizell and Duncan Reilly, each of whom are likely to play First Grade at some stage of their careers.
...Wanting to burn my “manhood” card when one of the trainers told me of an occasion where Duncan Reilly dislocated his shoulder in practice, had it popped back into place before playing the next day, and only because when I dislocated my pinkie playing Slamball in the backyard with my baby brother I made my wife drive me to the hospital to have it X-Rayed, and wouldn't let the doctor pull it back into place until I'd had an injection. They may be younger, but these kids are still as tough as nails.
...Hearing the “two minute warning” siren that goes off in the sheds just before kickoff. From there, it’s a scurry to the top coach’s box where Joey and his team are waiting, ready to rock and roll.
...Walking into the coach’s box (where Joey and his team had previously assembled) and being amazed that there were no holes or blood stains on the walls from Ricky Stuart’s tenure at the club. Of course, that box probably became a safe place to be by Round 10 when it became painfully clear that Ricky had stopped caring.
...Everyone checking their walkie talkies were on and that we were all systems go. It felt like I was on in a space shuttle about to launch into orbit or something. Cronulla, we have liftoff!
...Chad Townsend driving his first kick right down the throat of the Roosters fullback, prompting Joey to get on the walkie talkie down to one of his assistants on the sideline with a direct message for Chad Townsend to kick to the corners. Two seconds later, one of the trainers runs from the sideline right towards Chad. On the next play, Townsend placed a perfect kick right to the corner. Fascinating sequence. The whole thing couldn’t have taken more than thirty seconds to happen.
...Being impressed with how intimately Joey knew his team. Listening to him on the radio identifying his players that had come straight from their labouring jobs earlier that morning and keeping a close eye on them. You don’t have to worry about this as a First Grade coach but do as an NYC coach.
...Getting giddy as the boys broke away to a 16-0 lead with a pleasant but audible Joey constantly relaying messages to the sidelines. When someone did something stupid, he gets on the walkie and has a trainer run out and tell that person he is lucky to still be playing. When someone does something spectacular, a message of encouragement is delivered in the same manner. When the boys need reminding of things they’ve been taught in practice, Joey instructs the trainer to run across the back of the line simply yelling one or two words. On one occasion (when the boys were struggling to contain the Roosters offloads) he sent the trainer out yelling two words “OFFLOADS! ALFIE! OFFLADS! ALFIE! OFFLOADS! ALFIE!” just to remind everyone of what had to be done.
...Seeing a battered team come into the smaller change rooms at half time, battered and bruised. They looked entirely different to the team that had taken the field only forty minutes earlier. People were puffing, bleeding, grabbing, hurting. Within the Sharks sheds, there is a smaller change room adjacent to the First Grade change room that the NYC boys occupy so as to not disturb the arriving First Graders in their own match preparations. Imagine a cave within a cave. That’s what it’s like for the NYC team from half time onwards.
...Taking my place on the sideline for the second half. Watching the Roosters claw their way back after an impressive Townsend try as the Sharks lead slipped away. 20 point lead. 16 point lead. Again, the message would continue to go down. “OFFLOADS! ALFIE! OFFLADS! ALFIE! OFFLOADS! ALFIE!” as the clock kept ticking. And everyone kept getting nervous. Myself included.
...10 point lead. 4 point lead. This couldn't be happening. “OFFLOADS! ALFIE! OFFLADS! ALFIE! OFFLOADS! ALFIE!” Dying a slow and painful death on the sidelines. Sometimes the clock runs like Usain Bolt and at others it runs like Kristie Alley. Right then, it was running like Kristie Alley. And the Roosters kept getting possession, and had the ball on the last play of the game just inside the half way line, and they keep tossing it, and tossing it, and tossing it, before...
...Forward pass! (Yesssssssssssss!) Sharks defeat the joint-competition leading Roosters 20-16. The boys all jump off the bench. Joey hugs everyone around him. It’s a stellar win and puts the boys in a position to become the first ever Sharks NYC game to win three on the trot next week against the lowly Storm.
...Kneeling on the field after the game with the victorious boys whilst Joey gives them one of the most thought provoking and sensible talks I have heard any coach of any sport give. He could’ve said anything at that point. He chose to say this: “Go out and celebrate tonight...but do it in pairs. Don’t let anyone have a drink without having someone else there with them. Enjoy yourselves, but be sensible. That’s all I ask of you men tonight.” If Pacman Jones had been coaching these guys, he would’ve given them business cards to the local strip joint and told them to have a ball. Not Joey. He’s one of the good breed of coaches that care more about the safety of his players than their success. You see, whilst these kids are the wave of the future, they are still kids. They think and act like most other people their age. Some of them still go to school. Others work during the day before turning up to practice. They talk like every other teenager boy, dance and celebrate like every other teenage boy and as a learnt at half time, pass gas just like every other teenage boy. Joey knows this. He knows how to treat his boys like men whilst always remembering that, ultimately, they’re still just teenagers stuck in phenomenally athletic bodies. As a winner, Joey treats them like men. As a coach, he treats them like they were his own kids.
...Walking down the tunnel with the boys and hi-fiving kids on the side as if I were a player myself. Bloody hell, it had to be done.
(Random sidenote and true story: Last weekend at the Warriors game a little boy came up to me with his Johnny Mannah badge and said “Can you sign my badge, Johnny?” I didn’t know whether to sign it and risk fraud or tell the truth and make the kid feel like a dork. I did the latter and told Johnny about it in the shed after the NYC practice. He laughed and told me that next time it happened I had his permission to scribble on it.)
...Sitting in the sheds with a loud, jubilant group of teenage men that had just played their hearts out. Waiting patiently for Joey to come in before all the lights shut off. By this stage, the First Graders had arrived and were in their final preparations before taking the field. They were watching the BELIEVE video that would play on the big screen shortly before kickoff. The same BELIEVE video that had made me late to the video session only a day earlier. Eventually, the lights came on, Joey came into the sheds and then, louder than I’ve ever heard before...
...”UP UP CRONULLA, THE BOYS IN THE BLACK, WHITE AND BLUE! UP, UP, CRONULLA, NAME OF THE SHARKS FITS YOU! SHARKS, SHARKS FOREVER, GO ON AND PLAY WITHOUT FEAR! NOW’S THE TIME TO SEE GOOD FOOTBALL, FOR THE SHARKS, ARE, HERE! UP THE SHARKS!” You’ve never heard the club song until you’ve heard the players themselves singing at the top of their lungs in the sheds, banging like hell against their lockers making it sound like there’s fireworks exploding next to your ears. Unreal in every sense of the word.
...Saying goodbye to each of the boys and thanking Joey for the marvellous experience while a combination of water and Gatorade was tossed all around the room. Exiting the sheds for the last time, wondering if I’d ever get back in there for an experience like that. Highly doubtful.
When I took my seat in the ET Grandstand only moments later, the whole thing had already started to feel like a dream. Had I really just been through all of that? Had that all happened within the space of two short days?
Every question I had wanted answered had been answered except one: Just what do we make of Matthew Wright? I thought my night was going to end without knowing. Then, just before half time of the First Grade game – on my way to grab a Mrs Mac pie, of course – I bumped into Matthew and Joe Rokoqo standing by the van and downing a meal of their own. “Coach!” they said with that sarcastic glint of happiness as I walked past. “You coming down to Melbourne with us next week?” asked Matthew. “No”, I answered. “Love to, but I don’t think so”. We laughed, spoke about superstitions and lucky charms for a few moments before I gained the courage to ask the question of Matthew that I had wanted to ask him for the longest of time; “How are you feeling about your time here?”
He grinned and (unaware that he was on the record) said “I have another year left on my contract. After that we’ll see what happens. But I love it here. I don’t want to leave. In a way, this is home” before taking another bite into his burger. It was in that moment I learned something about Matthew Wright that I could never have learned watching his games or anything similar. It isn’t that he’s disinterested, or that he’s bitter about being back in the NYC Team. It isn’t that he dislikes the place or that he wants to leave. The body language, the calm demeanour; it’s just who he is. He's like the Iceman stuck in a Polynesian body; the kind of guy that outwardly generates himself to be a person whose emotions constantly flat line only they aren't. He feels the highs and lows just like everybody else, only the highs aren’t nearly as visible because he’s naturally shy, timid and reserved.
I realised then that you can’t always scope someone solely by how they carry themselves on the field.
And you can’t always think the worst of someone who turns up late for video review, either.
http://www.sportsneo.com/articles?id=69
(Forummers: Obviously there was MUCH more to the experience than this. More conversations that I was privy to but which, at this stage, I think would be best kept under wraps for now. You'll all know about most of these things soon enough anyways
)
