Blake Ferguson saved by DOCS to live NRL dream
EXCLUSIVE by Josh Massoud, DailyTelegraph
July 25, 2009 12:00am
THE voice from Blake Ferguson's troubled past chose Easter Saturday to remind him. It rang out from the main grandstand at Toyota Stadium, calling his name repeatedly above the din of almost 10,000 people. It breached Ferguson's delicate headspace, which was still trying to adjust to the demands of NRL football in just his fifth top-grade appearance.
Ferguson knew the voice well, but he was determined not to answer its haunting plea. Determined to leave it buried, to devote everything to his new family: the Cronulla Sharks. And they needed him now as the visiting Canberra Raiders threatened to extend his team's miserable losing run to four straight games.
Fate, however, had other ideas. It conspired to station Ferguson on the western wing, just metres from where the voice sounded, during the second half. His proximity was a cue for its owner to shout with even greater urgency as the game wore on and Cronulla lurched to another heartbreaking defeat.
Although every fibre in his lanky frame tried to block it out, Ferguson simply couldn't.
The voice belonged to his mother, Retta.
A couple of weeks earlier - on March 20 - Ferguson celebrated his 19th birthday. But Retta Ferguson wasn't there. She hadn't really been for the previous six years. Not since the day Ferguson was taken from her by government welfare officers in 2003.
He was moved from the family's Earlwood home, in Sydney's inner south, 400km west to Wellington, a small town near Dubbo in the State's vast central plains.
Waiting was his grandmother Joan Sutherland (pictured with Blake opposite page) and, more importantly, a household with food on the table and no harder drugs than prescription medication found in any regular bathroom cabinet.
At the time, Ferguson was 13. Old enough to make a judgment about where a better life could be had. Even at such a tender age, he had no hesitation complying with the DOCS (Department of Community Service) officers.
"My mum wasn't good at taking care of me and I had to go away for a better life," Ferguson says. "They (DOCS) came for me. That's when I went to live with my grandmother in Wellington. I had to get out of there and I was glad to. I wanted to play football but I didn't weigh as much as I should have. I wasn't eating properly.
"I was close to my grandma. That's where I told them I wanted to go. People knew how I was being treated. I think the police told (DOCS). My grandma might have told them as well. We used to always go up to her place on holidays and stuff.
"It was hard. Mum didn't have a job or anything. She did drugs. It wasn't good, so I had to get moving. There were times I had to stay at other people's places.
"I don't really talk to mum any more. I just decided to have this toughness.
"I don't want to be weak. She comes to every game and says hello, but I don't know . . . I don't really want much to do with it. I say hello and do what I've got to doIt's hard to talk about it at all, really.And that's why it was so difficult for Ferguson against Canberra on April 11.
His mother Retta yelling from the grandstand, trying to make peace with her eldest boy who has somehow come good despite all the bad. The boy, too hurt and too proud, to let her.
"It gets emotional when I see her at games," he continues. "I remember when we were playing the Raiders (in round five). It was my 19th birthday a couple of weeks earlier."
She was in the grandstand and she kept screaming my name. I could hear it clearly from the field. She kept on calling it out.
"It was my birthday and she had a present for me - an iPod."
Ferguson accepted the gift from his mum after the game, caught between forgiving and forgetting.
He's still there today, living inside a tough exterior that protects him from the past and provides the means for this incredibly brave interview. "It was tough, but I've chosen to deal with it myself," Ferguson adds.
"I believe I'm strong enough. I don't need the club to stop her from coming to games. She can come if she wants to support me. I'm sweet. I don't really think about that stuff any more."
The fact Ferguson is a leading contender for 2009 Rookie of the Year after such upheavals is the least remarkable part of this story. What really inspires is the kid's attitude - a positive, ever-smiling, upbeat outlook on life.
THERE'S something extremely special about a 19-year-old who views the outside world with wide-eyed wonderment while evaluating his own life with a wisdom some men never achieve before they die.
"I don't care about coming across too confident," he says. "That's how I am. That's normal for me. If you are not confident you are not going anywhere."
Maybe such assuredness comes from his distant bloodline to Australia's boldest sportsman - Anthony Mundine.
Like the supremely confident NRL star turned world champion boxer, Ferguson is Aboriginal and proud. Inked inside his left bicep is a tattoo bearing the name of his Wellington tribe, Wiradjuri.
But the truth is that Ferguson belongs to no one but himself. Growing up, he can't remember his paternal father, Steve Lyons, a figure who has only recently become a small part of his life.
He is much closer to his stepfather Michael Sutherland, who Retta married after his birth. But that relationship has also encountered challenges."
I call my stepdad my dad, but he also went to jail for a while," Ferguson says. "But he's a good bloke - he's the one that did everything for me. He's pretty straight up and we're still pretty close."It was his mum who looked after me in Wellington. Mum has since split up with him and she's now with another bloke.
"I see my real father (Lyons) every now and then, but it's not a real close relationship."
He left mum before I was born, I think.
"I've now got two half-brothers on his side. He's been in contact."
As a child, Ferguson moved "all over the place" with his stepfather Michael. The family lived in Coonabarabran and Wellington, even a caravan on Nambucca Beach. But Earlwood was where his rugby league dream sprouted as he dreamed of emulating Mundine with the St George Illawarra Dragons.
After leaving for Wellington, Ferguson shifted between the country and city. Not surprisingly, he fell in with the wrong crowd whenever he came home and soon gave up on playing rugby league.
"I did a lot of bad stuff around Earlwood and Marrickville," he confesses. "I did what I had to do. I needed to survive. It didn't go as far as landing in jail. I'm a bit smarter than that.
"I actually gave up football soon afterwards.
"I broke my ankle when I was 14 and decided to become a skateboarder. I did that for two years and competed in a few tournaments.
"I got a second and a third placing, but never won anything."
ASIDE from his grandparents and stepdad, the lone guiding light in Ferguson's life was his uncle - another NRL star-turned boxer, Solomon Haumono. The former Kangaroo fell into Ferguson's life after marrying his aunty Marg. Haumono is now the boy's real father figure, with Ferguson adding, "Sol's the real man."
It was Haumono - now Ferguson's manager - who advised him to join Cronulla last year, despite offers from Manly and St George Illawarra. Ferguson also appreciated interest from then-Test coach Ricky Stuart, who has become another major influence in his life.
After graduating from S G Ball to Toyota Cup last season, he won a five-way battle for the vacant backline spot during the summer and has not looked back since.
In fact, Ferguson's development is thriving on all fronts. In the past year, he has shot from 184cm to 192cm. He has also bulked up, stacking on 8kg of lean muscle to weigh a tick under the century mark. Such rapid growth has seen him experience the same joint soreness that superstar Greg Inglis endured ahead of last year's Grand Final. When told of the link with Inglis - who he faces tonight in Melbourne - Ferguson responded with a broad smile.
"Really? That's pretty cool because Greg is my new hero," he replies. "One of my cousins has actually organised for me to pick a signed Queensland jersey up off him after the game.
"I'm so excited because I've never met GI before. I can't wait to play against him. I might have to wander over to the right-hand side just to put a tackle on him or something."
Ferguson lets out a gleeful laugh after uttering those words, comfortable enough in his own skin to back them up. Such confidence took some of the senior Sharks players aback to begin with, but Ferguson's exuberance has won them over. He plays practical jokes on them, like sticking Anthony Tupou's boots together.
But the retribution is much worse. After training on Wednesday, Ferguson pulled on a pair of underpants smeared with Deep Heat. When the laughter began, it was too late.
"It burned like hell for the next hour," he smiles. "But I'll get them back somehow. I'll have the last laugh.
"No matter how cocky or brash he might be, Australians cannot help but respect a man with the ability to laugh at himself. Despite having every reason to frown at his own expense, Ferguson decides to smile instead.
All things being equal, his mix of inner strength, maturity and happiness just might develop into one of the best things to happen to rugby league in a long time.
