From the Sheds

By Matthew Johns

'I didn't know Matthew could read or write' - Matt's dad
From the Sheds is Matthew Johns' fascinating, frequently hilarious look behind the scenes of Rugby League. the creator of the self-confessed Aussie legend Reg Reagan - as well as a tough competitor who notched up almost 200 first grade NRL games and eight matches for the Kangaroos, winning a premiership with Newcastle Knights along the way - who better than Matthew to give an insider's view of the superstars, larrikins and entertainers who make Rugby League the compelling, colourful and occasionally comical sport that it is? In his latest book, the Footy Show star reveals countless tales displaying the lighter side of League. Matthew tells why David Waite unwittingly vandalised a stranger's Holden Camira, how a nine-year-old Brett Finch proved to be the world's most irritating sand boy, and how Paul Harragon's pre-wedding celebrations erupted into an all-in brawl - and Matty's role in all of the above. From the Sheds is a rare insight into the spirit of Rugby League, written by someone who embodies the humour and the grit of the toughest game of all. 'Geez ... I just got over the other son's book'- Matt's dad 'I didn't know Matthew could read or write'- Matt's dad

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jan 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9780730449775

Matthew Johns

Television host, Rugby League analyst, actor, author, newspaper columnist, singer and funnyman - Matthew Johns is one of Australia’s most talented entertainment professionals. The former Australian Rugby League international has enjoyed immense success in his media career since retiring from Rugby League in 2002. He also maintains an active interest on the field as a specialist coach for the Melbourne Storm.

Book preview

Contents

Cover

THE SUPERSTARS

Wally Lewis

Ricky Stuart

Brad Fittler

Jonathon Davies

Stacey Jones

Ellery Hanley

Greg Alexander

Mal Meninga

Sonny Bill Williams

THE COACHES

Malcolm Reilly

Bob Fulton

David Waite

Phil Gould

Warren Ryan

Chris Anderson

Craig Bellamy

Des Hasler

ENTERTAINERS AND CHARACTERS

Anthony Mundine

Matthew Ridge

Mark Carroll

Brett Finch

Steve Menzies

GREAT TEAM-MATES

Ben Kennedy

Danny Buderus

Paul Harragon

Timana Tahu

THE BEST OF BRITISH

Jason Robinson

Andy Farrell

Brian Carney

Adrian Morley

STARS OF THE FUTURE

Jarrod Sammut

Jarryd Hayne

Todd Carney

And A Few More…

LEAVING THE BEST TILL LAST

Andrew Johns

Photographic Insert

About the Author

Copyright

THE SUPERSTARS

Rugby League has had its fair share of superstars over the years. Everyone has made his stamp on the game in some way. Some became huge names in the northern hemisphere, as well as in Australia and New Zealand.

Here I want to pick a few out and talk about not only what they were like to play against, but what they were like off the field as well. Each was very different in battle—some quite reserved, others ferocious in the way they competed.

Some changed the game, some were just freaks!

WALLY LEWIS

I’m not going to get into the trap of starting to ‘commentate the career’ of the King Wally Lewis. All stats and facts can be found by turning on a computer, and I trust in reading this that you fully understand the impact this immortal of the game had on Rugby League. A player who remains the most prominent single figure of State of Origin football, many experts rate Wally Lewis the greatest League player of all time. And those who played alongside him appreciate and understand the genius of Lewis more than anyone.

As a young New South Welshman growing up watching State of Origin, Wally Lewis was almost a mythical figure to me. With Wally plying his trade in the Brisbane competition with Wynnum-Manly, we southerners only got a small taste of Lewis brilliance every year. Having said that, the small taste he gave us was a pretty big serving of humble pie, with Wally being the centrepiece of some of the best Origin teams ever to partake in the legendary series.

For me personally, watching Wally play Rugby League was a bit like watching Sir Richard Hadlee play cricket for New Zealand. Yes, I understood his greatness, but it was this that irked me. It was impossible to fully appreciate the talents of a man who inflicted so much pain upon the football side you loved.

What made matters worse was that my grandfather, who had moved to Queensland in the late-’60s, was a Wally Lewis fanatic and each time the Maroons gave the Blues a touch-up, which during the ’80s was quite often, he would call Andrew and myself and gloat till we slammed down the phone in disgust.

When our grandfather came home to Cessnock for Christmas, all he talked about was Wally. It drove us crazy. At Christmas lunch, he’d put his hand up to say grace and begin by saying, ‘Dear Wally, thank you for the food we are about to eat…’ My great-grandmother, who was a very religious woman, would go berserk.

I remember one night during the mid-’80s he called home from Queensland and was off his face with excitement. He explained how he went out to dinner on the Gold Coast and Wally was at the next table. He approached Wally, introduced himself and chatted for two to three minutes. Fair dinkum, it was like he’d had an epiphany of the Lord Jesus Christ himself! Looking back I think that Pop had a problem. Run into Wally??? I think he was stalking him!!

I sometimes wonder what Pop would’ve thought if he’d been around to witness the many debates which have raged about who was the best, Joey Johns or Wally Lewis? As proud as he would have been, I have no doubts he would have plumped for King Wally. I mean, Andrew Johns was just his grandson, Wally Lewis was God!

Yes, it didn’t matter what side of the Tweed River you grew up on, Wally was larger than life and, love him or hate him, a genius.

Flash forward to the early-’90s and by then the King was drawing curtains on a remarkable career as captain-coach of the much-maligned Gold Coast Seagulls. I travelled up with the Newcastle Knights to take on the Seagulls, and after playing in the under-21s, our coach David Waite asked me to sit on the bench for first grade.

Sitting on the bench gave me a front-row seat to watch one of the greatest players of all time up close. At this point of his career, while the mind was still sharp and the skills still silky, Wally’s legs seemed to be screaming, ‘Enough!’

Wally had never been what you’d call a beautiful mover. I’d heard opponents say that the two things that surprised them the most when facing Lewis were his strength and his deceptive speed. From where I sat that Sunday afternoon, it appeared as though, even taking his deception of movement into account, the King had lost a good few metres of acceleration. At half-time our first grade was leading nicely and as I sat and took in the coach’s talk, which centred almost entirely around Wally, it was clear that everything was going comfortably to plan.

As I left the sheds to take my place on the bench my gut was growling with enormous hunger. That day, after I’d played under-21s, I’d then immediately sat on the bench for reserve grade, before being asked to do the same for the top grade. With nothing in my stomach I came to the conclusion that, as I was no chance of getting a run that afternoon, why deny my beautiful body food any longer?

I went back into the sheds, pulled out a $10 note and summoned the reserve grade ball boy—with the utmost discretion—to get me a pie and sauce. The young man did just that and I spent the first 10 minutes of the second half hiding under a warm-up jacket, absorbing a steaming hot Four’N Twenty. I then summoned the ball boy a second time and sent him on a mission to bring me a lemon Solo. Again, he didn’t disappoint. I slammed down the Solo and sat bloated, but satisfied…and in desperate need of the toilet.

Safe in the knowledge my work had been done for the day, I got up off the bench and strolled towards the sheds to unleash hell on the porcelain bowl. I was halfway to the loo when I heard the distinct sound of the trainer’s voice. ‘Johnsy, warm up!’

‘What?’ I replied in disbelief.

He earnestly repeated, ‘For fuck sake, get out here, get that jacket off and warm up. Matty Rodwell has rolled his ankle.’

I glanced up at the clock and with 15 minutes to go the Knights were clinging to a narrow four-point lead as a result of a courageous Gold Coast fightback, inspired by Wally. I warmed up meekly for five minutes until Rodwell could go on no longer and I was thrust into the action. A minute later I experienced what could only be described as a surreal moment. A scrum was packed on halfway, Gold Coast had the feed and I found myself standing opposite an icon, a man who defined State of Origin, a true living legend, the King Wally Lewis.

It was weird. I seriously paused and for a quick second took it in. Wally’s strength of character and aura was enormous as he barked orders to the men around him.

In modern day Rugby League one-on-one match-ups aren’t as prevalent as made out, because of the way players move around the field and the pace of the contest; yet the five-eighth position still lends itself to a contest against your opposite number, as each scrum puts you face to face. Here I was, up against a man my grandfather described as God. As a Roman Catholic that’s a tough situation to be put in.

My preparation had been less than ideal: a pie and sauce and a can of Solo—light on the fizz, so you can slam it down fast. And slam it down I had. So fast in fact that I was in desperate need of a crap. In my dreams, I thought this moment would be different! I could see the headlines: ‘Rookie faces King Wally and literally shits himself!’

Luckily for me, Wally got the ball from the scrum and pushed it out wide with one of his trademark spiralling cut-out passes. I glanced at the clock and with three minutes to go it seemed as though we’d hold off the Gold Coast late surge and grab the win.

Then with less than two minutes remaining came my brush with true genius. On the last tackle and 35 metres out from our tryline Wally received the ball and shaped to kick. Two of our players raced out of the line to pressure the legendary number six. Wally instinctively stepped inside one and threw a dummy to ward off the other. He then ran in my direction. I had defenders all around me and felt secure.

Using his great vision he spotted an opening about five metres to my right, peeled off in that direction and pierced through. With the contest being defined by this play our defenders scrambled towards Wally in sheer desperation. He disposed of them one by one—a fend, a step, brute force—and with the line only 10 metres away, he accelerated around our fullback and sustained his run to outlast our winger, who could only grab a leg as Wally slammed the ball down to claim victory.

The great American writer Norman Mailer, who was an enormous fight fan, spoke about the many boxers who, in preparation to fight Mohammed Ali, would come to him and borrow tapes of the champion to try to scrutinise and analyse a means to victory.

Mailer said they all had one thing in common. When asked their thoughts of Ali after the bout, they said that by looking at the tapes they already knew he was fast, but they were shocked when they got into the ring at exactly how fast he was.

Yes, I was surprised by Wally’s speed, but it goes deeper than that. After all the stories I’d heard about Wally, from his former team-mates, opponents, experts, my grandfather, I knew he was good. But…until I stood opposite the man I didn’t know how good! The legend of King Wally was no lie.

RICKY STUART

Sometimes in Rugby League, when great players retire and go into other occupations—even coaching—people tend to forget how great a player that someone was. Because Ricky Stuart has made such a successful transformation into being a coach, when you think of him these days you picture a stressed-out coach sitting nervously on the bench or in the stands. You think of Ricky clawing at his tie desperately, or hurling his face into his hands with exasperation or anxiety. You think of Ricky slouching forwards at media conferences, choosing his words very carefully, whether it be to disguise real hurt in defeat or to avoid a gloating demeanour in victory.

But let’s forget about Ricky the coach for now and focus on him as a player, and my God, what a great player Ricky Stuart was.

Playing against the Canberra Raiders during the early to mid-’90s was, for me and my Newcastle Knights, a painful experience. They were a fantastic side—a truly brilliant side—who could hurt you with their attacking genius, or inflict pain with unmerciful aggression. Belcher, Mullins, Nandruku, Meninga, Daley, Clyde, Walters, Lomax, Pongia, Lazarus and Furner, and so on and so on. But the man who tied it all together was Ricky Stuart.

Playing against Ricky in ’93 and ’94 gave me a serious inferiority complex. His skill, control, confidence and constant chatter throughout the contest had me staring at the bedroom ceiling in the wee hours of the morning on many occasions, unsure whether or not, if Ricky and his men were the benchmark, I was ever going to be up to it.

In my opinion, in the years ’93, ’94 and ’95, Ricky was by far the most influential player in the competition. Take 1993 for example: the Raiders were flying along and red-hot favourites for the title, until Ricky went in to assist in an innocent-looking tackle at Bruce Stadium—as it was then known—and came out of it with a horrific leg injury. The Raiders hit the wall big time, and never looked a threat after that. Ricky got up to accept the Rothmans Medal a few weeks later on crutches, his downcast, modest speech highlighting the bittersweet nature of the award.

In 1994, we played Canberra in front of a full house at Newcastle and were feeling confident. What followed was the single biggest footballing lesson I had ever been taught. The game will be remembered because of Brett Mullins’ four-try effort, two of which were full-field classics. But all I remember is watching in awe as Ricky controlled and mastered every facet of the game. He’d shape to pass long and suddenly pass short, he’d look one way, and chip-kick another, he’d look to kick and flick a little inside pass instead. In defence, he was also an immense presence, as he talked his men into position and predicted absolutely everything myself and Andrew were about to do.

The score ended up 52–18 to Canberra, but it was no indication of the match…they should have won by 80.

SETTING NEW STANDARDS

Ricky did absolutely everything during his playing career: grand final wins, Clive Churchill Medals, Origin series wins, and of course Kangaroo tours. Who could forget the try he set up in the final seconds at Elland Road, Leeds in 1990, which saved Australia’s skin?

But I believe Ricky’s greatest legacy will be how he set new standards in many facets of the game:

His passing: In my opinion Ricky was the first Rugby League player we saw who could consistently throw a 25-metre torpedo pass on both sides. People were simply blown away by his passing. These days, any young half worth his salt can perform the skill, but Ricky set the standard and raised the bar.

His kicking: 60 to 65-metre torpedo punts like they were being shot out of a cannon were part and parcel of Ricky’s game. It was incredibly frustrating. You’d put in a great defensive set against the Raiders, only to see Stuart drive the ball 65 metres over your heads and immediately put you under pressure. His kicking game was one of the major cornerstones of Tim Sheens’ great Green Machine teams. Again, Ricky raised the bar and others followed.

His bombs: I remember, as a young player in 1991, going out the back of the Sydney Football Stadium to watch the Raiders warm up before their semi-final against the Broncos. The thing that amazed me the most was how easy and consistent Ricky was, reeling off these monstrous torpedo bombs, which swung and swirled and had the Australian fullback, Gary Belcher, clutching at thin air. The bomb was nothing new: Ricky’s torpedo bombs were.

In athletics, men strove to break the four-minute mile, but until 1954 found it impossible. Once Roger Bannister achieved the feat, many followed. The same can be said for Ricky, in terms of skills in Rugby League.

AWKWARD BEGINNINGS

The first time I met Ricky was when I was selected for the Country Origin team in 1994. As any young player will tell you, walking into a camp full of internationals, stars and some of your heroes is one of the most nerve-wracking things a young player can go through. I wasn’t so much nervous as petrified.

Fair play to ‘Sticky’, he noticed my pain and strolled over, introduced himself and we set about having an awkward meandering chat. Things were coming to dead end after dead end until he sparked up, remembering we may have something remotely in common.

‘Matty, a good mate of mine is going out with a nice young girl from Newcastle,’ Ricky said.

‘That’s nice,’ I answered, like a public schoolboy in the principal’s office who’s sweating bullets awaiting a capital-style punishment.

‘Yeah, yeah…blonde girl, short hair, good style of a girl,’ the Raiders legend continued.

‘What’s her name?’ I replied, coming out of my shell.

‘Um, um, it’s——[to protect the poor girl from embarrassment and me a lawsuit]. Do you know her?’ asked Rick.

‘Know her? That’s my bloody brother’s girlfriend!’ I exclaimed.

INTO COACHING

After a stint playing with the Dogs, Ricky entered the coaching ranks looking after their Jersey Flegg team which went on to win the title. From there he was courted by the Sydney Roosters to take over their first grade side in 2002: a big club, with very big expectations.

About a month before the season began I met up with Ricky with our families at our manager John Fordham’s house. I could tell Ricky was apprehensive about the upcoming campaign. First grade coaching, particularly at a club like the Roosters, is a cut-throat business, and like everything Ricky had ever done, he wanted success badly. So I guess you could say he had all kinds of pressure, none more than the pressure he was exerting upon himself.

Of course, Ricky proved a huge success, with the Roosters winning their first title for 27 years. Under the 10 metre rule, they set new standards in defensive ruthlessness, playing the most physical style seen since Warren Ryan’s Dogs of War at Canterbury during the ’80s.

What people forget is that in that premiership-winning year, the Roosters kick-started their season after winning only one game in the first five. It’s fair to say it was a bad-enough start to crush a young coach’s confidence, and yet he recovered—to the extent of winning the title.

Playing against Ricky’s 2002 Roosters while I was at the Sharks gave me an appreciation of the great job he’d done. We’d met them mid-year and defeated the red, white and blues quite well; in fact, I felt we had their measure when summing up who were the sides to beat in the run to the title.

However, when we met them at the back end of the year they were a totally different side. They were tough, physical, ruthless and extremely fit as well. They deserved their premiership. While others faded, they lifted and found an extra gear, no doubt a by-product of their coach’s ambition.

After some years in the doldrums, the Sharks are now recognised as a serious threat in the competition. Under Ricky’s guidance they are one of the most difficult teams for sides to play against. They compete hard in Stuart style and are very aggressive in defence. Players such as Greg Bird and Paul Gallen have thrived under Stuart’s coaching and are now established rep stars.

At the time of writing this, Ricky Stuart has the Sharks in a great position to gain their first title in 2008. How quickly he’s lifted Cronulla to heavyweight status is testament to his drive and determination.

BRAD FITTLER

I’ve heard basketball historians talk about the influence that Magic Johnson had on the NBA when he burst onto the scene with his fancy flicks, no-look passes and dynamic around the body assist. They say that in an era when the likes of Wilt Chamberlain were almost gluttonous in their desire to score points, Magic made it cool to pass the ball.

When Brad Fittler exploded onto the Rugby League scene as a 17-year-old superstar he, like Magic Johnson, influenced a generation in his sport. But with Fittler it wasn’t about fancy passing, it was about developing a brutal sidestep that would leave defenders clutching thin air.

Yes, just like when Benji Marshall lifted the NRL trophy in 2005 I would see kids in every park aping his explosive double foot sidestep, during the late-’80s everybody was mesmerised by Fittler’s famous left foot and wanted their own.

Playing junior football in Newcastle during the mid to late-’80s I started hearing stories about this Panthers kid who no-one could lay a hand on. A school mate who had opposed Fittler at a schoolboy carnival one year came back and confirmed that all the stories about the Penrith prodigy were, indeed, true. ‘Mate, he’s got this sidestep—you know it’s coming, but he winds it up and bang, he’s gone. He’s untouchable.’

My first glimpse of Brad Fittler came in 1989. It was at Marathon Stadium (now EnergyAustralia Stadium) and the Knights were playing the Balmain Tigers in a match which drew almost 30,000 people. The reserve grade kicked off early on this day because League officials had decided to elevate the Australian Schoolboys versus Great Britain Schoolboys game as the curtain raiser to first grade.

My father Gary always insisted on watching Rugby League from behind the goalposts. He believed it was the best vantage point when looking to dissect and analyse how a game was going.

As we took our usual seats behind the sticks I had a quick look through the names of the respective Schoolboys teams. Looking back, there were some big names in both. For Australia, Jason Taylor, Jason Death and Julian O’Neill, to name a few. For Great Britain, two names stood out: a 17 year old who had just played for St Helens in the Challenge Cup Final named Gary Connolly and a super talent also tasting first grade at St Helens that year named Allan Hunt. Connolly went on to become an enormous name in Rugby League in England, earning many caps as well as a hugely successful stint with the Canterbury Bulldogs. Hunt, whilst representing Great Britain many times, had moments of brilliance, but never reached Gary’s heights. Hunt was also a successful county cricketer. This Great Britain Schoolboys side earned the reputation as the best to have ever left their shores.

But what caught my attention and drew me to the match was the name I’d heard so much about—Brad Fittler. For the first five minutes, with both sides slugging it out through the middle, neither giving an inch, my father and I waited in anticipation for the number six, Brad Fittler, to get his hands on the ball. When he did, it left no-one in the stadium in any doubt they were watching a superstar in the making.

Jason Taylor had thrown the ball two passes wide to Fittler and with defenders seemingly all around him he sliced through with two trademark left-footed sidesteps, which not only bamboozled the young Englishmen, but showed the gulf in class between the Aussie number six and any other footballer on the field.

Don’t forget that on that day Fittler was with and against a large number of players who would go on to become big names in the sport; however, it was clearly evident that Brad Fittler was not a future star, he was a star right then, and about to be given the licence to explode at the highest level.

His elevation to first grade was rapid, as only a few weeks later Penrith coach Ron Willey would inject Fittler into the match against Wests