Defying the Enemy Within

by Joe Williams

  Playing high-level rugby league at such a young age sometimes proved difficult. I was exposed to drinking among the older players in my teams, started experimenting with alcohol and began hanging out with the wrong crowd. We’d train hard during the week, then party hard after the games. Next thing I’d be at a school-age party, where I’d sneak in alcohol as if I was still hanging around adults.

  Australian Schoolboys team. I am between Greg Bird and Trevor Thurling, who would both go on to have sucessful NRL careers. This was clearly before I understood the meaning of the Australian national anthem.

  There were times I’d tell Mum and Dad I was staying at a friend’s house and instead walk the streets until the early hours of the morning, drinking and getting up to no good around the local neighbourhood.

  I began to live a double life at school and around the community. I had a good reputation around town and within the school. I was trusted to go into the school canteen, pay and serve myself lunch. But there were times I took a little ‘too much change’ to buy alcohol on the weekend. I still feel deep remorse for the way I acted on countless occasions during those days. Looking back, I often wonder if my time playing higher-grade rugby league for Wagga back then was the catalyst for some of the addiction problems I faced later.

  There was even a point where I got into sniffing petrol. I remember one afternoon I chose to stay home while Mum and Dad went to visit some cousins at their house. As soon as they left, I wandered out to the shed and buried my head deep in the lawnmower petrol can. I wasn’t to know that Mum and Dad had decided to come home early, and when I heard them pulling into the driveway, I shot out of the shed, trying to look innocent. As it turned out, Dad had actually come back to get that exact petrol can. As he walked into the shed, he asked me if I’d been doing anything silly because of the strong smell of petrol. With my heart racing and my head clouded from petrol fumes, I denied I’d been doing anything wrong and told him the smell of petrol in the air was because I’d been thinking of starting some fires. That reply was even sillier than admitting to what I’d been doing.

  What Dad said to me in response to my lie sank in more than any physical punishment. ‘Joe,’ he said, ‘you have a decision right now about which road you decide to take in life. You can head down the path of destruction, drinking alcohol and taking drugs and other silly things — which we’ve seen many cousins and family friends do — or you can change your behaviour and chase your dreams of becoming a professional footballer.’

  He then put his hand on my shoulder and asked me to look him in the eye. ‘We’ll support you as much as we can, but only you can decide how much you really want that dream.’

  Dad’s words rang home loud and clear, and I never went near a petrol can again. It was also around this time that I started to distance myself from the group of friends I’d been delving into negative behaviours with.

  Despite all these difficulties, I always seemed to find a way to produce a big game when the team needed it the most, and we won most of our games.

  Dad’s words rang home loud and clear, and I never went near a petrol can again.

  Looking back, I consider myself very lucky to have played in a grand final in almost every junior grade, often in teams laced with cousins and good friends.

  My love for and commitment to rugby league was paying off. It looked like I had a bright future in the game, if I wanted it.

  4

  BLATANT RACISM

  Until I started high school I only went to public schools, where I had lots of Aboriginal friends to hang out with. St Mick’s had a hugely different demographic when it came to financial stability, and it was at St Mick’s that I first experienced blatant racial discrimination.

  During a schoolyard competition of basketball and touch footy, I was openly called ‘a black c**t’, ‘a coon’ and ‘a nigger’, among many other discriminatory remarks. At first, I tried my best to brush it off, but being the only boy there identifying as Aboriginal, I knew I had to put a stop to it pretty fast. My parents had always told me to stand my ground when it came to bullying and most definitely racism.

  One day I got into an argument with two guys when one of their friends started to verbal me. This guy had been one of the few who’d been racially abusing me, and quite frankly I was sick of it.

  The old man had always said to me: ‘If you look like getting into a fight, make sure you let the first

  My parents had always told me to stand my ground when it came to bullying and most definitely racism.

  one go. Don’t run the risk of being sat on your backside first.’ So after a quick glance around for any teachers, I let this guy have three or four in the mouth. The scrap didn’t last long — someone pulled me off the kid, who was down on the ground.

  I was taken to the principal’s office, and my parents were called. Staunch as ever, Mum supported me strongly because she knew I had been the victim of racism. The other kid ended up needing surgery on his mouth, and I got into a fair bit of trouble. I learned I was okay in a scrap, but I also learned that violence was not the answer when trying to sort out a disagreement.

  A few days later, both sets of parents were called into the school because the other kid’s father was demanding we pay the medical bills. He was sitting next to Mum in the office, and they got to talking. Mum is a fair-skinned woman, and the kid’s dad mustn’t have realised I was her son. ‘I’ll kill the little black bastard when I get my hands on him,’ he said.

  Needless to say, Mum let him have a fair share of her mind. She also let the school principal know that racism can have a big impact physically and emotionally on an Aboriginal child’s life and needed to be dealt with. In the end, I was given two days’ inter-school suspension. From then on, the other guy and his crew didn’t come at me with racial remarks.

  After that, Dad really hammered home the importance of not letting it affect me emotionally.

  ‘So what should I do or say when somebody calls me a racist name?’ I’d ask him.

  ‘Son, if someone calls you a black c**t,’ Dad would say, ‘well, you are black, so they are half telling the truth. So you tell them, last time you checked in the mirror you were black.’

  He was right: ‘black’ isn’t an insult. I am coloured, and I’d be disappointed if people suggested otherwise.

  With Mum at my Year 10 school formal (bleached hair was big at the time).

  Dad also told me to always stand my ground and never let racially vilifying words stop me from becoming the best person and the best leader for our people that I can be. If I let racial abuse weigh me down, he said, then the perpetrator won. If I didn’t give the abuse energy, then I won instead.

  But I did sometimes feel I was unfairly victimised during my junior rugby league days. I remember when I was playing Under 13s being physically shoved by the opposing coach, then being suspended for swearing in retaliation. I also received a six-week suspension for grabbing an opposing player by the collar and slinging him to the ground. It was an aggressive tackle, but the punishment was greater than the crime.

  In my early teens, I became so discouraged by some of the treatment I received playing league that I almost switched to AFL. I did play a few seasons

  Racism can have a big impact physically and emotionally on an Aboriginal child’s life and it needed to be dealt with.

  of AFL in the local Wagga competition because it was played on Sundays and rugby league was on Saturdays. Even though I was always drawn back to league, AFL helped me a lot with my general kicking ability.

  Despite those early experiences of racism, I loved my time at St Mick’s and met lots of friends from many different walks of life. I also formed friendships with some of teachers at St Mick’s that have carried through into my adult years. When I later became an Aboriginal Education Worker, I worked with as many as a dozen of my former teachers from my St Mick’s days.

  After finishing Year 10 at St Mick’s, I went to Trinity Senior College in Wagga for Year 11. Then
, just after I turned seventeen, the time came for me to take the next step of my rugby league career and move to Sydney to start training with the Roosters. Arthur Beetson told Mum and Dad he was happy for me to live with him and his partner Anne and son Mark, and the Roosters organised a scholarship for me to go to Marcellin College in Randwick.

  5

  FROM THE BUSH TO THE BRIGHT LIGHTS

  Moving to Sydney to chase my dream in the NRL was a fantastic opportunity, and spending my first two years in the big city under Arthur Beetson’s roof gave me a lifetime of memories and was an experience I am truly grateful for. It was incredible to have the opportunity to live with and be coached by Beetso, and I knew I had to take in as much of his knowledge as I could. But those years also provided me with some of the biggest and toughest life lessons I’ve ever learned.

  I’d originally planned to finish Year 12 in one year, but it was difficult to combine studying and trying to carve out an NRL career. So I elected to study for my HSC over two years through the Pathways Program.

  During the 2002 pre-season, I got my first taste of mixing with the squad as a full-time player. I was expected to train with the team either on the field or in the weights room two or three times a day, five days a week. It was essential to get to training on time, but one day I was running late to a mid-morning session because I’d had to stay at Marcellin a bit later than usual for school photos.

  I raced to training, knowing I’d get in trouble from coach Ricky Stuart for being late. Sure enough, being the tough coach he was, Ricky started ripping into me for not being on time.

  When I told him I was late because I had my school photos, he and all the players burst out laughing. For the next few weeks, it became the running joke as an excuse for being late.

  I learned so much during that off-season and impressed the coaching staff enough to be chosen in the top squad for the trial period. Having just turned eighteen, it was a pretty big thrill for a kid from the bush to be training and hanging out with first-grade players, some of whom were in the New South Wales and Australian teams. It was amazing to play in two trial first-grade NRL games at halfback inside Brad ‘Freddy’ Fittler, one of the greatest five-eighths of all time.

  One day I still remember distinctly, I was playing with the first-grade Roosters team in a trial match against the Brisbane Broncos. As a halfback, one of my main jobs was to steer the team around the park, call the team plays and put us in the right positions on the field. As a young rookie halfback, it was a dream having Brad Fittler running outside me.

  During this particular game against the Broncos, Freddy called out a direction to the team, and without thinking I screamed out an opposing directional call.

  Freddy looked at me like, who’s this kid telling me, ‘No, we’re taking a different direction?’

  I froze in shock, having just gone against the orders of one of my childhood idols and the captain of the team.

  To my surprise, Freddy called out: ‘You heard Joey, that’s what we’re doing.’ In saying those words, he acknowledged that directing the team around the field was my job, and he respected my call.

  Speaking to him many years later, I asked him what he’d thought in that moment. He said he thought I might be feeling a little shy because I was playing with more senior players, so he jumped in to take over. As soon as he realised I knew it was my job to direct things and I wasn’t shy about doing so, he respected that. We have seen each other over the years at various events, and I still greatly admire him.

  I didn’t make my NRL debut that year because the coaching staff wanted me to gain a little more experience playing in the Roosters’ Under 20s NRL Jersey Flegg side. Looking back, although I felt like I was ready, I definitely needed the time and experience under my belt to become a more complete player and the sort of on-field leader a halfback needs to be.

  At the time, though, it was disappointing to go from playing with the first-grade team one week to training with guys who were pretty much hoping to get a spot so they’d be contracted. This showed me the importance of humility, and was a reminder that I shouldn’t get ahead of myself.

  It was after I was put back to the Under 20s that I first noticed the negative voices in my mind rearing their ugly head, telling me I didn’t deserve to be in Sydney at all given I wasn’t playing first grade, and that I should just pack up and head back to the bush, because I was worthless.

  Back then there wasn’t as much emphasis on the psychology of professional athletes and the pressures that came with playing elite sport. There were days when training staff were almost like drill sergeants from the army. Sometimes they screamed at players and humiliated and even degraded players in front of other members of the team. Occasionally they would even bring the racial identity of a player into the abuse. It may be that they believed this was the way to make the players mentally stronger, and that if you weren’t mentally strong you should just give up playing rugby league. For me and many others, that approach of ridicule, embarrassment and tough love didn’t work. In fact, it had the opposite impact of sending my self-esteem lower and lower.

  After a while, I started to hear voices in my mind telling me I wasn’t good enough and didn’t deserve to be playing in first grade. These voices got more constant, to the point I started to think I didn’t deserve to be alive.

  I would catch myself shaking my head or nodding even though no-one else was around, but I wasn’t having a conversation with someone else — it was all in my own head. Sometimes the chatter would be positive on the rugby league field, when the voices ran through the plays before I did them. But the negative thoughts were a different story altogether. They’d often spiral out of control, to the point where I felt like I was witnessing an argument taking place

  After a while, I started to hear voices in my mind telling me I wasn’t good enough and didn’t deserve to be playing in first grade.

  between two separate people; the negative Joe and the positive Joe. The head noise and voices impacted on my mental wellbeing so severely that it started to affect me physically.

  Things grew worse, as the voices wreaked havoc on my ability to think. I started second-guessing every decision I made both on and off the field. The voices became so vivid and loud in my head, it was like I was hearing actual voices. After a while, I became so anxious and down that I’d get to the point where I’d convinced myself I was worthless, a failure.

  The combination of those negative voices with training staff telling me I was weak if I hadn’t made a certain time in a run, or that I didn’t deserve to be at that level if I didn’t try harder, began to feel overwhelming.

  I’m not sure if it still happens but, back then, if you didn’t achieve what you were asked to do, you

  I’d convince myself I would be dropped from the squad because of the negatives in my game.

  were sometimes banished from the team — until you showed you deserved to be included. I remember one of the coaching staff blasting and ridiculing me in front of the team at halftime during a game because I was wearing white football boots rather than black. He ranted and raved at me, saying I had a poor attitude, among other things, and to take the boots off and throw them away. Fast forward five years and players were wearing white, bright orange and even pink boots.

  Even on the days I didn’t put a foot wrong on the footy field or won player of the match, I’d convince myself I would be dropped from the squad because of the negatives in my game. I would be scared to go to training because I dreaded the coach saying I wouldn’t be in the team the following week. These negative thought processes continued for the majority of the year, getting so bad I often had to force myself to turn up to training because I’d convinced myself I didn’t belong there.

  Kicking the winning field goal for the roosters in the Jersey Flegg Grand Final. One of my close mates, Josh Cale, is watching on. We knew it was going over as soon as it left the boot. We joke that I stole his thunder by taking his shot at goal.

 
; The only way I knew how to combat these constant thoughts, turn down the voices and deaden the pain I felt was to drink as much alcohol as I possibly could. And although on the field it looked like things were okay, I was battling behind closed doors.

  Despite the negative voices and drinking, I managed to stay on track with my footy, even captaining the Under 20s Roosters team. They were a great bunch of guys and good players, and we ended up having a fantastic season and making it through to the grand final. On the day of the grand final, I kicked three goals, had two try assists and kicked the winning field goal. After our first-grade team also won their grand final, we had one hell of a party that went on for a few days.

  6

  THE TOP GRADE

  During the 2003 season, I was really battling emotionally, suffering from homesickness and looking for comfort at the bottom of a bottle. I started partying more and drinking even more heavily, which I now realise was a bandaid solution for my mental battles. Instead of concentrating on playing well, I was busy worrying about what drinking and late-night partying the crew had planned for after the game.

  It all began to take its toll physically and mentally. At the same time, I found I was clashing with some of the coaching staff. I began to lose interest in what I was doing and was no longer happy at the Roosters. I became desperate for a change. As a result, I decided to finish up at the Roosters at the end of the season and move to the South Sydney Rabbitohs.