Johnathan Thurston - Johnathan Thurston

This book is for Samantha Thurston;

you made me a better person.

You have given me my world.

Edge a little closer friends cos this is what it means

When you rise up from the ashes and lifes beauty intervenes

Humility speaks volumes when a champion stands tall

Never let them tell you that youre just a bit too small

And, in handing out his headgear, so the fable lifts him higher

Cos in every heart that feels his pride, it lights another fire

For his club, his state, his country for his people, just the same

The one who always tried his best Hey tell me that kids name!

It is written in the dreaming now for all the world to see

And forever to remember... the remarkable JT

Rupert McCall

CONTENTS

NRL

323 Games (29 Bulldogs, 294 Cowboys)

178 Wins (20 Bulldogs, 158 Cowboys)

90 Tries (10 Bulldogs, 80 Cowboys)

923 Goals (third-most all-time)

2222 Points (third-most all-time)

Premierships (Bulldogs 2004, Cowboys 2015)

The Deadlys Indigenous NRL Player of the Year Award

(2006, 2007, 2009, 2011, 2013)

Preston Campbell Medal (2010, 2017)

RLPA Players Champion Award (2005, 2013, 2014, 2015)

Arthur Beetson Medal (2017)

Provan-Summons Medal (2014, 2015)

Clive Churchill Medal (2015)

Dally M Medal (2005, 2007, 2014, 2015)

STATE OF ORIGIN

37 Games (24 wins, 5 tries)

99 Goals (most all-time)

220 Points (most all-time)

Wally Lewis Medal (2008)

Peter Jackson Memorial Trophy (2012, 2017)

WORLD CLUB CHALLENGE

Graham Murray Medal (2016)

TESTS

38 Games (35 wins, 13 tries)

165 Goals (most for Australia)

382 Points (most for Australia)

Harry Sunderland Medal (2013)

GOLDEN BOOT AWARD FOR BEST PLAYER IN THE WORLD

(2011, 2013, 2015)

HUMANITARIAN AWARDS

Ken Stephen Medal (2012)

Honorary Doctorate of Letters, James Cook University (2015)

Australian Human Rights Commission Medal (2017)

Queensland Australian of the Year (2018)

MY LEGS WERE JELLY. GONE. I could barely walk. Take your time. You need to get your legs back. The crowd roared. The screams were deafening. Compose yourself. Block it all out. Easier said than done.

I cant remember who gave me the ball, but there it was in my hands. Now it was just me and a ball. A kicking tee and the goalposts.

The siren had sounded and it was all on me. I was one kick away from delivering the Cowboys a fairytale title: the NRL premiership I had been brought to North Queensland to win. It was a moment 10 years in the making. I was also one miss away from going on suicide watch.

The gravity of the moment hit me.

Block it out.

I looked into the crowd. I scanned the heaving mass of colour, attempting to find faces amid the flags, banners and pumping fists. Not just faces, but two very familiar ones: those of my partner and my daughter.

OK... Where are you, Sam? Where are you, Frankie? I need you now.

I needed to see them. Their eyes would calm me. Their smiles would ground me. And their love would take away the enormity of what I faced.

Soon the noise was gone. I was alone in the stadium. Just a kid and his ball. But I still couldnt feel my legs.

I cant do this. I am spent.

I needed to take my time. I needed the blood to return to my limbs. I had never been this buggered. Legs filled with lead, hips bruised and beaten. So I looked back into the crowd, searched for those familiar faces. And slowly my legs came back. I was good to go.

Lets do this.

I looked at the posts, the towering white sticks growing from the hallowed turf of ANZ Stadium. I did the calculations in my head.

Distance? Check. Angle? Check. Hook? Check. Wind? Check.

I placed the ball on the mark and began steeling myself. It was all up to me. This was the biggest moment in my career. The day I had dreamed about since I was four. Siren sounded, game on the line, ball in my hands.

Was I a champion or a chump?

Shut up. Block it out.

I had to get rid of those thoughts. I had to tell myself it was just another kick. I had to block out everything and get on with it. Again I looked for Sam. Scanned the crowd for Frankie.

Suddenly I couldnt hear a thing. The crowd was gone and so was the head noise. Silence. I was just taking a kick for goal. A kid in a park doing that thing he loves.

I got down on my knees and placed the ball. I was a metre away from the sideline, and 21 metres out from the try line. I hadnt taken the ball back as far as I normally would because there was such a strong breeze swirling in the sold-out stadium that night. The wind was going to hold up my hook. Yeah... that hook.

I usually go back 24 metres when I am that close to the sideline. Taking the ball back that far allows for the amount of hook I put on the ball. It gives the footy time to curl back and, hopefully, go straight over the black dot. But for this kick, the biggest kick of my career, I only went back 21 metres.

So there I was, tee placed, ball aimed towards the target, a study of concentration and steely nerve.

Na, JT, said the referee. Out there. The try was scored further out. Come on, mate...

Shit.

I was rattled. Oh, I said. Sweet.

Fifty centimetres? Are you serious? Jeez.

Stunned but silent, I picked the ball up and placed it on the mark the referee was pointing at. It was almost the greatest mistake of my life. Instead of moving the ball across and then back, which would allow that little extra for my hook, I simply moved it across.

Anyway...

I went about clearing my head as I placed the tee on the ground. I was looking through the posts to find my new mark when my concentration was suddenly shattered.

JT, shouted a voice, a very familiar voice. You want 500 bucks, old mate?

I turned and Allan Langer (Alfie) was smiling. The Broncos legend turned Broncos trainer stood behind me, water bottle in hand, grin slapped across his face.

Well, miss it and its yours.

Now I was laughing, at least inside. Bloody Alfie.

I looked back at the ball and cleared my head. Again. Then I stood up, the breeze at my back and took five steps back.

I checked my mark. My aim was true. I then looked down at the ball. I was going to come over the top of it a little bit more than usual to keep it lower and out of the breeze.

I wiggled my toes as I stared at the ball. My legs had finally returned to me. I imagined the feeling of the ball hitting my foot. I felt good. I was set. I took another little look at my mark behind the posts: I was smack bang on target. I pulled up my socks and went back in to address the ball.

You got this.

Now it was just me, the ball and the posts. I could hear nothing and I felt nothing. I took my final steps to get into my kicking position: five back, two left, and another back.

There were no nerves, no fear and no hesitation. I imagined the kick in my head. In my mind, I moved in and nailed the footy, sent it sailing between the posts.

Now to do it for real. I moved in, taking another step back and another across before beginning my march, and I launched my foot into the ball.

Whack!

I hit it sweet. Exactly where I wanted. Time seemed to stop as I watched the ball. It was heading towards its target, beginning wide as planned and now coming back.