Brendan Fevola - Fev: In the Moment. by Brendan Fevola with Adam McNicol

Published in 2012 by Hardie Grant Books

Hardie Grant Books (Australia)
Ground Floor, Building 1
658 Church Street
Richmond, Victoria 3121
www.hardiegrant.com.au

Hardie Grant Books (UK)
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3435 Southampton Street
London WC2E 7HF
www.hardiegrant.co.uk

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers and copyright holders.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Copyright Brendan Fevola 2012
A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the catalogue of the National Library of Australia at www.nla.gov.au
eISBN: 9781742738475

Cover and text design by Peter Daniel
Cover image by James Braund

To my beautiful girls, Alex, Mia, Leni and Lulu;
you are my world and the reason that I live every day.

CONTENTS

I was on a blue bus crammed full of crazy people, going over the Story Bridge in the middle of Brisbane, when the true extent of my fall from grace hit home. It was 12 January 2011. A little over a week earlier, I had been admitted to the New Farm Clinic, a hospital for people with mental problems that I soon began referring to as The Nuthouse. I was to undergo rehabilitation for a range of problems, including depression, alcohol abuse and a gambling addiction. The other patients were mostly being treated for mental conditions such as schizophrenia, bipolar disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder. We were all on the blue bus because the clinic, and much of Brisbane for that matter, had been inundated by the worst flooding to hit south-east Queensland in three decades. As a result, we were being transferred to the Greenslopes Private Hospital, located on higher ground on the northern side of the swollen Brisbane River.

As we crossed the landmark bridge, the people sitting in the seats around me kept up their gibberish. I felt like I was in a ridiculous dream or a scene in a horror movie. I was one of the highest-paid stars of the most popular football competition in Australia, but I was being driven through the streets of Brisbane with a bunch of mentally ill people. Completely freaked out, I rang Dad. What am I doing on this fucking bus? I slurred to him. Dad tried to have a rational conversation with me, but I was on such strong medication that nothing I said made sense. When we arrived at Greenslopes, my mind was all over the place. Where am I? I thought to myself. Why am I not at footy training? Then, when I remembered what had happened, I thought, Whats Vossy going to think about me being locked up in a nuthouse?

Only nine months had passed since I had made a triumphant debut with my new club, the Brisbane Lions. Their coach, Michael Voss, had copped plenty of grief for recruiting me from Carlton and signing me to a multimillion-dollar contract. Many people thought he was crazy because I had a history of off-field problems, the most public of whichan embarrassing drunken performance on Channel 9s The Footy Showhad ended my eleven-year stint at the Blues. The nay-sayers had quickly changed their tune after I helped the Lions open the 2010 AFL season with four straight wins, which propelled them to the top of the ladder. Now, however, all that goodwill was gone. I had thrown it away by making some terrible decisions, many of them while affected by alcohol. I was knee-deep in gambling debt. I felt friendless.

* * *

The lead-up to being admitted to the New Farm Clinic had been a nightmarish blur. My wife, Alex, and our three children, Mia, Leni and Lulu, had moved with me to Brisbane when I was traded to the Lions in October 2009, but they returned to Victoria the following April after my relationship with Alex broke down. I really missed Alex and the kids while I was in Brisbane, and at the end of 2010 Id gone to Melbourne to celebrate Christmas with them. Given all wed been through, it was a miracle that Alex allowed me to see her and the kids at all. But she felt that our children needed to have both of their parents playing an active role in their lives.

I still considered Alex to be my best friend. She had been such a great support through all the highs and lows of my footy career, and she was so wise and level-headed when it came to things like sharing our time with the kids.

A few days after Christmas, I went to visit Alex and the kids down at Blairgowrie on the Mornington Peninsula, where they were staying in a friends holiday house. At some point, Alex asked me to mind Lulu for a couple of minutesour ten-month-old was sitting on a bedand went off to heat up a bottle of milk. I sat down and immediately started to feel woozy. I had made the mistake of mixing alcohol with the powerful mixture of drugs that I was taking to combat attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, which I had been diagnosed with earlier that year. Soon, I was asleep. By the time Alex came back, Lulu had rolled off the bed and was on the floor, crying. Alex erupted, screaming at me that I was a disgrace. It was no wonder. She couldnt even trust me with the kids anymore. Alex packed up the kids stuff and loaded them into the car. She offered to drive me back to Melbourne, but I just grabbed my bag and caught a bus to the nearest train station, and then took a train back to Alexs house. During the trip, people were looking at me, probably thinking, What on earth is Fev doing on public transport? I just stared at the floor.

I walked through the front door of Alexs house to find that no-one was home. I was feeling angry, embarrassed, ashamed and depressed. I felt like giving up on life right there and then. I grabbed a bottle of wine from her fridge and within fifteen minutes it was empty. I opened another bottle, drank it, then went for another one. Alex eventually arrived, but she quickly realised what a bad state I was in and took the kids to her sisters place.

The alcohol, my embarrassment and the drugs were a toxic mix. The more I drank, the worse I felt, but I kept drinking anyway. I was falling off a cliff. How was I ever going to pay off my debts? How was I ever going to reconcile with my family? Killing myself seemed the only answer. I started crying.

Without really thinking, I rang the Brisbane Lions new football manager, Dean Warren. I hardly knew the bloke, as he had only been at the Lions for a couple of months, but I found myself pouring my heart out to him. Im in trouble mate, and I need help, I told him. Dean tried his best to help me. He promised he would ring me back the next morning and try to sort something out. Meanwhile, Alex had let Mum know that I was in a bad way. She came over and found me passed out on the floor, which was very traumatic for her. No mother should ever have to find their child in that type of situation. It wasnt fair on her; I was being very stupid and immature.

When Dean rang me in the morning, I was in a terrible state. I had the worst hangover in history, but it wasnt just the alcohol that made me feel so bad. My mind had melted down. Everything I thought about made me fearful. When was I going to see my kids again? Was my marriage really over this time? Dean handled the phone call with empathy and class. He and the rest of the Lions football department wanted me to go to a rehabilitation centre so I could resolve my problems and get back to being a footy star. Whos going to pay? I asked Dean. He told me not to worry and then explained that the AFL and the Players Association made money available to deal with such circumstances. After a couple of calls back and forth, it was agreed that I would be admitted to the New Farm Clinic on 3 January.