In the second half of 2001, I was living in New London, Connecticut. Poncing around town as the artist-in-residence at the Griffis Art Center, I painted baseball (Yankees v Red Sox) rather than rugby league but, thanks to the new-fangled internet, I was able to log-on and keep abreast of what was happening in the NRL.
The mighty Rabbitohs had been ditched from the competition by media bullies who knew the price of everything but the value of nothing so, without a team to obsess over, I threw my support behind whoever was playing Easts or the Broncos (every footy tragic has a descending order of teams that they can’t stand – it goes with the territory).
Then came 9/11. I’d been in New York the weekend before that sunny, fateful Tuesday and was in my studio standing in front of a fresh canvas when I heard the news. How could the twin towers of the World Trade Center possibly fall down? I must have misheard … but I hadn’t. I turned on the TV and saw (again and again) that second plane on its murderous trajectory. My heart sank. So far from home, I was scared of what might happen next.
The following day I got a phone call from an old mate – an old mate with whom I’d played and been to more games of football than I could possibly count.
“Are you alright, Johnny?”
I was unable to answer him. I was so choked up, so happy to hear his voice. We spoke only briefly about the tragedy that had befallen the Big Apple before going on to talk about who was going to be in the Grand Final. Banal though our conversation was, it acted as a balm on my broiling brain.
A week or so later, having decided to remain in the US for the duration of my residency, I received in the mail a small parcel from my agent in Sydney. Though a Swannies fan, she had found for me Royce Simmons’s autobiography, Hooked On League. On the flyleaf she’d written, ‘I hope you enjoy this, John.’ I devoured it in one sitting.
On my scale of hostile and paranoid neuroses, Penrith have never been up there with the aforementioned Roosters and Broncos – in fact, I almost like them (the die-hard supporter doesn’t have a ‘second team’. I’ve no idea where that myth came from). I’d held their pudgy, pugnacious hooker in high regard ever since he led his boys to their 19-12 victory over the Canberra Raiders in the 1991 decider.
On that day, as Penrith at last cracked it for their first premiership (there’s no stopping them now), Roycie earned my admiration by scoring a brace of tries – the second sealing the deal – and he won my heart for the words he spoke when interviewed on TV after the final whistle. Years of Penrith being shitkickers (‘chocolate soldiers’) had preceded the triumph and Royce, humble and speaking a truth that all of the sporting world’s downtrodden could understand and identify with, said, “we’re somebody now”.
In his book, co-written with Alan Whiticker, Simmons emerges as an unpretentious country boy who did his best and grew to be a man of honour, a man who played it hard but fair and with a twinkle in his eye. The sort of player I’d rather see inducted into the Rugby League Hall of Fame ahead of the likes of Les Boyd any day of the week – especially so now that Royce has embarked on his walks to help fight the scourge of dementia.
One of my favourite footballers who didn’t wear the Red-and-Green, Royce Simmons will never know how grateful I am to him for the part he played in helping me cope with the shock of 9/11 and with setting an example for me to keep plugging away at my own career – and he did it without smashing anybody’s jaw or gouging their eyes.
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Agreed, John. Simmons is far more the heart and soul of what rugby league wants to project, both on and off the field!
How good is that Footy Card ?!
Agree too, John. Simmons was the heart and soul of his Penrith team through that era.
what he has done off the field is also both noteworthy and admirable
well said!
I remember Royce from my time in Canberra. Cunning, clever – a sportsman – the opposite of an athlete (let alone a brute). Did the most with the least. Evading opponents with pea and thimble rather than cudgel. Everything I value in sport. Sam Mitchell or Greg Williams in AFL terms.
I reckon these “controversies” are designed by the marketing department not the football department in all codes. They know division provokes participation in the short term. We amuse ourselves to death.