Matt White tribute

[Titanic]

Guys, I know this may be a bit "out there" but instead of packing to go fly to the States for a business trip next Monday, I find myself in hospital for a very unscheduled operation. No sympathy thanks, I just needed a bit of a clean out to a troublesome knee (that's what snow does for you). While lying here staring at the ceiling it occurred to me how delicate is the lot of the modern rugby league player. In my day you had a job and football was just something you did for fun, a little cash and a lot of ego.

Anyway, I wrote this piece of fiction in respect of our very own prop, if it's inappropriate mods just knock it out.

Where do you go to?

The title echoes a question made famous by ‘60’s singer-poet Peter Sarstedt in his single of the same name where he mused:

Where do you go to my lovely, when you’re alone in your bed?
Tell me the thoughts that surround you. I want to look inside your head.

I preferred his jauntier rendition of Frozen Orange Juice but that’s just me and I’m getting way off topic. Hospital beds are no place for the faint hearted. By the very fact that so few of us opt to lay claim to one, unless we have something drastically wrong with ourselves, indicates that an albeit comfy place surrounded by omnipresent staff does not always equate to the Sydney Hilton ……

It is the first trial game of the season. He is fighting to retain his place in the first seventeen of an NRL club. The club boasts a quality pack and although off-loading some under-achievers during the off-season, it has recruited a representative forward and has two young guns champing at the bit for their chance. His position is the toughest on the planet in any code of football; prop forward.

The kick-off floats into his zone and the new halfback catches it, off-loading it to him as he attacks the defensive line straight and hard. He plays the ball, content that he has weathered his first touch. He makes two tackles in the next set of six, one more hit-up and then it’s defense again. On tackle one, he latches limpet-like on to a side-stepping opponent and feels the strain on his left knee as he rolls with the ball-carrier. On tackle two, he chases from being the marker and is second man in to an innocuous play. His knee buckles, he tries to recover, the pain is intense, he hobbles from the field and his season is over.

…… waking-up in that bright, white, gleaming room is akin to looking into the sunlight from the bottom of the swimming pool at the aforementioned Hilton, although of course it is not. The confusion, the pain of the injury, the memories of the grueling preseason training, the tears of frustration, the endless commiserations and the inevitable loneliness all come flooding back ……

This can’t be happening; not this year, not this time, not now! I prepared so well. My manager has already started talks for a contract extension. I saw the look on my wife’s face and I could see her mentally stacking the windowed envelopes that I’d promised would become a thing of the past. My decision to relocate and not take that secure job back home is back to bite me. What will I do?

The doctor says the pain will go away in a few weeks. He says I will feel a little tightness and perhaps some perceived weakness. Recovery should be one hundred percent and you may even be back for the finals. “The pain is mostly in your head,” he said, “when you get past that you’ll be right.” He may say that but I have a terrible throbbing, burning, tearing pain right in my left knee and that’s not in my head.

I did everything asked of me. I waited patiently on the bench for two seasons while others got their chances. When I had opportunities I made the most of them. I never gave in, never lost hope and never whinged about my lot. This off-season I ran faster, lifted heavier and turned up to every club event. This is my year. I have earned it. I have deserved it. Oh crumbs, I have lost it.

Everybody saw me cry, everybody. Mister tough guy, the iron man is now the blubber-er. The fans saw the tears. My mates saw my tears. My son saw his dad’s tears. My wife saw my madness.

“Don’t worry mate, you’ll be fine” said the coach looking to the doctor for support. “We’ve all been through it at one time or another,” said the co-captain seeking agreement from the players. “Bad luck”, “you’ll be back”, “just like falling from a horse, get straight back on again”, said every Tom, Dick or Harry. Shut up, shut up, please just shut up!

…… the true beauty of a hospital room is you can shut the door, however, the irony is you cannot shut-out your own thoughts.

Where do you got to Matt White, when you’re alone in your bed?
Will the demons consume you or will you be stronger instead?

[Titan Dad]

Wow...Titanic. you have had some time on your hands. Hope you are feeling better...
Shocking situation for WHITEY. However he will be back bigger, stronger and hungrier to play. He is a tough son of a gun and I have no doubt he will feature at our club very prominantly.
We have not seen any where near his best footy yet and it is still to come. He is one of my favourites at the club and I for one will miss his no surrender attitude.

[Coaster]

Love it

I really do. Great read

[Titanic]

Thanks guys ... under the knife tomorrow morning.

[DIEHARD]

Wow that was powerful stuff Titanic. Very creative and moving. Often we read about things in a report format but adding the personal in a creative piece really shows the human side of the boom/bust of Rugby League.

Really makes me feel for Matt. He was always always one of my favourites. An unsung Titan but such a workhorse and looked set for a great season.

I hope he recovers completely and we see him in the blue gold and white where he belongs soon.