Joe Marler: 'Get back on the horse', Harlequins v Bath pre game interview - 2019

21 November 2019, Twickenham, London, United Kingdom

I wasn’t hurting as much as the lads who were out there, but I definitely felt it and I know how hard the boys have taken that.

They will be disappointed with the account we put out but we have got another week to get back on the horse and take that horse to the water, and you can ask that horse, 'hey horsey, do you want to have a drink or do you want to swim?'"

It is up to that horse to then realise what he wants to do in his life, and that horse at the moment wants to go out on Saturday and he wants to clippety-clop all the way to the Stoop and he wants to say hello to those fans and he wants to say [horse voice] 'I'm sorry about the result last week but I'm going to give a better performance here at home against Bath.'

He is a slightly Irish horse. So we are looking forward to getting back on that horse.

Are you yourself looking forward to getting "back on the horse", six months since we last saw you?

I don't like horses. I can't ride.

Mike Tyson: 'He's a different breed of person. He's not like us', Tribute to Muhammad Ali, I Am Rapaport Stereo Podcast - 2019

March 2019, USA

This was an interview on Michael Rapaport’s ‘I am Rapaport Stereo Podcast’

What made [Holmes] more special than anything was the internal fortitude. He was tough as nails. He got knocked down, he’d get back up and he’d fight you to the death. You know what I mean? And he got that from Ali — he was Ali’s sparring partner.

This is the thing about Ali: When we were watching him get beat up as an old man—even when I was a young kid—he’s not going to quit, you’ve got to kill him. He won’t quit. He was getting beat up every round, he had the sh*t kicked out of him by Larry Holmes. Is the champ done? No, come on, let me out. They wouldn’t stop. He had to stand up there and take the beating like a man. He wouldn’t quit.

In that way, I respect the guy so much. I have so much admiration for the guy. So much, but it’s just not right to do that as a human being. Just say, ‘It’s over. I’ll come back another day. It’s over. You got me.’”

“I always like to think I’m a bad motherf**ker. A vicious motherf**ker. I don’t give a f**k, but that’s the part where he, Ali, overshines me, because I can’t understand a man that’s willing to die for this. I talked the sh*t, but he’s the real deal.

[Gets emotional]

Ali is a giant. There’s no way other fighters can match him. He’d die for this sh*t. I’m not going to die for this. That’s real talk. Ali is a savage, he’s an animal. He’s a different breed of person. He’s not like us.

Jonathan Patton: 'I may be wearing different colours, but the Giants will forever have my heart', Kevin Sheedy Medal - 2019

4 October 2019, Sydney, Australia

Obviously over the past few days I’ve announced that I’ll be pursuing a future at the Hawthorn football club.

The decision I had to make was definitely the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make and I had to put myself and my body first at this stage of my career.

These past eight years at the giants have been absolutely magical. From the day Stephen Silvagni and Craig Lambert told me I was going to be taken by the Giants months before the draft had even happened.
From the Breakfast Point days running around with 50 other eighteen year olds, just being like every other eighteen year old, egging cars and up until 3am and smashing FIFA competitions and all this carry on. Days I will never ever ever forget.

My playing career to date definitely did not go like I thought it would. Not a million years did I think I’d miss more than half my career at the giants with injury. But with great disappointment, also came great relationships and also great perspective.

I might be one of the unlucky ones in football in terms of my injuries in the past, but I like to look at it as I’m one of the lucky ones who has had an unbelievable club and people behind me.

The genuine love and care I’ve had from the Giants over the years makes me look back with no regrets and no sadness. It makes me very proud I was and am part of something so special in building a club from the start.

Again, the decision was extremely heartbreaking, but I genuinely think it’s the best thing for myself and for my career going forward.

If I were to write the script from the start, when I was drafted, I would have kicked more goals than Jezza (Jeremy Cameron), I would have played 300 games, and we would have won multiple flags together. But as life is, that’s not how it works. Nothing goes to as planned. And everyone has their own story, and this just happens to have been mine.

So now it comes to the thanking part, which is the hardest part because you want to thank so many people, but there are just too many people that I don’t want to miss out …

First of all the Lamberts, you guys … from the very start you guys had to come here from elsewhere too, and you were like us, and the fact that you guys brought in so many of us, from the start , when we were all eighteen from different states, and different cities, how you brought us in, you were complete strangers to us, but we embraced each other and you will forever have our hearts. Thank you very much.

To Leon, as we said yesterday we’ve had very tough and honest conversations over the years, but I’ve always felt we’ve had a deeper connection, you’ve always genuinely cared, even at the times when you’ve probably thought, ‘ooo Jonny thinks I’m going a little bit hard’, I always knew deep down you really actually cared for me, and I respect your family and you so much , I just don’t know how you’re going to break the news to little Jack about changing his number on his back … trust me guys, it definitely helps when the coach’s son loves you. Thanks a lot Jack.

To all the physios over the years, especially Leroy Lobo, Naresh, Luke, Heath, just everyone … thank you so much. You’ve probably had more time with me than any other player over the last eight years. Not only do you care for me as an athlete but for me as a person, it’s been absolutely amazing and thank you very much.

To Dave and Jane Matthews, who can’t be here because she’s in beautiful Noosa, which is understandable. I don’t know if there’ll be another relationship of CEO slash player slash employee like the one we had mate, honestly I don’t think there would be, and it’s only been proven over the last few months. When I was going through this decision, we’ve sat down over many expresso martinis, many wines, many oysters, many steaks, and we’ve spoken about it, and all your advice to me was to make me happy, it was never to do with a bias of the Giants, it was always that you care for me as a person, which is why we’ll always be great mates. And for that I will honestly love you forever, thank you very much.

Monty, where’s Monty (Brett Montgomery), he’s always been the coach I’ve gone to whenever I’ve needed to vent, to talk shit to, whenever I’ve needed to just speak and get advice on, and at the same time he would always tell me how it was … and for that, I love him so much and I’ll always miss Monty ..

The boys over the years … [names players] … everyone … there’s no wonder that the club is where it is, on and off the field. You guys are class acts. And I’ve loved playing every minute, and training alongside you guys. Thanks for supporting me through everything, through thick and thin.

I know at times I could be a bit of a moody guy, because of tough rehab days, but thank you guys very much, I appreciate that.

Heater, our first encounter was not surprisingly at a Melbourne nightclub called Motel, about a day after you were traded to the Giants, and ever since then we’ve been great mates, and obviously you lived with myself and Cogs for the first three years of your stint here, I don’t know if I can tell too many stories here in the public but mate you came here so misunderstood by the public, and you’ve always taken myself and Cogs especially under your wing, and the way you prepare, and the way you face adversity, is just amazing mate. And the lessons you’ve taught me not only with football but life has been amazing, and I thank you very much mate. You’ll be a brother forever.

Cogsy, where do I start. It’s funny because I was the first pick, you were the second pick. I always got that on vou bro, I always got that over you.

But no honestly you’d think we’d have some weird tension, or some weird competition, but straight away we were best mates. You were always there for me mate, through every injury, after every shit session I was fuckng getting over it, and you always picked me up. You were always there for me mate. I’m extremely proud of what you’ve done, but I’m even more excited about what you with this club taking them forward because this club is in no better hands that what you are mate. You will forever be one of my best mates, I feel very lucky I have so many memories with you, and shit man, we’re only 26, we’re going to have a lot more memories, right?

A finally my Mum, Belinda. I’ve honestly been amazed at how supportive you’ve been of my time here in Sydney. Every time that a contract has come up, you’ve just been ‘Sydney’s the best thing for you Jonny, and that’s what I’ve loved about my time here, I’ve never had anything pulling me back in terms of family or people, and Mum, you’ve been at the top of that. Like Cogs, you’ve been through the good and the bad with me, you’ve probably ridden the roller coaster a lot more than probably what I have, I know you’ll be happy to have me in Melbourne, just don’t get too excited because I have grand plans to come back here in Sydney one day, but I love you very very much Mum.

I don’t want this to be much of a goodbye.

I want this to be more of a ’ll see you soon.

I may be wearing different colours over the next few years, but the Giants will forever have my heart.
Thank you and I love you all.

Danny Frawley: 'Tony is the Don Bradman of the AFL', Hall of Fame tribute to Tony Lockett - 2019

5 June 2015, St Kilda Football Club, Melbourne, Australia

In 2010 Danny Frawley was asked to make a speech about his close friend Tony Lockett at St Kilda's Hall of Fame night. Emotion overcame him and he failed to finish. Here is his next attempt, when Lockett was inducted as an AFL Legend in 2015.

Tony is the Don Bradman of the AFL. Like the Don his record will never be surpassed. He kicked 1360 goals nearly 900 for the mighty Saints.

He kicked bags of 7 or more 74 times 10 or more 22 times .

Plugger is also the best kick of all time. It was a shame he never kicked the ball to himself as he was a superb pass his accuracy at 70% is amazing when you think he played at Windy Hill, Whitten Oval, Arden St, Waverly Park and the rain soaked turf of Moorabin. There was no Etihad Stadium under the roof in those days.

Who could forget when Plugger kicked his maiden Ton in 87 and won the Brownlow in the same year, still the only Full Forward to do so with delivery best described as shoddy.

Plugger was a team Player best illustrated in 89 when leading up to the State of Origin clash all the talk was could Lockett and Dunstall play in the same goal square. The critics said no as years earlier Taylor and Roach at tiger land did not work. In the pre game meeting at jolimont house the team was still unsure whether the stars would line up together when the great EJ stood up and said Plugger has something to say. Tony stood up and said "Dunstall is full forward and l am playing in the pocket." Silence was deafening walking over to the G that day. You could have heard a pin drop as the Vics went on to win by a record 89 pts with Lockett and Dunstall kicking nine between them.

In 91 Big Tone did not play till rd 7 due to injury. After 3 games he had 34 goals on the board. The Saints started to give the supply he deserved thru Winmar, Harvey McAdam etc. Not only did he win his 2nd Coleman medal with 127 goals in 17 games he kicked 5 bags of ten or more (If he played 23 he would have kicked 175) He kicked the Saints into the finals for the 1st time in 18 years. In his first final he netted a lazy 9 goals and 5pts.

After 132 goals the following year he then started to get a few injuries and only a few people realized the pressure he was under to perform, He would Dry Reach in the toilets before every game because he knew the reason the saints won was the same reason why they lost rested on his burly shoulders and they could only take so much.

People and critics often say he should give something back to football he single handidly kept the saints afloat throughout the eighties which were a lot of the time winless bit he gave supporters hope much like Phar Lap did in the depression. He is a big part of the reason why we are here today.

I will leave you with Plugger's ability to perform when it mattered most it was in 95 State of Origin game v SA where the Great Late EJ did his famous lap of honour. Plugger asked EJ “how he was going “and EJ remarked “do not worry about me how are you going?” and Tony whispered “l will do it for you champ”. In the Bowels of the MCG EJ was in the rooms after his famous lap and asked his Chaperone how the Mighty Vics were going and the chaperone kept coming back saying that a forward line filled with stars such as Loewe, Lyon, Harvey and Ablett and Lockett out of the square we were always going to win, EJ then asked who is playing well the chaperone said’ it was amazing Ablett and Lockett would keep leading but the ball kept hitting the burly no 4 on his ample chest”.

Locket kicked 7 and went onto win the EJ Whitten Medal. EJ whispered in the chaperone’s ear ‘”l can die a happy man now cause l always wanted to know who the better player out of Ablett and Lockett was”

Saints fans knew long before that… Anthony Howard Plugger Lockett was not a superstar but a Super Hero.

On behalf of the ST Kilda FC, 17 years is too long …Welcome Home Mate.

Eric Cantona: 'As flies to wanton boys, we are for the gods', UEFA President's Award Acceptance, UCL Draw - 2019

30 August 2019, Monaco

As flies to wanton boys, we are for the gods. They kill us for their sport.

Soon the science will not only be able to slow down the aging of the cells – soon the science will fix the cells to the state.

And so we will become eternal.

Only accidents, crimes, wars will still kill us, but unfortunately crimes and wars will multiply.

I love football. Thank you.

Cantona’s speech is a poetic meditation on aging and immortality. The opening line is from King Lear. This discussion of the meaning of the speech at SBNation is worth a read.

Dylan Alcott: 'You can't tell me people don't want to watch wheelchair tennis', Wimbledon Victory Speech - 2019

13 July 2019, Wimbledon, London, United Kingdom

First of all, a big thanks to Andy .

I’m not going to lie, when we found out we were going to be playing Wimbledon for the first time, we did send each other a cheeky Whatsapp and say, ‘let’s make sure we’re both in the final’. So Andy, thanks very much mate, I love that, you’re an absolute legend, and I loved winning the doubles with you yesterday, but most importantly, you’re a great bloke, so thanks mate.

We weren't able to play Wimbledon the last few years...I'm going to get emotional...and to come out here and to get to play on the grass, for a young kid from Australian who was born in a wheelchair, it was a bloody dream come true - it really was.

To the All England club, thanks so much for having us - I hope we put on an entertaining show all week. I know we did, because look how many bloody people are here in this stadium.

You can't tell me people don't want to watch wheelchair tennis. It's such an entertaining sport. To everyone that played it on the BBC, thank you, and to everyone back home who played it - Fox Sports and it was on the Seven App. I can't thank you enough for broadcasting this, because not only does it change our lives, but it changes the lives of a lot of little kids out there with disabilities who see people like them on TV for the very first time.

To everyone who did that, thank you so much.

Megan Rapinoe: 'We have to be better', USWNT's Victory Parade - 2019

10 July 2019, New York City, USA

I think I’ll just end with this. This is my charge to everyone. We have to be better. We have to love more, hate less. We got to listen more, and talk less. We got to know this is everybody’s responsibility, every single person here. Every single person who is not here. Every single person who doesn’t want to be here. Every single person who agrees and doesn’t agree. It is our responsibility to make this world a better place. I think this team does an incredible job of taking that on our shoulders and understanding the position that we have and the platform we have within this world.

Yes we play sports. Yes we play soccer. Yes we’re female athletes but we’re so much more than that. You’re so much more than that. You’re more than a fan. You’re more than someone who just supports sport. You’re more than someone who tunes in every four years. You’re someone who walks these streets every single day. You interact with your community every single day. How do you make your community better? How do you make the people around you better? Your family? Your closest friends? The 10 closest people to you? The 20 closest people to you? The most 100 closest people to you? It’s every single person’s responsibility.

There’s been so much contention in these last years. I’ve been a victim of that. I’ve been a perpetrator of that.

With the fight with the federation, (I’m) sorry for some of the things I said, not all of the things.

But it’s time to come together. This conversation is at the next step. We have to collaborate. It’s takes everybody. This is my charge to everybody, ‘Do what you can. Do what you have to do. Step outside of yourself. Be more. Be better. Be bigger than you’ve ever been before. If this team is any representation of what you can be, when you do that please take this as an example. This group is incredible. We took so much on our shoulders to be here today, to celebrate with you today. And we did it with a smile. So do the same for us. Please, I ask you.

New York City, you’re the mother fucking best.

Ray Lewis : 'The greatest pain of my life is the reason I'm standing here today', 52 Cards -

Today I just really wanted to hit on something, dealing with pain. I asked my mom one day, I said mom, I said can you buy me a deck of cards, she said “Junior, I don't gamble in my house. Ain't no cards coming on my house.” I said “Mom I don't need them for gambling, I don't want them for gambling I just need a deck of cards mom.”

My mom for years from the time I was 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. I never saw a women take so much physical abuse than the way i seen my mother beaten every frickin day of my life. But I can't help her because I'm not strong enough. I don't have the muscle to get this man off my mother.

My mothers a very high women and every time they hit her she would bleed from her eyes, she would walk around with sunglasses on in the house.

I said ma I need a deck of cards.

Last altercation we got in my step father hit my mama so hard in the face I caught him and I looked at him with this rage and this pain in my eyes like one day one day and I took this deck of cards, I couldn't live in the house so I had to live in the garage, and after this last altercation we had with this guy, I just ran to my garage and i grabbed this deck of cards and i flipped a 7 and I started doing 7 pushups. I flipped a 6 I did 6, I flipped a 9 I did nine, I flipped a 2 I did 2, I flipped a 9 again I did 9. I went through the whole deck jack, queen, king worth 10, aces 25 and jokers 50.

Until I got sick and tired of what pain felt like in my gut. It didn't even matter to me because I started shuffling them all up again and that's when I started doing my sit ups because I wanted to make sure sports wasn't the reason why I started training. It was to make sure a man never put his hands on my momma again.

And I told my momma no pain, no pain will ever stop me from taking care of you and my brothers and sisters. That's why I started doing what I started doing. Sports was a byproduct of what people started to see. It was the behind the scenes that was driving me crazy.

There's two sides of pain that I think a lot of people really don't understand. There's one side of pain thats the suffering and discomfort side of pain.

Then there's another side of pain that's called effort - its called glory, It’s called if you can find a way to push through pain there's something greater on the other side of it and if you never tap into it, it’s because the first time you felt it you backed off. The first time you felt that burn, it’s too much.

We rationalizing with ourselves to where we automatically stop. That's why a bunch of us give up on so much in life so quickly. That's why kids have a problem finishing things in today's time, because as soon as they feel a small bit of discomfort, or things ain't right, they gone. I can't do it anymore.

But suppose I told you, the greatest pain of my life, is the reason I'm standing here today.

I dare you to take a little pain. To go through it. You're not gonna die because you’re feeling a little pain. You ain't gonna die. At the end of pain is success. Pain is temporary it may last for a minute, an hour a day, or even a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place.

If I quit however it will last forever.

On the other side of that pain, on the other side of that pain, on the other side of that pain, is your promise. 15 years old, I picked up these deck of cards and one day I counted them and I found out there was 52 of them in a deck of cards. 52, and I took my greatest pain, into my business, with the greatest achievement ever, touching that trophy.

52 cards, and ironically my number ended up being 52.

Marion Jones: 'I want you to know that I have been dishonest', Apology for Steroid Use and Dioshonesty - 2007

10 October 2007, USA

Good afternoon everyone. I am Marion Jones-Thompson, and I am here today because I have something very important to tell you, my fans, my friends, and my family.

Over the many years of my life, as an athlete in the sport of track and field, you have been fiercely loyal and supportive towards me. Even more loyal and supportive than words can declare has been my family, and especially my dear mother, who stands by my side today.

And so it is with a great amount of shame that I stand before you and tell you that I have betrayed your trust. I want all you to know that today I plead guilty to two counts of making false statements to federal agents.

Making these false statements to federal agents was an incredibly stupid thing for me to do, and I am responsible fully for my actions. I have no one to blame but myself for what I have done.

To you, my fans, including my young supporters, the United States Track and Field Association, my closest friends, my attorneys, and the most classy family a person could ever hope for -- namely my mother, my husband, my children, my brother and his family, my uncle, and the rest of my extended family: I want you to know that I have been dishonest. And you have the right to be angry with me.

I have let them down.

I have let my country down.

And I have let myself down.

I recognize that by saying that I'm deeply sorry, it might not be enough and sufficient to address the pain and the hurt that I have caused you. Therefore, I want to ask for your forgiveness for my actions, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

I have asked Almighty God for my forgiveness.

Having said this, and because of my actions, I am retiring from the sport of track and field, a sport which I deeply love.

I promise that these events will be used to make the lives of many people improve; that by making the wrong choices and bad decisions can be disastrous.

I want to thank you all for your time.

Bob Murphy: 'All of the laughs, the scraps, the yarns, the characters, the smells and the donuts', Norm Smith Oration - 2018

7 June 2018, Members Dining Room, MCC, Jolimont, Melbourne, Australia

So many things we love about our game have very little to do with the game itself. Perhaps like many of you in the room tonight, when I think about my love of the game, my imagination doesn’t run straight to the high marking forwards or the bone crunching tackles. My thoughts go to the taste of jam donuts and the smell of jasmine in early Spring.

My ambition was flamed watching football as a little kid in the outer and the reward for sitting through the entire game was a hot jam donut as the family began the search for the car in a sea of Commodores stretched out to the horizon. The donuts, as delicious as they were, were more than just a sugary treat. When I think back on those days now, they symbolise an optimism. “Maybe I could play in the big leagues one day...”

The exact moment when Spring hits is not always easy to judge, but for footballers it’s easy. That first whiff of jasmine in the air will tell you everything about where your season is at. If it’s been a good year, the jasmine lets you know that it’s finals time, potential glory reveals itself to you. If it’s been a bad year, the floral perfume is like a swift kick to the bollocks. There will be no big dance for you and your clan.

I was at a country wedding not so long ago and an hour before the ceremony, around the side of the farmhouse I came across one of the groomsman cleaning his R.M.Williams boots with Dubbin and a tattered rag. It moved me, to the point of tears. It reminded me of my Dad. He used to clean my footy boots with Dubbin and cloth before game of junior football I ever played.

Dad had three pieces of advice when it came to my football.

1. Hold your chest marks.

2. Man up

3. Kick with both feet.

In life, I have only one rule and I will break it tonight. DO NOT make a speech on the same night Martin Flanagan makes a speech. This is a bit like a rap battle between two pacifist, lefty, football romantics with a weakness for Van Morrison records.

I’ve got a book coming out next month, for those of you who don’t know. It’s called Leather Soul.

The theory was put to me when I was writing it that the overarching theme of the book would only emerge once it was almost complete, and I now believe that to be true. Looking back over the pages I see many arcs. A bit like chopping down a gum tree to find the rings in the timber. Spheres of time. Innocence arching all the way around to experience. A few knots of imperfection for good measure.

I’m about to turn 36 and my life can be easily split in two. The innocent, sensitive kid and the professional footballer. A couple of things have emerged out of this literary pursuit, for me anyway. One of them is the result of two opposing forces smashing into one another. My childhood was almost bereft of strict rules and schedules. As a school kid, my only real practical use for time and a clock was the understanding that I had to leave the house when the microwave read 8:21am. If I walked out the door at precisely that time, I would meet my school bus as it rounded the bend. A minute later and I would have to walk all the way to school and risk being late.

I was, in some ways, quite bohemian for a teenage boy in a conservative country town with a bowl cut hair do. I was free. I went from that straight into the cut-throat system of a professional football club. Rules, uniforms, routine and then more rules. It was a shock to the system. Professional football clubs can feel like the army in more colourful uniforms. I took a while to find some breathing space in its confines.

If my childhood and upbringing were easy, my football career was anything but. Every team, every player in the league is always trying to prove a point, and I suppose I was trying to prove that I could endure. Was I tough enough? Playing on in 2017 was clearly about one last chance at a premiership, but more than that I wanted to show people I could come back from a knee at 34 years of age and still mix it with the best. Who was I proving a point to? I’m not so sure. Maybe myself. I feel content that I ran the tank dry.

One of the rings in the gum tree was the draftee who nestled under the wing of the elders of our club at the time. Guys like Luke Darcy, Ben Harrison and Simon Garlick guided me with a firm but steady hand, and they gave me shelter from the storm. I was caught off guard by the paternal instincts that awoke in me when I had become an elder myself, and it was under my wing that I could provide similar refuge for the next generation. Young blokes like Easton Wood and Jordan Roughead were given everything I had and everything that had been handed down to me. The lineage of the locker room and the battlefield.

I was lucky to play alongside good men for much of the way. Maybe as a reaction to my gypsy hearted ways, I gravitated to blokes who you could set your compass to. Daniel Giansiracusa and Matty Boyd were like my north stars for years. A focal point to keep my ship on course. I always felt a sense of comfort walking up the race and seeing those guys next to me. That’s almost the highest accolade a teammate can bestow on another I reckon.

I’ve always been a fan of the great players. I got to play with so many, but Chris Grant and Marcus Bontempelli stand out. Complete players. Stars. That’s something to tell the grandkids. For all the nonsense in the analysis of the game, most of us still acknowledge that the special ones move differently. Something in the nuances of their play sets them apart from the rest of us.

Granty’s ability to pick up the flight of the ball in the air and mark it in front of his eyes with perfect timing – with danger all around – always left me feeling lucky to have such a close vantage point. Watching the Bont create a path in the chaos of play with his big frame has already become a trademark. Playing alongside him, I could hear the appreciation in the outer from our own supporters. It was even more graceful from a few feet away. With the ball in his hands he’d lope away in slow motion, like he was wading through waist-deep water, the sea of stragglers falling away in his wake, one by one. A football Moses. Or Jesus. Definitely biblical.

You’re not meant to meet your heroes, at least that’s how the old saying goes, but that didn’t ring true for me. I only met Robbie Flower a few times, but each time I left shaking my head, astonished by his gentle, easy manner. His lack of ego, in stark contrast to so many of his 80s contemporaries. A sweet man. A hero to any skinny bloke who has ever pulled on a jumper.

In the Murphy family, we supported three things. Paul Keating, Peter Daicos and the Richmond Tigers. Matthew Richardson and Wayne Campbell, along with a few of my Tiger heroes, have always been generous to me. They indulge all of my teenage questions and fascinations. They’re just my mates now, I guess, and that blows my mind, but I reserve some of that little kid’s awe and wonder. I think they secretly get a kick out of it too.

From a half back flank I got to watch the game over the shoulder of some of the very best players the game has seen. I spent an unforgettable night chasing with Stevie J and trying to keep pace with his verbal entertainment too. In the dying minutes of a close game the ball shot out of the centre square and I lunged to spoil it, but like a true cat he was after it again. He took the ball with me closing in and hand balled over his shoulder whilst looking the other way. His handball hit the mark and it resulted in a goal. Game over. Stevie waddled up next to me and I knew it was coming, “I usually save that shit for finals”. He was the best flanker I played on.

I had a few scraps along the way. Football is a bit like the jungle, every so often something or someone surprises you and takes you down. As I lay on the back of the motorised cart having just done my knee for the first time a young Collingwood supporter, no more than 10 years old, leant over the fence and screamed in my face, “Hey Murphy, you fucked my dream team!” Despite his youth, it did feel a bit harsh.

Family circles spin around this exposed tree stump like a vinyl record. Mum’s adventurous spirit runs through me like a mountain stream. I remember at various points of Bulldog crises she would give me a pearl of wisdom. My favourite was, “Don’t wait for the wind, grab the oars!”

My first football memory is being placed in front of my older brother Ben as my sister Bridget kicked the ball high above my head. Ben would scream “CAPPER!!!” and wrap his legs around my head as he attempted mark of the year, over and over again. I was four years old. That was my role in the team at the time.

Reflecting on the book when the last words had been written, I couldn’t ignore the fact that much of my story is about a father and a son. Dad and I watched the stars of the game from the outer at Waverley Park and I took him with me onto the field as I got a closer look over 18 years with the Bulldogs. It might be a long bow, but I felt like he was with me as we watched all the great players from this era within arm’s length, and for brief moments, teased at being a great player myself. I hope Dad feels like that too. Whatever I was on the field, I offer it up to my Dad as a gift for cleaning my boots every Friday night.

Family has broadened as I’ve gotten older too, of course. If you play for long enough – and I was blessed to play for a bloody long time – the relationship with your club changes. For a time your footy club is who you play for, and then at some point that club is a part of you and you are a part of it, linked forever. Like family. I love the Bulldogs. It might read as a throw-away line, but it’s a love that I would never mask behind any sort of ambiguity. Footscray and the Whitten Oval will always feel like home.

I have much to be grateful for, not least the chance to actually play, but one thing that jumps to mind is the notion of loyalty. It’s seemingly a fading currency in professional sport, or so I’m told. Loyalty in sport isn’t dead, just a little misrepresented. It’s not blind loyalty. Too much is at stake. The loyalty I’ve known in footy is a relationship – there must be an exchange of effort and goodwill. The Bulldogs and I were a good couple. I gave them everything I had. I hope they feel like they got a good deal, too. I’m a proud servant of the Bulldogs. Forever.

My book was never going to be titled MURPHY. I wasn’t that sort of player, and I didn’t have that kind of career. For a long time the title I had in mind was A Footballer’s Lot. Much of the book is a collection of stories of a footballer, that footballer just happened to be me. There were many other titles ...

I suppose it would be good manners to tell you that I never saw myself writing a book and that this “just kind of happened”, but that’s not true. After being encouraged many years ago by one of my heroes and my co-speaker tonight, Martin Flanagan, to write a different kind of footy book, I set my co-ordinates to doing just that. My hope was that this book would fill a gap. As a footballer, I was neither a champion nor a notable disgrace. The risk was that I wouldn’t have a story to tell. That in itself I found interesting, the notion of writing a footy book that shone a light on the middle ground. The highs and lows of a life in footy, the feel of the bumps along the path from inside the middle of the pack.

Then I became captain of the Bulldogs. A young football team caught fire, a club emerged from obscurity, and then something else happened. I’m still not entirely sure what that “something” was, but I know it involved a lot of hugging. I don’t know if we changed the game, but for a brief moment the Bulldogs were hip. There was a story.

It’s funny, but I’d never felt a part of my generation before that time. Even when I was a teenager at the underage disco, all the kids were screaming the words to grunge anthems like Smells Like Teen Spirit and Killing In The Name Of. Plenty of the kids were from broken homes; they meant it, they felt the songs in a way that I didn’t. I was secretly hoping the DJ would play the Beach Boys ‘Good Vibrations’. I enjoyed an angst-free world. A charmed childhood.

Regrettably, I spent much of my footy career either writing or daydreaming about footy, music and clothes from another time. Living in a cartoon world of nostalgia. And then my football club was thrown into crisis at the end of 2014, and I woke up. My three years as captain, I felt alive. I felt present. All the chips were on the table. There was a sense of desperation and defiance in the air. It was a “damn the torpedoes” kind of vibe. Every moment felt important. It was an exhilarating ride.

During the low ebb of October 2014, one inescapable thought kept throbbing in my head: “My football career has meant nothing.” It was a depressing thought. Fifteen years of getting to the line and the club was ultimately in a worse place than ever. And then something magical happened. I look at those last three years as a trilogy. The rise of `15, the glory of `16, and the struggle of `17.

The 2016 Premiership and “that” medal moment with Luke Beveridge are like a mountain in my life. But just like Uluru, the colour of the mountain changes in the light. On most days I see a beautiful landscape. A football fairytale rising out of the ground pointing towards the heavens. But there are other days too. There are times when just the memory of that day and that moment break my heart in two. Even now, I still brace myself when a stranger starts up a conversation with me about the premiership or the medal. I’m scared of what they might say. It all depends on the shade of the mountain on that day.

Writing a memoir demands a level of candour. It’s only recently I’ve come to accept that my greatest day in football was Grand Final day in 2016. But I must also acknowledge that my worst day in football was the very same day. As a leader of the club at that time I was so proud, the euphoria was so real. But I’m a footballer and I was not where I was meant to be. I felt that in my marrow. I will never get over it.

For a time, “Almost” was another title option, but it’s black humour might have been too obscure. On those dark days, it helps to remind myself that despite the twinges of heartache, they are nothing compared to that sense of being unfulfilled in 2014. I sit back now knowing that, at least, it meant something.

When you join a club you inherit its history, its mythology. There’s been a heavy load to carry in that regard if you chose to be a Bulldog. Survival and fightbacks aside, our one shining light was the premiership of 1954. It was so long ago that the only footage of the day is fuzzy and incomplete. A bit like a football Zapruder film. “Back and to the left”, another good title option now that I think of it. That premiership and its own mythology grew over time, the walk to the Footscray Town Hall became something of a metaphorical pilgrimage. These stories were glorious, but weathered, aged.

I felt at the time that the 2016 premiership healed a lot of the pain of our football club. Since 1954 there were so many losing seasons. Too many. The history books give us the ladder and the checks and balances of the wins and losses, but those columns don’t accurately record the emotional damage all of that losing causes. Too many people have left our footy club unhappy or bitter. There was something special about the 2016 team that brought a lot of people back and seemed to rekindle the love and attachment people once had for the club. All of us who have spent time at the club since 1954 had daydreamed about what it might look like if we won the flag again. What would a sea of Footscray supporters at the Whitten Oval look like the day after the battle was won? The reality was better than our dreams; how often can you say that in life?

After the historic presentation of the cup to the Bulldog people at our home ground, the inner sanctum of the club and their families came together at the Railway Hotel in Yarraville. That was special, too. So many beautiful people. So many characters with big hearts. That team, that finals series, felt like a shooting star. Magical. I was privileged to be amongst them. On the Monday, just the players reconvened at the same pub and things were, as you’d expect, pretty loose. It was still early in the day when I thought, as the oldest player, that a speech should be made.

I stood on a stool, pint in hand, and talked about the significance of history. I opined that some of the players with a medal around their neck might have some comprehension of what they’d just done, and maybe some of the older ones would have an even broader appreciation. But I told them to leave a bit of space for the possibility that it was even bigger than they thought. This premiership, for some long-suffering Bulldogs people, means they can actually die happy. I got down off my stool, content that I’d nailed it, and Matthew Boyd sidled up next to me. “Bit fucking morbid bringing dead people into it, don’t ya reckon?” I’ll miss that about footy clubs. Brutal truth.

Someone asked me recently what life was like having just retired from the AFL, and I told them it was a bit like leaving the Big Brother house after 18 years. The hyper-focus the game demands is now gone. It’s eight months since I last ran out as a player for the Dogs, and it’s starting to show. When I look at my legs both of my knees are lined by scars. The physical toll of the game has left harsh slashes across the flesh. Dermott Brereton once said that if you played more than 200 games of league football you had a daily reminder through some kind of physical ailment. He’s right, of course, and I limped to 312.

Both of my knees ache a bit when I go for a run these days, but I manage well enough once I get going. My toenails are yellowed and gnarled like bamboo from years of punishment, and the hint of a gut is starting to show, but it’s my neck that gives me the most grief. A “popped” disc in 2010 did the damage and it’s never fully recovered. Uncomfortable as these ailments are, they’re badges of honour too. I gave the game a pound of my flesh. There will be no comeback

If I look back again inside the circles of the fallen tree, I see two kicks. The first, a wobbling, floating, mongrel that came off my boot in my very first game against the Blues at Princes Park, and somehow went dead straight to put us in front deep in the last quarter. That glorious line turns all the way around the wood until it comes to meet itself some 18 years later. My last game of footy. With the game tightening, Lachy Hunter feeds me the ball and I see space in front of me. My heart lifts as I sense the moment. I could turn this game on its head, bring us back into the contest with a running shot from just inside the 50-metre line. I swing my leg through and it makes the sound of a bum piano chord. It could very well be the worst kick of my career. Off the side of the boot and into the stands, I get the Bronx cheers from the Hawthorn supporters. It’s my last ever touch in a game of footy.

My last kick was the kick of a man whose best days were long gone. I was done. If I were a racehorse at that point, they would have pulled the white sheet across and destroyed me at the track. If I’d kicked it sweetly, post high through the middle, I might be wondering if I should have played on. But I’m not. I don’t want to play anymore, I don’t have it in me anymore to get to the line. That’s a relief. I’m sure there will probably be little moments where I’d love for certain things, pine for the contest or the chase, the sweet kicking musical moments, but that’s life. I had my time.

And it was a wonderful time. I was the kid who played the game in the street until dark, dreaming, yearning what it might be like to actually play in the big league. And I did it. It was harder than I thought it would be, much harder. But to quote Tom Hanks in A League Of Their Own, “Of course it’s hard – it’s the hard that makes it great!”

I wasted a school education wondering what it might be like to play on the MCG in the fading light of an autumn Saturday afternoon with the game in the balance, and I did that. It was beautiful. Better than I could have imagined. The game hardened me, thickened my skin. For all of my idealistic babble about being a kid free of stress and full of adventure, I was a young adult that was almost bankrupt when it came to accountability. That can wear people down, and I wore a few out. The game beat some reality into me. Taught me about discipline and responsibility.

It also gave me moments to savour forever. Minutes before every game I played, I’d make my way into the trainers’ room and stick some Vicks up my nose. It was about putting on the armour. In those final few moments before you take the field you morph into a different character. What some people might call “white line fever” takes hold, but it looks and feels different for everyone.

The fever doesn’t turn everyone into Robbie Muir or even Glen Archer, but it puts you on edge. The fight or flight response fills your stomach and stretches out to tingle your fingers and toes. Your mind walks the high wire between loneliness and a deep sense of brotherhood. You’re a gang. The feeling is precious and pure.

The changerooms are quiet, but I can hear the frenzied noise of the masses in the distance, just beyond the concrete walls. Time moves like glue as the anticipation builds. To pass the time I pace the room, slap my hands together, put an arm around teammates to offer some words of comfort. I press resin into my hands and spread it around my palms so the ball will stick in my grip.

Despite the tension and storm clouds on the horizon, I try to keep a calm facade. I try for an easy smile to ease some of the tension in the room, but inside I'm like a pinball of thoughts, hopes, fears.

Someone gives the signal and we come together briefly with our coach. He gives us a final message. It doesn’t really matter what he says, it’s the symbolism of the picture. We are his boys. He’s with us. We break the tight circle and turn for the door. The noise grows louder.

As captain I get to walk out first, and the sense of pride and privilege never gets old as I look back on the team we have. My boys. Our support crew and a few ex-players line the walls respectfully as we leave the rooms and begin our ascent to the field. It’s the greatest feeling in the world. I walk slowly up the race, savouring the moment. Gradually picking it up to a jog as the field of play comes into view, we explode onto the ground as a team and our clan rise as one with us. Our theme song comes from the old sea shanty, “Sons of the Sea”, but we are the Sons of the West, and our tribal hymn blasts out across the stadium. We are snarlin’. You can’t touch us now. This is our childhood dream, and we’re all living it.

Now that I can’t play anymore, I know in my heart it’s these precious seconds that I miss the most.

I was a young, naïve kid with a brand new football in his heart. Over time, the leather aged from the bumps along the trail. The elements of Footscray winters and some glorious liniment-scented afternoons. All of the laughs, the scraps, the yarns, the characters, the smells and the donuts. The game. They all left a mark on me, on my leather soul. I wouldn’t change any of it.

Bob Murphy’s autobiography ‘Leather Soul’ is available through BlackInc books.

The companion oration to Bob Murphy’s is Martin Flanagan’s speech on the same night. It is also magnificent.

“People ask me who I barrack for - I barrack for the game. An American who lived in this city for some years once wrote me a letter which began: “You seem an intelligent man. Why do you write so much about football?”. Because it’s the culture I’m from. Footy’s a language I can speak.”

Full transcript and video

Kurt Fearnley: 'An athlete whose sport has been born out of the back fields of rehabilitation hospitals', Sport Australia Hall of Fame, The Don award - 2018

If I could take a moment to acknowledge a few people, the family of Sir Donald Bradman, his son John, and his grandchildren, Greta and Nick. The chairman of Sport Australia Hall of Fame member and legend John Bertrand AO, the selection committee chairman Rob De Castella AO MBE. Sport Australia Hall Of Fame members, board members, dignitaries, sport leaders, ladies and gentlemen.

The fellow 2018 Don Finalists, Madison de Rozario and Lauren Parker, two of the strongest people that I know, and also people that I value not only as my peers but also as my friends.

To Sam Kerr and Ellyse Perry… two people within our community that we just know there will be statues built of them, so generations will be able to learn about your journey.

Will Power and Daniel Ricciardo… They fly the Australian Flag in places we rarely get to see, and you just feel proud that they are out there fighting.

And to Mark Knowles, who is one of the most truly decent people that not only I have been able to share the Australian uniform with and stage with but someone who I feel grateful to have even crossed paths. It’s an honour to share this role as The Don finalist with all of them.

Apologies for my absence, I am in Chicago, I am competing, but more importantly I am spending time with my wife, Sheridan and my boy Harry, and my little girl Amelia, who have seen me at a distance for far, far too long.

I grew up with an understanding about The Don and it was as much about integrity and humility as it was about excellence in sport. And I recognise tonight that I am the first within our Paralympic movement to hold up this prestigious award, but I have no intention of self-congratulation, I have to point back behind me to the generations of proud men and women with disabilities who allowed me to become the person and athlete that you see fit to receive this award.

An athlete whose sport has been born out of the back fields of rehabilitation hospitals. That was created by men and women who had the desire to see not only what was physically possible but was humanly possible.

I’ve heard the stories of Paralympic forebears who speak about losing friends, who felt too much shame in their experience with disability - and that is within our own community. There was too much shame and there wasn’t enough hope. So our sport was born out of that hope. Hope that somebody can be judged by substance and not image. That the difference that we each hold can be celebrated and not used to be segregated.

Through the medium of sport that’s what our movement represents…Hope.

Hope, that if sport can adjust to include those with disabilities, maybe the community can follow. And when our community is shifting to this idea of perfection where life, within even a picture, is filtered within an inch of humanity.

Our movement has greater importance than ever because the image of perfection isn’t real, it’s not sustainable and it’s not healthy. And our ability to share beauty and strength in this perceived imperfection, it just cannot be matched. I fundamentally believe that sport can lead this country and I believe the Paralympic movement is a jewel within the sporting crown.

I know that there’s a few people out there now saying I should just accept this award and bugger off. But sport within this country has never been about the individual… It’s been about the uniform leading.

I recognised earlier that I am first that I am the first within the Paralympic movement to receive this award, and I am incredibly grateful to have been given this opportunity – but I will guarantee that I won’t be the last. But we need every person within this room to embrace our community of people with disabilities, not only on the sporting field but within administration, in executive and within board and in governance roles.

Let’s lead the way. We won’t regret it. There is strength and substance in this community. Enough to build a country on.

Sir Donald Bradman once said that athletes who receive recognition, they also have a duty to mankind. Well I am honored to receive this recognition and I am honored by ‘The Don’ Award and I will do my best to be worthy of it.

for Peter Norman: 'In the words of John Carlos, 'tell your children about Peter Norman' AOC Order of Merit Acceptance, by Janita Norman - 2018

My name is Janita Norman, I am Peter's eldest daughter. I am honoured to represent my family this evening. Attending tonight are Peter’s children Sandra Kadri, Gary, Belinda and Emma Norman, his 6 grandchildren, sister Elaine, her husband Michael, nephew John. Thelma Norman Peter's mother, my mum Ruth and Belinda and Emma’s mum Jan. I thank the AOC for hosting a wonderful celebration of Dad’s achievements tonight.

My brother and sisters assure me that being the family spokesperson is one of the responsibilities of the eldest child and at risk of revealing my age, their claim that I was the only child born prior to the 1968 Mexico City Olympic Games further justifies to them ...my taking on this task tonight.

We are delighted at the AOC’s decision to honour Peter.... the announcement caused much excitement within our family, both smiles and tears – it evoked many emotions. About time?? Or Timed to perfection - What a great thing to happen this year, the 50th anniversary of the Mexico Olympic Games. A year of celebration, of recognition and of reflection of Dad’s life and his achievements.

It is sad that Peter is not here to receive the award, we know that he would be incredibly proud, humbled and ‘chuffed’ for the recognition bestowed upon him by the Australian Olympic Committee. He was often uncomfortable with recognition but I think in his own cool and calm way – even he would have struggled to conceal his elation at being recognised as one of our country’s great athletes.

We thank the AOC for recognising and acknowledging Peter's sporting achievements, his ongoing contribution to sport and for acknowledging the stand he made in support of his fellow athletes on the victory dais in 1968. His sporting career which encompassed Australian championships, Representing Australia at Empire, Pan Pacific and Commonwealth Games, the Olympic silver medal and the long standing Australian 200metres record. Fifty years holding the Australian record is in itself worthy of celebration.

In the past there has been conjecture over Peters place within his own sporting community, the award is recognition for a great athlete, and for a humanitarian and sends a clear message that Peter is accepted and recognised as he should be.

It is difficult to imagine any of these important achievements in isolation as it is a combination of all these things that have combined to make Peter Norman the unique story that is.

What if he had just run the race, won the medal and not been involved anything controversial – surely that would have been easier?

The race..... that incredible race, I have seen it countless times and I still hold my breath from that moment where there is that explosion of power on the home straight, as I lean forward toward the finish line, hold my breath ..... and then YES!!!

I have heard it said many times that his stand cast a shadow over what should have been a moment of sporting glory - an Olympic silver medal, an amazing athletic performance finishing second to split the two incredibly strong, formidable columns of pure power – Tommie Smith & John Carlos

As a child, with no understanding of the issues or the bigger picture, I was unsure if my father was a Hero or if he had done something to be ashamed of … a view that has now been replaced with understanding and admiration for standing up for his belief that “every man is born equal”

What I was sure about, was that Peter Norman landed on the world stage and in many ways became public property. The moment in time that he changed from being Dad, husband, son, brother....to part of history, that moment in time that is so familiar to us, captured forever in that iconic image.

I recall ---- Talking to an interested person a few years ago about the 68 Olympics-----I mentioned that my father won a silver medal in the 200metres -----I said “I’m sure you know the image, the one with the two African American athletes stand together with the little known Australian athlete – on the victory dais receiving their medals – taking a stand for civil rights – to which they said.............. - OMG -----I know that image---- That is incredible---so which one is your dad???

Interesting-----

So - Why Peter Norman?

Throughout Peter's life he touched many people personally or by identification with his story. He had an incredible sporting ability and the ability to motivate and inspire others.

You couldn’t help but like Peter, he was charismatic – He believed in people and people believed in him. He made lasting impressions on people. Over the years I have had countless people say to me..... .I met your father........... he was amazing................. .and they would share their story.

He was passionate about sport and athletics and hoped for the day that his record would be broken as this would be a demonstration of the competitive spirit, which he valued highly.

During his life he mentored young athletes and continues to inspire Australian sprinters who challenge themselves to better Peter’s record times and achievements. He often addressed groups of students, not to talk about his own achievements but to inspire and encourage, to talk about doing your absolute best, challenging yourself and being persistent.

Dad was generous with his time in many sporting areas, presenting medals, encouraging young kids, assisting with the Tri State games. He valued people’s sporting endeavours at any level with any ability.

It is not only in the sporting realm that Dad is held in high regard, Peter Norman is known as a Humanitarian, embraced by communities, groups and individuals who aspire to uphold the values for which he stood. He wasn't a political activist, he was clear and steadfast in his belief.

Primary and secondary school students study Social justice and Human rights as part of their course of studies. In a country that holds its sports men and women in high esteem Dad’s sporting achievements coupled with his courageous stand provide the perfect platform from which to convey the important message of acceptance, equality and inclusion to our children.

This is not a story that hides in history. This is a story that has its own life force, one which is constantly evolving and is as relevant today as it was 50 years ago, a story that is strengthening with added meaning over time and not diminishing.

A story that did not end in 2006 with Dad’s passing, since then it has gathered momentum as our society in many ways is more aware and ready to embrace the values of equality, inclusion and fundamental human rights.

For our family, it is important that Peter’s legacy continues, that Peter Norman is known as an important Australian sportsman and that his message resonates with each up and coming generation.

In the words of John Carlos ...... 'tell your children about Peter Norman'

Last year I received a message from a 12 year old student from the Bahamas. Beau was preparing his final important school assignment in preparation for his junior school graduation. His presentation was titled “Racism in Sport”

His message was so simple and so powerful, it moved our family to tears

His message read:

“My teacher (Ms Waterhouse) and I have been very touched by the story of your father and his courage during the 1968 Olympics. I know he is no longer alive but I still want to say THANK YOU to him for doing something so brave.”

This is Beau with his friends...........

Dad would have been overwhelmed by Beau’s message and this wonderful image, as we were.

Beau received a standing ovation, when he presented his project, spoke about Peter Norman and mentioned that he had reached out to Peter’s family.

This is the reason the story continues, this is why we need to recognise Peter Norman and why it is important to share the story with future generations

The Order of Merit is an important part of the progression of Dad’s story. Powerful and meaningful recognition by the Australian Olympic Committee that they value the sporing achievement of Peter Norman, his long standing Australian record and also the impact that his stand of support has made and continues to make to our society.

On behalf our family we are honoured to receive the Order on behalf of Peter.

Thank you

Jerry Kramer: 'You can if you will', Pro Football Hall of Fame - 2018

4 August 2018, Canton, Ohio, USA

We’ve got to go back to Sand Point High for just a minute. Wonderful town, wonderful times. Small town – 3,000 people, big lake. We had a great football team. This clumsy ox, a sophomore, showed up for practice one fall. I had grown about a foot and I couldn’t walk and chew gum at the time. I was just a mess. I wanted to be a fullback. I didn’t want to be a lineman. I wanted to be a fullback. My coach says, ‘Well, Jerry, that’s wonderful. If you want to be a fullback, you’ll sit on the bench. But if you want to be a tackle, you’ll probably start.’

Oh, boy, I don’t want to sit on the bench. I think I’d rather start.’ So, I started but I wasn’t all that excited about playing in the line. We had a line coach, an older fellow named Dusty Klein, that came up one day and knew who I was and knew that I was struggling. He grabbed my hand and looked at my hand and said, ‘Son, you’ve got big hands, you’ve got big feet. One of these days, you’re going to grow into them. He said, you’re going to be a hell of a player one of these days.’ I looked at him and I was curious and a little amazed, a little amused, a little bit of everything and looked me in the eye and said, ‘You can if you will.’ He started to walk away and I said, ‘Can what?’ He said, ‘You can if you will.’ And he walked away and left me to think about that.

...

The feeling of team is a wonderful thing. It’s the thing that I think most of us play for is because there’s a team and we want to be part of the team. I got drafted in the fourth round by the Green Bay Packers. My classmate, Wayne Walker, who played with Detroit for 15 years, was waiting for me when I came out of class. He said, ‘You got drafted!’

I said, “‘Great, what round was I?’”

“‘Fourth round.’”

“‘Wonderful.’”

“’Who drafted me?’”

“‘Green Bay.’”

“‘Green Bay? Where the hell is Green Bay?’”

“We honestly got a map. ‘Oh, it’s way back there by Chicago. Oh, it’s by a big lake. Oh, that is a big lake.'

...

We were having a wonderful time playing football in Green Bay. We were professional football players and we were making a few bucks and life was good. Our record wasn’t so hot. We were 1-10-1 (in 1958) and had the worst record in the history of the Green Bay Packer organization. We played the Baltimore Colts one Sunday afternoon. They beat us 56-0. They had a white colt that ran around the field every time they scored. We damn near killed him.

...

We went onto Green Bay. I went to the Shrine Game and had a big contract negotiation. I’m sure these young guys would be excited by the numbers and the whole process. We’re playing in the Shrine Game and the general manager for the Packers calls me over and says, ‘We’d like to talk contract with you.’ We didn’t have agents, we didn’t have any information that was printed, we didn’t have any idea what the guys were making. I go to my college coach, I said, ‘What kind of money should I ask for?’ He said, ‘Jerry, if you can get $7,000, you’ll be doing really good.’ So, I went to San Francisco and went in to negotiate with the guys and my general manager said, ‘Jerry, we’d like to sign you to a contract. What are you thinking about?’ I said, ‘$8,000.’ (He said) ‘OK, sign here.’ So, I left a few bucks on the table. But then I recovered quickly. I said, ‘I want a signing bonus, too.’ He said, ‘What about $250.’ (I said) ‘That’d be great. That’d be super.’ I get to Green Bay and we get our first game check after the preseason and there’s a $250 deduction from my check. I go to the general manager and he says, ‘Jerry, that was an advance. That wasn’t a bonus.’  So, I didn’t get a bonus.

...

Coach Lombardi arrived and the world turned around. First of all, he came in and said, ‘I’ve never been a loser and I’m not about to start now. If you’re not willing to make the sacrifice, to pay the price, to do the things that you have to do to win, then get the hell out!’ We kind of looked at him and said, ‘Can’t be that bad.’ He said, ‘We’re going to work harder than you’ve ever worked in your life. There’s only three things in your life: your God, your family and the Green Bay Packers.’”

...

He worked us harder than we had ever worked in our lives. We had guys losing consciousness every practice. Every exercise session, two, three guys would lose consciousness. One kid showered after practice, got on the bus, went back to the dormitory, got to the line in the chow hall and passed out. We were not real receptive to his philosophical comments but he would talk to us every night about principles that he believed in. He started with preparation – how you must be physically, mentally, emotionally prepared for the game. He would go on and on and on and we’d go, ‘Well, everybody’s got to be prepared. We’ll give you that. We’ll give you preparation. But that’s it!’ Then he would talk about commitment – mind, body, heart, soul and most of all self. ‘Well, maybe. You’ve got to be committed if you’re going to do something. If you’re really going to be involved, you might as well be committed. So, I’ll give him commitment, too.’ And discipline. ‘You don’t do things right once in a while, you do them right all the time.’ So, we got into discipline, consistency, pride, tenacity, belief in your team and believe in yourself. It was an incredible experience to be with him.

...

He could be both very, very harsh and very, very gentle. We’re working awfully hard and I’m having a bad day. We’re all having a bad day on offense. We’re on the 1-yard line and we’re scrimmaging the defense and we’re about 30 to 40 minutes into practice and we’re getting stopped and we’re really having a difficult day. I missed a block and I come in for some attention. A little bit later, I jumped offside. The coach comes running across the field and he gets about 10 inches from my nose and he goes, ‘Mister, the concentration period for a college student’s about 5 minutes, high school’s about 3 minutes, kindergarten is 30 seconds! And you don’t have that? Where’s that put you?’ (Kramer hangs his head.) It put me checking my shoe shine. “Practice ended shortly after that and I go up to the locker room. He’s out with Bart (Starr) and the wide receivers for about 40 minutes longer and I’m sitting in front of my locker, took my hat and my shoulder pads off, looking at the carpet and wondering what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. I’m thinking about maybe another football team, maybe another job, maybe something else. I’m deep in thought and totally wrapped up in it and he comes in the door, sees me down at the far end of the locker room, comes down, pats me on the back of the neck, messes up my hair, slaps me on the shoulder. ‘Son, one of these days you’re going to be the best guard in football.’ A surge of energy entered my breath and filled me up. It was his approval and belief in me that he was passing on to me and it made a dramatic difference in my life. Approval and belief, Mom, Dad, approval and belief. Powerful, powerful tools. From that point on, I wanted to play a perfect football game. If he believed in me, I could believe in me. So, I tried to play a perfect game and we had a wonderful group of guys.

...

Just an incredible group of guys but we also had a wonderful team that believed in team, that played as a team and lived as a team and enjoyed one another as a team. My best example of that is the 1965 season. I had nine operations. I came back the next season and weighed 189 pounds at one point during the offseason. When I got done, I got up to 218 and I went into the coach’s office to talk contract with him. He said, ‘Jerry, go home. Just go home. I’ll pay your salary, take care of all of your hospital bills, take care of everything. Just go home.’

“‘Coach, I can’t go home. If I go home, I’ll never play again. I’ll miss the whole season, I’ll probably never play again.’”

“‘Well, I can’t count on you.’”

“‘I don’t care if you can count on me. I’m going to play.’”

“‘Jerry, I wish you’d just go home.’”

“‘No, I’m not going home.’”

“We did this for 45 minutes. Finally, he says, ‘OK, I’m going to put you with the defense.’ I said, ‘Great, I always wanted to play defense, anyway.’” So, I was (a little) cocky because I was getting on the field and I certainly wasn’t prepared for it. Months later, I’d take the field and I’m about 220. We had a tradition when we’d run three laps around the field. I ran a lap-and-a-half and my lungs seized up. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t get any air, I couldn’t do anything at all. Don Chandler, my teammate and kicker, came over to me and said, ‘What’s wrong, pal?’ I said, ‘I can’t breathe.’ He says, ‘How much did you run?’ I said, ‘a lap-and-a half,’ He said, ‘I’ll run the other lap-and-a-half.’

“He said, ‘You and I are going to sit together during calisthenics. You’re going to do whatever you can do. If you can only do five sit-ups and they do 50, I’ll do 45. I’m a kicker and I don’t have to do anything if I don’t want to and I don’t normally. If they do 50 push-ups and you can only do three, I’ll do 47. Between you and I, we’ll do what one of those guys does.’ So, Don Chandler set beside me for 35 days and he helped me every step of the way. At the end of 35 days, I could do the calisthenics. I weighed about 235 at that point and I could do all the exercises, so they put me back on offense and we won a title in ’65, we won one in ’66, we won one in ’67, my book was published in ’68, so a great part of my life followed that probably would never have been without Don Chandler.

...

I’ve got a couple thoughts from other voices that I’d love to share with you about accomplishments and approval and those kinds of things. There’s a poem called, ‘Invictus’ (by William Ernest Henley). If you’re go be an achiever, you’re going to be a doer, you’re going to make something out of yourself, there’s certain principles and certain qualities you need. At this point, it kind of reflects the thought process of an achiever. It goes something like:

Out of the night that covers me, 
Black as the Pit from pole to pole, 
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.  

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud. 
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.  

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years  
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.  

It matters not how strait the gate, 
How charged with punishments the scroll, 
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

...
There was a fellow by the name of William Jennings Bryan who was a warrior and a really brilliant man. He said, ‘Success in life is not so much a matter of chance as it is a matter of choice.’ We choose to do the right thing and we choose not to do the right thing. So a great deal in life is a matter of choice. Coach Lombardi, to sum it all up, after the game is over, the stadium lights are out, the parking lot’s empty, you’re back in the quiet of your room, championship ring is on the dresser, the only thing left at this time is for you to lead a life of quality and excellence and make this world a little bit better place because you were in it. You can if you will. You can if you will. Thank you.

Sarah Klein, Tiffany Lopez and Aly Raisman: 'The abuse of Larry Nassar began 30 years ago' Arthur Ashe Award, ESPYS - 2018

“To all the survivors out there, don't let anyone rewrite your story. Your truth does matter. You matter. And you are not alone.”

Tonight, Aly Raisman and her sister survivors brought the #ESPYS audience to their feet. pic.twitter.com/0sVTI0wLUH

— ESPYS (@ESPYS) July 19, 2018

19 July 2018, Microsoft Theatre, Los Angeles, USA

Sarah Klein: It's a privilege to stand up here with my sister survivors as we represent hundreds more who are not here tonight.

Make no mistake — we're here on this stage to present an image for the world to see, a portrait of survival, a new vision of courage.

The abuse of Larry Nassar began 30 years ago with me. For 30 years, people at the United States Olympic Committee, USA Gymnastics, and Michigan State University all placed money and medals above the safety of child athletes. Thirty years, until the work of Detective Lieutenant Andrea Munford of the Michigan State Police Department and Andrea Povilaitis, the assistant attorney general who prosecuted the case, finally putting our abuser away for life.

Speaking up and speaking out is not easy. Telling our stories of abuse, over and over and over again, in graphic detail, is not easy. We're sacrificing privacy, we're being judged and scrutinized, and it's grueling and it's painful, but it is time.

As a mother, I am here to say that we must start caring about children's safety more than we care about adults' reputations. And as a survivor, I'm here to say that if we just give one person the courage to use their voice, this is worth it. If one more victim of sexual abuse feels less alone tonight, then our suffering has meaning.

Tiffany Thomas Lopez: In my sport, softball, we typically measure ourselves with with wins and losses. Well, the amount of loss is almost immeasurable. Tonight, we stand here, and it feels like we're finally winning.

There are a lot of conversations in our society that we tiptoe around as if they're something to avoid. I know in my life, people have looked that way at two issues extremely personal to me: race and sexual abuse. Sexual abuse claims victims in every race, showing no discrimination. Just like Arthur Ashe, I stand so very proud representing not only minorities, but all of us as humans, the human race.

I encourage those suffering to hold tight to your faith, and stand tall when speaking your truth. I'm here to tell you, you cannot silence the strong forever.

Aly Raisman: 1997, 1998, 1999, 2000, 2004, 2011, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016. These were the years we spoke up about Larry Nassar's abuse. All those years, we were told, ‘You are wrong. You misunderstood. He's a doctor. It's OK. Don't worry. We've got it covered. Be careful. There are risks involved.’ The intention? To silence us in favor of money, medals, and reputation.

But we persisted, and finally, someone listened and believed us. This past January, Judge Rosemarie Aquilina showed a profound level of understanding by giving us each an opportunity to face our abuser, to speak our truth, and feel heard. Thank you, Judge, for honoring our voices. For too long, we were ignored, and you helped us rediscover the power we each possess. You may never meet the hundreds of children you saved, but know they exist.

The ripple effect of our actions, or inactions, can be enormous. spanning generations. Perhaps the greatest tragedy of this nightmare is that it could have been avoided. Predators thrive in silence. It is all too common for people to choose to not get involved. Whether you act or do nothing, you are shaping the world we live in, impacting others. All we needed was one adult to have the integrity to stand between us and Larry Nassar. If just one adult had listened, believed, and acted, the people standing before you on this stage would have never met him.

Too often, abusers, and enablers perpetuate suffering by making survivors feel their truth doesn't matter. To the survivors out there, don't let anyone write your story. Your truth does matter. You matter. And you are not alone.

We all face hardships. If we choose to listen and we choose to act with empathy, we can draw strength from each other. We may suffer alone, but we survive together.

Apollos Hester: 'Keep smiling no matter what you're going through', post game interview, Sports Night High School Blitz - 2014

19 September 2014, Austin, Texas, USA

Lauren Mickler: Hey Joaquin, I'm out here with Apollos Hester, wide receiver for the Patriots. You guys had one heck of a game tonight. How did it go? I mean it was going a little back and forth. You guys knew it was going to be a tough job to fight out there and it was, so what were you guys able to do to come back and win this thing.

Apollos Hester: All right, well at first we started slow. We started real slow, and you know that's all right, that's okay, because sometimes in life you're going to start slow. That's okay. We told ourselves hey, we're going to start slow. We're going to keep going fast. We're going to start slow, but we're always, always going to finish fast. No matter what the score was, we're going to finish hard, we're going to finish fast.

Yeah, they had us the first half. I'm not going to lie. They had us. We weren't defeated, but they had us. But it took guts, it took an attitude. That's all it takes. That's all it takes to be successful, is an attitude, and that's what our coach told us. He said, "Hey, it's going to be tough. It's going to be hard. You're going to go out there, you're going to battle, you're going to fight, you're going to do it one another. Do it for each other. You're going to do it for yourself, you're going to do it for us, and you're going to come out with this win," and we believed that, we truly did.

It's an awesome feeling. It's an awesome feeling when you truly believe that you're going to be successful regardless of the situation, regardless of the scoreboard, you are going to be successful because you put in all the time, all the effort, all the hard work, and you know that it's going to pay off, and if it doesn't pay off you continue to give God the glory. If you still lose the game you continue to get each other's back, and that's what we realised. Win or lose, we realised that we were going to be all right and it was going to be okay. We're going to keep smiling. It was awesome. Awesome.

Lauren Mickler: Apollo's always got a smile on his face. Talk about attitude, this guy's got attitude if you guys can't tell. We met earlier this week and this was the enthusiasm I saw.

Apollos Hester: It's a mindset, yes ma'am. Hey, you can do anything you put your mind to. Never give up on your dreams. Keep smiling no matter what you're going through. If you fall down, just get up. If you can't get up your friends are there to help you out. Your mom is there, your dad is there. God's there. Hey, I'm there to help you up. You're there. It's going to be all right. Keep smiling man.

Lauren Mickler Man, along with all the football highlights you guys have gotten tonight some motivational speaking courtesy of Apollo Hester. Great game tonight, buddy, so I'm happy for you guys.

Apollos Hester: Thank you.

Lauren Mickler: This guy with one touchdown and a whole of sass coming out here for the East View Patriots. All right, guys, we'll send it back to you.

Speaker 3: Wow. All right, a couple of comments that come to mind immediately. Number one is that's in the interview hall of fame.

Speaker 4: Can we please have that guy on every single week?

Speaker 3: Can we have him on every show? The second thing that comes to mind is ... I don't know about you, but I'm ready to run for a brick wall.

Speaker 4: If he doesn't make it as a football player, he should be an inspirational speaker. That is incredible.

Jason Kelce: ‘Just keep moving forward’ post Superbowl victory - 2018

4 February 2018, Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA

You know the last two weeks, after we beat Atlanta and after we beat .... the last two weeks after we won, I found myself ine shower crying. dreaming of this moment.

You work so hard your whole life to get here.

Everything culminates ... i can't help but think back to a quote my grandfather gave me by Calvin Coolidge about persistence, I'm not going to say it, because it's a little long, and it will drag on ...

But .,. her gave me that quote when I was eighteen years old ... when I was not given a scholarship to play at any division one university,

My father and mother, my father and mother told me to stay after my dream, and I've officially accomplished the best thing in this sport with a group of guys that mean the world to me.

Becasue really persistance has summed up my whole career. Summed up my whole life. Just keep going, jsut keep moving forward, no matter what obstacles come in your way, just keep moving forward.

The resiliency of this team is incredible. We've all talked about it, but when you really sit back and think, a lot of you guys picked us to finish dead last in the NFC East. As they went along, nobody gave us any inclination that they thought we were the best team in the NFL. Especially after injuries started happening. This is understandable.

But the fact that we were able to overcome everything ... just keep moving forward, I can't help but be a little emotional.

Frank Thomas: 'You can't win any game without teammates, and I had the best of them', Baseball Hall of Fame induction - 2014

27 July 2014, Cooperstown, New York, United States

Give me a second. Thank you, Mr. Commissioner, Ms. Jane Forbes Clark.

Today I would like to thank the National Baseball Hall of Fame and the baseball writers for selecting me as a first ballot selection in this 2014 Hall of Fame class. I'm so humbled and honored to be a part of this historic class of first ballot Hall of Famers. To share the stage in front of all the legendary men who made the game better for us all, I'm speechless.

I want to personally thank you all for being great role models and making this great game what it is today. Hard work, dedication and commitment. No short cuts to success, thanks for having me in your Club.

I would like to thank my parents, Charlie Mae Thomas, who’s here today, and the late Frank Thomas, Sr., for giving me the love and support that keep me involved in team sports in a lovely town Columbus, Georgia.

I would also like to thank my parents for working so hard to instill core values to make the best of life. We didn't have much but my parents worked tireless for me and my four siblings. Frank Sr., I know you're watching and smiling from heaven. Without you, I know 100 percent I wouldn't be here in Cooperstown today.

Thanks for pushing me and always preaching to me: You can be someone special if you really work at. I took that to heart, Pops. Look at us today. We're a long way from Columbus, Georgia. Mom, thanks for hanging in there and believing in the same vision. I know it wasn't easy, but I thank you for the motherly love and support.

Raising all of us was tough, but you and Dad made sure we made it. You guys made it look easy for us. I thank you and I love you, Mom.

I would now like to thank my beautiful wife, Megan, and my five wonderful children: Sterling, Sloan, Sydney, Frankie and Ashleigh Kate for making life so unforgettable for me. I know all five of you are different, and all five of you complete me day by day.

That's what makes me feel so blessed. You guys are my everything. There are no words to describe how much I love you guys.

I especially want to say thanks, Megan, for coming into my life 15 years ago. When we met, life was throwing me a curveball, one I could not hit. But meeting you really put pep in my step and made me believe in love again.

I thank you for teaching me the value of family first. You took my three older kids immediately as your own and changed my world forever. I know this wasn't easy but you proved your love for me from day one. I'm so blessed to be married to such a wonderful person. You complete me; I love you baby.

I would like to thank my siblings for all the love and support. My older sister, Gloria, Mary, Sharon and Michael. I can't name all my extended family and friends, I know you’re here, and I love you guys, but thank you for coming.

My older brother, Michael, thanks for being my best friend and for always having my back. Mike World, I can tell you everything and you always have advice for me, some good some and some bad, but thanks for being honest. I love you, Bro.

In life, you have infrastructure. I would like to thank my team who has kept me grounded and in touch with reality from day one. First, the late Robert Fraley. I know you're not here, my friend, but thanks for watching my career and giving me professional guidance you gave me. It's priceless.

Robert, you once said to me, "Life is not fair. You have to work hard and earn your respect." You were so right. I thank you for being honest with me. I know you're somewhere in heaven directing traffic because that's what true leaders do.

I would like to thank Frank Bumstead. I thank you for becoming my father figure in my life after I lost my father. Robert Fraley introduced us, and without you, I have no clue where I would be today. I love you, man. Taryn Anderson, thank you for dealing with me on a daily basis, keeping me straight. I appreciate everything you do, because I know it's not easy. Thank you.

And Lisa Rybicki, I thank you for managing my life for 16 long years. Without you, my career could have fell off a long time ago. I thank you for keeping everyone in check. You did a wonderful job. Thank you, Lisa.

Also like to thank Arn Tellum and Joel Wolf for picking up the pieces later in my career and guiding me to new beginnings in Oakland and Toronto. I thank you guys.

Now, I would like to thank the Chicago White Sox organization for drafting me into professional baseball. Special thanks to Jerry Reinsdorf, Eddie Einhorn, Larry Himes, Al Goldis, Howard Pizer and Mike Rizzo for taking a chance on a kid from a small town with many big dreams.

Jerry, thanks for a long and wonderful ride in that Chicago White Sox uniform. You did a lot for me and you still mean a lot to me. Thank you, my friend.

Also I would like to thank all my general managers and managers along the way in Chicago: Ron Schuler, Danny Evans, Jeff Torborg, Gene Lamont, Terry Bevington and Kenny Williams, Jerry Manuel and a special thanks to Ozzie Guillen, 11 years as a teammate, three years as a manager, and I can thank you for getting me my only ring because we had that special bond for many years. I thank you, Ozzie, thank you very much.

A special thanks goes out to Ken Hawk Harrelson. Hawk thanks for penning me the Big Hurt. Your nickname for me really changed my life forever.

Hawk, I’d also like to thank you for being a friend and a source of guidance all those years on the plane, through the ups and downs, through the good and bad times, it was priceless picking your brain. Thank you, Hawk.

I would like to thank the Oakland A's and Toronto Blue Jays for believing in me as a free agent and signing me into their organizations. Lou Wolf, Billy Beane, Dave Forrest, thanks for taking a chance on me, twice. That 2000 season was magical. Without it, I doubt I would be speaking here today.

JP Richardi, Alex Anthopoulos, I thank you and the wonderful Toronto organization for bringing me to Toronto. Hitting No.500 in that Blue Jay uniform was a dream. Thanks for taking a chance on a 39 year old, I really appreciate that.

In my career, I had so many magical moments in all three uniforms. It was a career filled with great memories and great people in all three great organizations. I will always be thankful for all of you. I would like to thank all the coaches who really made me tick and put in many hours of hard work with me.

You know I couldn't forget you guys. Bobby Howard, I know you're here somewhere, it started with you. You made me grow up in a hurry. Your no nonsense approach to the game was needed at an early age. Winning was the only option. You preached that and you made me work for it. Playing for you set my foundation for life. Love you and I thank you.

I would like to thank Pat Dye, Jay Jacobs, Hal Baird, under your guidance at Auburn University I became a man and you guys pushed me to new heights and instilled toughness and a will to win that I really never knew existed.

Coach Barrett, thanks for treating me like a pro before my time. I thank you, my friend. I know I couldn't make it here today, but I thank you.

Coach Dye, it's the same. I know you couldn't make it either, but I really thank you for letting me play both sports. The decision changed my life. I thank you for letting me follow my dreams. Your passion for what's right led me to my current package in baseball. I thank you Coach Dye and War Damn Eagle.

And this is a tough one. I have a special love for this man, Walt Hriniak, my favorite hitting coach of all time. I thank you for being honest from day one. You taught me to only want to be the best. You would always say to me, "Anyone could be good, Frank. But the special ones want to be great." Our work sessions were very consistent every day. It didn't matter if we were 10 for 10 or 0 for 10. It was the same process every day, no free lesson. Consistency and dedication was what made you tick, and I'm so grateful for your tutelage.

Having you first in the big leagues made it difficult for me when you left. Preparation for games wasn't the same any more, but I can always remember you saying, "Keep your f'ing head down and finish, Frank."

Thanks, Walter. Without you, I know I wouldn't be here in Cooperstown here today. Thanks to my other coaches who put in time with me. Sorry I can't ramble all day. I've been told by the rookie has to hurry you have.

Doug Mansolino, Mike Gellinger, Ron Jackson, Greg Walker, Gary Ward, Tom Pachoriek, Gerald Perry, Ron Washington, Ken Macha, John Gibbons, Mickey Bradley, Wallace Johnson,Dave Laroche, Joe Nossek, Cave Man Art Kushner, Mark Salas, Tommy Thompson, the late Kevin Hickey, Chet Demedio, Steve Odgers, Walt Pasternak, Allen Thomas, Clarence Cockrell and Donovan Santas and a special thanks to my friend and coach, Jim Fannin, I know you're here somewhere, Jim. You told me to live in the zone, on and off the field, and even today, I thank you, Buddy.

A heartfelt thanks to all my trainers. Thanks for all the hard work getting me to the post every day. Herm Schneider, I thank you for all the overtime you put in with me, 16 years of TLC. Hermie, thanks my man, you gave me the best professional care year in and year out. I'm so appreciative of you.

Mark Anderson, Brian Ball, Larry Davis, Steve Soupy Sales, Walt Horn, George Poulis - my main man George Poulis, Dave Abraham, Scott Takoe, Amy George and Tim Soder, I thank all of you for your help along the way. Just like to say special thanks to my clubhouse managers, I know they never get any love. Clubhouse managers, pr managers, traveling secretaries; the late Chicken Willie Thompson, Vinnie Fresso, Gabe Morrell, Steve Vuchinich, Jeff Ross, Scott Refeirt, Jay Steinhouse, Glen Rosenbaum, Mickey Morabtio, Mike Shaw, I thank you all for taking care of me. You're all great at what you do. Thanks for all the love.

I want to have a special thanks to all my doctors, I couldn't include all of you today, but a few of you, I'd like to say, thanks again, James Boscardin, Dr. Price, Lowell Wyle, Sr. Dr. Elliot Schwartz, I know Elliot is here. Thank you for what you did for me in Oakland, you're a friend and buddy.

But I have to say one special thank you to Dr. Richard Ferkel. Yes, Dr. Ferkel is here. You repaired my navicular fracture when everyone said I was done. I was sitting at 452 home runs and you looked at me and said, "I'm going to get you back on the field." You never doubted putting me back there and you helped me finish my career. And getting to Cooperstown, I never thought it would happen. I thank you, you mean so much to me and you mean more to me now as a friend. Thank you, Dr. Ferkel.

Getting here was a reflection of my teammates. You can't win any game without teammates, and I had the best of them. Over 850 of them in my time. Getting here as a series of reflections of their talents. I don't have all day here, I only have ten minutes and I might be over – I’m sorry, I'm an emotional guy because I wear my heart on my sleeve. So I'm going to give my guys a verbal montage, please bear with me.

Please bear with me: One Dog, Rock, Grabek, R.V., Ozzie, Joey, Pudge, Karko, Psycho Lyons, Bo, Ellis, Black Jack, the Deacon, Sugar Ray, Alex, Wilson, Bere, Roberto, Thiggy, James Baldwin, Billy Bob, Buehrle, Hot Rod – thanks for the program Hot Rod. D. Bo., Magglio, Carlos, Rowand, Jermaine Dye. He’s here today along with Aaron Rowand. Ivan, Phil, Paulie, Crede, Uribe, Charles Johnson, Sandy, T. Phillips, Harold, Melido, Howry, Foulke, Mike Jackson, Flash, Kenny, Sandy, A.J., Robbie, McElroy, Marullo, Spanky, Julio, Willie Chill, Singleton, Mouton, Davey, El Duque, Fordyce, Leifer, G. Bell, C. Everett, Danny Pasqua, D.J., McCaskill, Paul, Huff, Valentin, Abbott, Devereaux, Kammy Kam (mentioned him twice by accident), John Kruk, Sirotka, Magrane, Freeman, Krueter, Norton, Tartabull, D. Lew, Scott Eyre, Navarro, Bradford, Castillo, Mark Johnson, Garland, Lowe, Eldred, Graffanino, Marte, Bartolo, Cotts, Glover, Loaiza, Contreras, Freddy, Politte. I know it’s long. Sorry. Jenks, Lee, B.A., Podsednik, Blanton, Kiko, Duke, Gaudin, Harden, Haren, Kotsay, The late Joe Kennedy. He left us too soon and was a special friend of mine. Saarloos, Huston, Zito, Kendall, Melhuse, Swisher, Chavy, Crosby, Ellis, D.J., Scutaro, Milton, Kielty, J. Payton, Doc Halladay, Accardo, A.J., Downsie, Frasor, Rios, Casey, League, McGowan, Marcum, B.J., Towers, A. Hill, Vernon, Johnny Mac, Orlando, Reed, Raja and Big Red.

Yeah, it was real. You guys are my family away from home. I miss all of you, I’m glad to have known all of you, I’m sorry I couldn’t name the rest of you guys. I’d probably be getting hit on the head right now from the guys in the back, but I thank you man.

In closing I would like to say thank you to the city of Chicago. You guys make the Big Hurt who he was in the greatest sport town in America. I know I'm biased, but I thoroughly enjoyed every moment playing for you all. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Oakland and Toronto, I thank you for great fan bases, also making me feel at home. It was short lived but I appreciate the love from both of you great cities.

To all you kids out there, just remember one thing from today. There are no shortcuts to success. Hard work, dedication, commitment, stay true to who you are. God bless you all, and I thank you.

Brendon McCullum: 'Cricket was meant to be a game, not a life or death struggle'', Cowdrey Lecture - 2016

6 June 2016, Lords, London, United Kingdom

To Roger Knight, President of the MCC and Derek Brewer, Chief Executive and Secretary of the MCC; thank you for the opportunity to deliver this lecture in the name of Colin Cowdrey.

To Mike O'Farrell and Richard Goatley, Chairman and Chief Executive of Middlesex CCC respectively; thank you for the opportunity to play for Middlesex and to be in London.

To the members of the late Colin Cowdrey's family - it is a privilege to be with you.

And to the members of the MCC - thank you for being here this evening.

I was the kid in South Dunedin who lived for Saturday mornings, when I'd pull the curtains back and hope it wasn't raining, that the wind was blowing from the north and the sun shining. Any of you who've spent a summer in Dunedin will know I was often disappointed. Scottish mist, the locals call it, but there's a time and place for everything, and you could argue that summer in the South Pacific is neither. So I grew up not taking summer for granted. A day of sunshine was precious, because a day of sunshine meant cricket.

I remember the excitement of travelling to the ground with kit bags in the boot of our mum and dad's car, finding a park some distance from the entry to Logan Park, and walking past dozens of games being played by children of all ages.

Turning up at the ground, my thoughts were not of nervousness or fame or fortune; nor of disdain for the opposition. It was all about the game; it really was the beauty and innocence that sport can bring.

There were no concerns that if I didn't perform I may lose my contract.

No worries about lost fame or relevance in a game that can make you a household name in countries all over the world. There was no anxiety of having to testify against a former team mate in the Southwark Crown Court.

No concern about how to integrate a team-mate who had lost the captaincy which I had since taken over. No media that seemed to delight in criticism.

No second thoughts about charging the spinner only to check myself because I remember the mortgage, the mouths to feed at home and the ramifications if I ran past the ball.

My father Stu played 76 first class games for Otago - he must have been a great team man and tourist as he sat on the bench for about the same number of games! The Otago team at the time are held in folklore back home as a group of gnarly uncompromising men from the deep south of New Zealand. They played the game hard, very hard. According to lore, they were remunerated with a per diem that covered a pie, a pint and a punt, of which my old man enjoyed all three in abundance.

When dad talks today about his cricketing experiences he doesn't refer to runs, wickets, averages or aggregates but, rather, the friendships, camaraderie and experiences of his time as a semi-professional cricketer.

It is, of course, cricket that's brought me here, to the other side of the world, to stand before you, one of the proudest and most distinctive sporting clubs in the world, to deliver the Spirit of Cricket lecture named after the great Colin Cowdrey.

I may be a veteran these days, as my knees and back keep reminding me, but I'm almost ten years younger than Cowdrey was when he finally called an end to his involvement in Test cricket.

I never saw him play, but he was one of the first great players I remember becoming aware of as a boy. My friend and lawyer, Garth Gallaway, who is here this evening, remembers the England side touring New Zealand in 1970-71. Cowdrey, a man of the church, missed the first Test in Christchurch through illness and travelled to Dunedin at the invitation of Garth's father, Iain, to preach at St Paul's Cathedral. He had dinner at the Gallaway home and brought with him the Telegraph cricket correspondent, Michael Melford - and Cowdrey and Melford spent an hour on the back lawn bowling to seven-year-old Garth.

Unfortunately, I can't see that happening these days - a seven-year-old boy would be far too good for most of the cricket writers I know!

Cowdrey's record is there for all to see and, to my mind, he personified everything that is wonderful about cricket. He was (from all accounts) a courageous and skilful player but never combative and unpleasant - elegant, prodigious, calm and, most of all, he played the game fairly.

Against the West Indies in 1963, Cowdrey's arm was broken on the fourth day of the Lord's Test, fending a Wes Hall bouncer from his unprotected face. On the fifth day England were battling for a draw and, with just a couple of balls to go and England nine down, Cowdrey, plaster-cast on his left arm, went to the crease and helped see England home.

Just as inspirationally, he was summoned to Australia in 1974-75 after England had been hammered in the first Test at the Gabba. He hadn't played a Test in four years and there he was, with no warm-up game and coming out from an English winter, batting at three for England against Thomson and Lillee.

It's no wonder the crowd gave him a standing ovation as he walked out to bat.

Legend has it that he looked at Jeff Thomson and said, "Mr Thomson I believe? How good to meet you." To which the Australian quick said, "That's not going to help you fatso, piss off."

Some things never change!

Cowdrey made 22 in the first innings facing 101 balls and batting for over two hours. In the second innings he offered to open and, in scoring 41, he withstood Thomson, Lillee, Walker and Mallet for over two hours. He was nearly 42 years old!

If ever we needed proof that the game can be played with grit and determination, with courage and with dignity and, above all, in the appropriate spirit - we need look no further than Michael Colin Cowdrey.

So it's with considerable humility that I stand before you today and deliver this lecture in his name.

Even though, for much of my career, I'm bound to say (sadly), I was very unlike Colin Cowdrey.

In the early days of my international career I was proud to be called brash, aggressive and perhaps even arrogant.

When I first made the New Zealand ODI team, there were at least a couple of guys who were my heroes who had a swagger and sense of entitlement and arrogance about them.

Did I want to be like them? You bet I did!

I became incredibly competitive; winning was everything and I didn't really care what it took to win.

I now look back on that part of my game with regret. There are many things I would change if I could. I guess growing up in a cricketing sense is no different to growing up in life, except that it's a much more public rite of passage where everything you do is scrutinised.

There's no escaping some of the things I've done. It's on video - posterity in the worst possible way.

You probably want an example and fair enough too. Much as it pains me to talk about it publicly, I'll tell you how I ran out Muttiah Muralitharan.

We were playing Sri Lanka at Lancaster Park in Christchurch in late 2006. Kumar Sangakkara scored a magnificent 100 in the second innings. When Kumar reached his 100, Sri Lanka were nine down - the ball was still in the air being returned to me as wicketkeeper when Murali left his ground to congratulate Kumar. When the ball arrived in my gloves, I removed the bails and appealed. Murali was given out and we went on to win the match.

Not surprisingly, the incident created controversy and bad feelings. The Sri Lankans were stunned. Their captain Mahela Jayawardene said at the time: "Legally it was run out, the ball was alive, but we play in an age where we talk about the spirit of the game. Hopefully it won't happen again. It's not the way to play cricket."

If I could turn back time, I would. We were within the laws of the game but not the spirit and there is a very important difference which is glaringly obvious to me years later, and it's that aspect that I want to focus on a little more this evening.

Because nearly ten years after running out Murali, I view things very differently and I would hope that I am am a very different person. Kumar Sangakkara is here tonight. Sanga, I admire you enormously. I regard you as a friend. And I take this opportunity to apologise to you and Murali for my actions on that day.

I want to share with you the things that I think were the primary catalysts for my change of approach. And I think it's fair to say that they came late in my career.

At the time they were particularly challenging for me and forced me to confront my character and question why I was playing the game. Eventually, they allowed me to see what was important about playing cricket and, as a consequence, my love of the game returned - very slowly at first and then in a flood.

The first event was my first Test as captain of New Zealand. I had taken over the captaincy of the team from Ross Taylor and, to put it mildly, it was a controversial decision - played out constantly in the national media. To give you an example of the depth of feeling in New Zealand, the late Martin Crowe, a magnificent player, announced to the media that he had burned his New Zealand blazer in disgust. Strong stuff.

In early January 2013, we played South Africa at Cape Town. It was a gorgeous day, but the pitch at Newlands looked a little bit green. I'd read about 'the table cloth on Table Mountain'. If there was no table cloth - no cloud cover - then the theory was that you bat first on winning the toss. But if there is cloud on the mountain then the rule is to put South Africa in. I stared at the mountain looming over the city and saw bright blue sky, not even a wisp of cloud. So when I went out out to the pitch to toss the coin with Graeme Smith, I'd decided that if we won the toss, we'd bat. I wanted to make a strong statement, particularly to my team but also to the opposition.

Nineteen overs and two balls later we were all out for 45. I'm not sure what happened to the table cloth - it felt like Steyn, Morkel and Philander had whipped it away under us.

The tenth lowest total in 2069 Tests.

If an innings of 45 all out doesn't force you to reconsider what you're doing, I guess nothing will.

After returning to my room that evening, there was a knock on my door. It was the coach, Mike Hesson. Soon after we were joined by Mike Sandle, the manager, and then Bob Carter, the assistant coach. This uninitiated meeting was to play a significant part in what was to unfold over the next few years.

We grabbed beer from the fridge and talked. We didn't 'white-board' it, we just spoke from our hearts; about who we were as a team and how we were perceived by the public. It was agreed that we were seen as arrogant, emotional, distant, up-ourselves and uninterested in our followers.

The environment that the younger players were being welcomed into was really poor - there was a very traditional hierarchy, where senior players ruled the roost.

Ultimately, we concluded that individually and collectively we lacked character. The key for all of us was the team had no 'soul'. We were full of bluster and soft as putty.

It was the first time I had really stopped to consider this in 11 years of international cricket.

The significance of what occurred that evening day was that we recognised that we had to change. We wanted to personify the traits that we identified in New Zealanders - to be humble and hardworking. We wanted to be respected by our long-suffering fans in New Zealand. We wanted to be respected by our opposition; and before we could demand this we had to learn to respect them.

A lot has been written about how the New Zealand team played in subsequent years. I think that no one has captured it better than former Middlesex captain, Ed Smith. Writing for Cricinfo, he said: The manifestations of that contribution are well known - freedom, openness, sportsmanship, the embrace of risk and adventure, and rowing back from the toughness-is-sledging delusion. But how did McCullum reach the insights that led to those characteristics and opinions? And why was he able to stay true to them on the big stage?

He went on to say: Athletes and sports teams waste huge space and energy on external motivators - mission statements about trying to be the best team in the world by 2057; blueprints for global dominance; strategic flow charts about key performance indicators. In fact, if every sportsman simply tried to be the best he could be, and attempted to behave decently along the way, you've pretty much summed up every available optimal strategy in one simple sentence. After all, you can't be better than your best. And nothing matters more than how you feel about the way you've lived your life.

I couldn't agree more with Ed's comments. The things that worked for us may not work for everyone. In changing the way we approached the game, and respected the opposition, we wanted to be true to our national identity.

In terms of that, New Zealanders identify with strong silent types. Perhaps our greatest hero is Sir Edmund Hilary - the first person to climb Mt Everest.

He had a chiselled jaw - he never spoke boastfully about his remarkable achievements and he devoted a considerable part of his life seeking to improve the quality of life of the Nepalese people he loved so much.

Ed Smith recognised in his article the fact that sports people can spend an awful lot of time deep in analysis - every breath they take is analysed, nothing is left to chance. For us as New Zealand cricketers we wanted to remove a lot of the analysis; we wanted to be 'blue collar' in how we went about things, not aloof and superior. We reduced the various theories that had dominated so much of what we did; we planned less, had fewer team meetings and we tried to be the very best we could be. We wanted to be a team that people could be proud of; and if in doubt we wanted to play the game aggressively, not fear failure. I have been given far too much credit for what we achieved - the approach was taken by every member of the squad. Everyone bought into it and lived and breathed it.

And the joy of respecting the opposition was a revelation. There are times in a game where you simply have to enjoy the skill of the opposition and acknowledge it appropriately. Recently I played for the Gujarat Lions in the IPL. We took on the Royal Challengers Bangalore, who batted first. After three overs RCB were 10 for 1 with Chris Gayle back in the pavilion. From there followed a slaughter of our attack by AB de Villiers and Virat Kohli - they broke the world record for the highest T20 partnership, scoring 229 runs between them. We tried everything to remove them; we bowled full, short, wide, into the pads and so on. The quicks tried taking the pace off the ball. Nothing worked. AB and Virat's batting that day was breathtakingly skillful.

Fielding at cover or mid-off for most of the innings the fan in me, the cricket lover, had the best seat in the house. Rather than admonish our bowlers for what occurred this was a time to celebrate genuine mastery.

In a similar vein, I was interested to see the reaction to Alastair Cook's very considerable achievement of becoming the youngest player to score 10,000 runs. In an age where superlatives are thrown about willy-nilly, Alastair's achievement is truly remarkable. But much of the coverage that followed focused on whether he can beat Tendulkar's record tally of Test runs - with calculations being undertaken of how many Tests he may play, how many runs per season he could score and a prediction being provided accordingly.

It is, I suppose, only natural that people would want to speculate in this way; but in doing so, in my view they risk failing to enjoy the moment; to reflect on what has been achieved here and now by a very fine player.

I want to talk now of the other really significant happening that affected my approach to the game. The events leading to it took place at the Sydney Cricket Ground on 25 November, 2014. On that day, Phil Hughes suffered injuries that were to prove fatal, playing for New South Wales against South Australia. Phil was a good man. He was likeable both on and off the field. The outpouring of grief that followed the tragedy were testimony to how much he was loved at home in Australia.

The New Zealand team was in Sharjah playing in a Test series against Pakistan when the news came through that Phil had been hit and was in intensive care.

We were about to begin the third and final Test against a dominant Pakistan side; they had recently demolished Australia 2-0 at the same venues as we were playing. We had been well beaten in the first Test at Abu Dhabi. To put the thumping we received in context, it was the largest winning margin (by runs) by Pakistan against any New Zealand team; and we took just five Pakistan wickets in the match.

We drew the second Test but certainly performed better.

Going into the third Test, we were very conscious that we hadn't lost a test series since 2012, and we desperately wanted to preserve that record by getting a win at Sharjah to level the series. But even as an eternal optimist, I had my doubts that a Test win in the UAE is possible.

Misbah won the toss and at the end of day one Pakistan were 280 for 3. Just before the start of play on the second day, the bombshell arrived - Phil had died.

On hearing the news, my initial attitude was that we shouldn't be playing. I looked around the dressing room and felt that no one wanted to be playing cricket. It had lost all meaning. There was also the realisation that it could have been any one of us. None of us ever anticipated that someone could die from a cricket ball, not in this day and age. I always wanted our fast bowlers roaring in, having a winning attitude; intimidating, ready to exploit any lack of certainty or technique in a batsman, but not at the expense of someone's life. Cricket was meant to be a game, not a life or death struggle. It hit us all hard that for Phil, it had become exactly that.

Mike Sandle, Mike Hesson and I spoke to the match referee, Andy Pycroft from Zimbabwe. We told him we didn't want to play. The umpires were Paul Reiffel and Rod Tucker, both Australians. They were broken and barely able to leave their room at the ground.

It was decided that we should take the day off and see how things looked the following day.

That night I rang Gilbert Enoka and told him that I didn't know what to do.

Gilbert is a sports psychologist in New Zealand who is held in very high regard. He has worked with the All Blacks and New Zealand cricket teams for years.

I explained to Gilbert that we had a group of men who were shattered and wanted to get on a plane home as soon as possible. It didn't feel right to continue playing, but we knew there was a good chance we'd have to. We were the only international game underway at the time and I felt we had to plan for the fact that we may be told we had to carry on.

Gilbert was incredible. He said we should not judge anything that anyone did during the week, and that people should grieve in their own way and concentrate their energy and emotions on themselves rather than the team.

He told me to try and bring everyone together; to try to lighten the mood if at all possible. Most meaningfully Gilbert said: 'All your preparation, all you have ever thought about in cricket, just throw it out the window for this one game.'

In saying this, it was like Gilbert took the weight off my shoulders and gave me a way to deal with what was happening - to realise that there were no rights or wrongs and the rule book could be thrown away.

That night most of the team shared a few beers in my room. The mood lightened at times but there was such a profound sense of disbelief, shock and sadness. We knew had to be at the ground the next day but deep down I think we all hoped the game would be abandoned and we'd be heading home.

Soon after arriving at the ground we were told that the game was going ahead, like it or lump it. The decision had been made for us. Looking back, I think this was the right decision but, at the time, it seemed wrong. In our dressing room there were a number of players weeping uncontrollably. It was to remain a common theme - as we walked onto the field the tears rolled down the faces of many of the lads and this continued sporadically during the day.

As a captain, I felt unable to protect the team and, as we stood in the middle before play began, I apologised to them for having to play.

I fell back on Gilbert's words; 'All your preparation, all you have ever thought about in cricket, just throw it out the window for this one game.'

I reminded the team that there would be no harsh judgement on any player's performance and no consequences for failure. I believe that what motivated us was Phil Hughes. We knew we had to play and we would do that as best we could, to honour Phil and the game itself.

The outcome of the 'uncaring', no-consequence play was a revelation to me. I suspect it was something I had been trying to achieve on a personal level for years; but I had been unable to do so, except for fleeting moments. Here there was a release of many of the external factors that can creep in and influence a player. There was an instinctiveness that took over - no fear of failure, just playing and being 'in the moment'.

From 281 for 3 at the end of day one, and 311 for 5 at drinks in the first session of what was effectively day two, Pakistan lost their last six wickets for 40 runs; and that opened the door for us, a little.

We put together 690 runs, the biggest total ever by a New Zealand side and the second-highest score against Pakistan by any team. As a team we averaged nearly five runs an over and we hit 22 sixes; a world record number in a Test innings. In my new-found mental freedom, I managed a double-century and Kane Williamson scored a much finer 192.

Pakistan were all out for 259; a splendid win by an innings and 80 runs and the Test series was squared.

This test was New Zealand's first win against Pakistan in Asia in 18 years, and the first innings win by New Zealand against any team in Asia in 30 years.

The way that Phil's death affected what happened didn't go unnoticed by those who witnessed it. Cricinfo saw it this way: 'The Kiwis were badly affected by the incident and didn't even celebrate any of their achievements. A remarkable thing to note here is that they barely applauded a wicket. Consider this: just the two bouncers bowled today and no close-in fielders in front of the wicket! Takes some doing and still they won the game in four days to level the series 1-1... full marks and hats off to the Kiwis for the spirit they have shown throughout the series. Certainly an example set for all the other sides to follow and act upon. Long live their attitude!'

The realisation of how we achieved the result through the manner of our play came sometime later. The team had drawn strength from one another and Gilbert Enoka's 'no consequences' brought a 'joy of life' in a cricketing sense that was richly ironic but, nevertheless, liberating. The big thing I took away from this Test is the way Phil's death affected our mind-set and the way we played in the rest of the match. It was so strange, and yet it felt so right, that after Phil's death we didn't really care any more about the result. Because nothing we could or couldn't do on the field really mattered in comparison to what had happened to Phil. Our perspective changed completely for the rest of my time playing Test cricket for New Zealand, and we were a much better side as a result.

Many observers have said that we were playing the way it should be played; as gentlemen who respected the history of the game. People undoubtedly warmed to the fact that we no longer sledged the opposition.

We worked out what would work for us, based on the traits of being Kiwis. To try to be humble and hardworking and to enjoy what we were doing. It is vital that you understand that we were never trying to be 'nice guys'. We were just trying to be authentic in how we acted, played the game and carried ourselves. For us, sledging in an abusive manner just didn't fit with who we believed we had to be. It wasn't authentic to being a New Zealander.

This is not the time to go through a microscopic examination of 'what is sledging' and to seek to define it. Everyone has a view of how the game should be played and everyone is entitled to their view - Jeff Thomson probably shouldn't have called Colin Cowdrey 'fatso' and told him to 'piss off '. But it's a great story and Colin had broad shoulders from all accounts.

The truth is that cricket is unique - you spend a lot of time out there, 'in the middle'. Humorous comments made in the heat of battle are gold. And when Colin Cowdrey's funeral took place at Westminster Abbey (with 2,500 people in attendance), it was Thommo who carried the Australian flag. Enough said.

In terms of our New Zealand side, we weren't righteous in our stance and demanding that other teams follow our lead, but for us it was so good to play free of the shackles - to genuinely love the game again, to acknowledge and enjoy the opposition. And for me, when I pulled back the curtains in the morning, wherever we were, I smiled when the sky was blue and felt the same anticipation I did growing up in Dunedin.

And so, in reflecting on my 14 years of international cricket, I again acknowledge my numerous failings and mistakes throughout my career. But I also celebrate that when I retired from international cricket the New Zealand team, through the contribution of everyone, has rediscovered its soul. It's now a team that our country is proud of. Our followers know that New Zealand won't win every game or be the world's best team, but I think they are able to look at the team as a representation of our culture. The team now has a magnificent player and leader in Kane Williamson - he will rightly stamp his own leadership style on the environment but I am certain he will always play the game with a strong influence of being a New Zealander - humble and hardworking. Like Sir Edmund Hilary.

I have talked about the final three years of my career in particular and the fact that during that time, I rediscovered my love of cricket. It wasn't, however, all 'beer and skittles'. Throughout much of that period the spectre of the allegations of match-fixing by Chris Cairns hung over me - and then, of course, the trial at the Southwark Crown Court, London, when Cairns faced charges of perjury.

I have no doubt that you will be very familiar with the evidence I gave in the trial in London last year. Namely that Cairns, my former hero, approached me to fix matches in 2008; once in Kolkata when I was playing in the IPL for the first time, and again during the New Zealand tour of England when we were in Worcester.

At the outset, I think it is appropriate, standing here at the 'Home of Cricket', to confirm that I stand by everything said in my statements and the evidence I gave at the Southwark Crown Court.

I did not initially report Cairns' approaches to me. As I said in the witness box when under cross-examination, it's not easy 'ratting' on someone I regarded as a mate. And, frankly, I was scared; and, frankly, I felt completely out of my depth. I unreservedly accept that I should have reported the approaches at the time that Cairns made them; but it was a dreadful situation to be in.

In any case, before the New Zealand team's first game in the World Cup of 2011, John Rhodes, a representative of the ICC's anti-corruption unit, addressed us. He told us that if we had been, or were, approached about match-fixing and we did not report it then we were, in the eyes of the ICC, just as guilty as the person who approached us. I had told other people about Cairns' approaches - one of them was my captain and friend, Dan Vettori.

After John Rhodes completed his address I approached Dan and we went and saw Rhodes, telling him I had something to share with him. Rhodes took us to his hotel room where I detailed the approaches made by Cairns. Rhodes took notes - he did not record our conversation. He said he would get what I said down on paper and that it would probably end up at the bottom of the file with nothing eventuating.

Looking back on this, I am very surprised by what I perceive to be a very casual approach to gathering evidence. I was reporting two approaches by a former international star of the game. I was not asked to elaborate on anything I said and I signed a statement that was essentially nothing more than a skeleton outline.

Needless to say, by the time I sat in the witness box in London in October 2015, I had made three statements in relation to the issues. The second statement was requested by the ICC's anti-corruption unit much later on - a clear indication that my first statement was inadequate - but how on earth could I have known that. As a player I had reported an approach - and it was recorded sparsely by the person I reported to.

My third statement was requested by the Metropolitan Police - later still - and, suffice to say, they were streets ahead in terms of professionalism. They asked me so many questions, testing my memory, and took a much more comprehensive brief.

Cairns' lawyer made much of the fact that I had made three statements and, when I was cross-examined, he hammered me on the basis that my evidence was unreliable because I did not say everything at the outset when interviewed by John Rhodes.

In fairness to Rhodes, I don't think either of us could ever have foreseen that my first statement would be used in a perjury trial in London four years after it was made. But the point I wish to make is that it must have been feasible that I would have to give evidence somewhere, sometime. I think players deserve better from the ICC and that, in the future, the evidence-gathering exercise has to be much more thorough, more professional. In my opinion a person taking a statement should ensure that the witness is advised about what may occur - that if evidence were to be given in the future and the witness did not put everything in that initial statement or changed what they said in any way, then this would likely impact on their credibility. When I made my first statement to the ICC, my impression was that it would be put in the bottom draw and never see the light of day again. No attempt was made to elicit a full and comprehensive statement from me on that occasion.

I had no legal obligation to turn up in London and give evidence against Cairns. Living in New Zealand, I could not have been compelled to give evidence and, frankly, I would much rather have stayed at home. But I believe I had a moral obligation to tell the truth - and I believe that the interests of the game of cricket and common decency demanded my attendance. But I do wish that the ICC had handled my initial approach more professionally for the reasons I have given.

Worse still (in May 2014) my testimony was leaked to Ed Hawkins at the Daily Mail. Everything I had said was in the newspapers for everyone to see.

I do not wish to dwell on the personal effect that the leak had on me - suffice to say it was, however, a dreadful situation as the media attention then focused on me. No witness who has provided evidence to the ICC should ever have to go through such a scenario again. The leak has never been explained to me; to my knowledge no one has been held accountable and, in those circumstances, it is difficult to have confidence in the ICC. To report an approach and to give evidence requires considerable courage - players deserve much better. How can the game's governing body expect players to co-operate with it when it is then responsible for leaking confidential statements to the media? It goes without saying that if players do not have confidence in the organisation, they will be reluctant to report approaches and the game is worse off. If we are to get rid of the scourge of match-fixing, a robust governing body is essential.

The other aspect that I want to touch on very briefly before closing is the position Lou Vincent is in - I played with Lou for a number of seasons. As will have become apparent during the course of his testimony in the Cairns' trial, Lou has his demons. He was always a vulnerable character; there are many similar characters who play the game. While loathing the fixing activities Lou took part in, I have nothing but admiration for him for the way in which he accepted responsibility for his actions and acknowledged guilt. I also think he demonstrated remarkable courage in giving evidence against Cairns.

The insight that Lou was able to provide into the dark and sinister world of match-fixing was, I think, invaluable. It would have been very easy for Lou to say nothing - to refuse to co-operate - but instead he laid his soul bare at considerable personal cost.

Lou's punishment from the ECB was to receive 11 life bans; one for each offence which carried that penalty. Lou is banned from having any involvement whatsoever in cricket. Perhaps the worst part is that Lou is unable to go to a cricket ground anywhere in the world. He can never watch his children play at any level. I struggle with the severity of this when a player has co-operated fully and accepted responsibility. While it was reported that Lou had agreed to the 11 life bans, I suspect that sitting in New Zealand without a dollar to his name, he was unable to do anything else. In the criminal law in New Zealand a defendant is given some clemency for co-operation and entering a guilty plea. It seems to me that Lou did not receive any such acknowledgement but, rather, had the book thrown at him.

I raise this issue because if we are to expect players to feel able to come forward and confess all, then there has to be some recognition of this. Many of the players who become involved in match-fixing in the way that Lou did will be weak or vulnerable; it is well known that the people who seek to engage players in this way will look for players of a similar disposition. If players co-operate with the authorities and provide the game with a rare and critical insight into the workings of this pernicious influence, then there must surely be something that can be done beyond giving them the maximum ban available. I have no doubt that the ECB's severe punishment of Lou has robbed the game of a golden opportunity to have him provide education to players, something I feel could have made a difference in the future. Further, it ignored his extreme vulnerability in a callous way.

In conclusion, none of what I have said changes my view that all players must report any approaches. It is a fundamental responsibility that we all share for the greater good of the game. But it is equally vital that players who do report are treated professionally and that their report is kept confidential.

Unless players can have confidence in the authorities and their processes, then I am sorry to say that the game will be the loser. Similarly, it is vital that players found guilty of offences having acknowledged wrongdoing are shown a degree of clemency - failing which there seems to be very little incentive for them to come forward.

I have talked for far too long and it is time to close. Before doing so, I would like to acknowledge the considerable assistance I received from New Zealand Cricket throughout the period that I have referred to in my address. In particular I acknowledge the Chief Executive, David White, for his unwavering support of me - I remain eternally grateful.

If I may be permitted to make one final comment - then it is this. Cricket is a wonderful game that is played in many parts of the world. It is unique and it should be treasured and preserved; players and administrators alike are guardians.

I feel incredibly fortunate to have played the game for so long and to have had the experiences I have had. While I have earned more than a pie, a pint and a punt per day through being a professional cricketer, I have retired from first-class and international cricket without memories of aggregates, runs, wickets, catches or matches won. Rather, I treasure the memories of playing with and against so many wonderful people - as my father did before me.

Phil Bennett: 'Look what these bastards have done to Wales', pregame Wales v Engalnd - 1977

5 March 1977, Cardiff Arms Park, Cardiff, Wales, United Kingdom

Look what these bastards have done to Wales. They've taken our coal, our water, our steel. They buy our homes and live in them for a fortnight every year. What have they given us? Absolutely nothing. We've been exploited, raped, controlled and punished by the English — and that's who you are playing this afternoon.

Is the speech apocryphal? Here is Bennett's explanation.

Cooper Cronk: 'Because while football is very important, life is way more important', Retirement speech - 2017

The farewell speech to end all others 💜 #ThanksCooper pic.twitter.com/74ZnuucOLK

— Melbourne Storm (@storm) October 4, 2017

3 October 2017, Melbourne, Australia

On Craig Bellamy

Craig sets an agenda or an example of what it takes to be successful but he also has this side of humility that makes you a better person and some guys have come to this club that have been really good players, way better than some of the other ones that have come through the door. “Some of the lunatics get out the door real quick because they just don’t fit and that’s because of Craig.

His humility from where he’s come from and what he has is something that I’ve learnt. The two lessons that I’ve learnt from Craig is that hard work pays off and humility is a trait that you want to have.

Craig thank you, you’re the biggest influence on my rugby league career. I thank you for the person you are and I wish you all the very best with your ever growing family with a couple of grandkids now and that brings a smile to my face, knowing that you’re very happy with your life and where it’s at and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

On Cmeron Smith

To Cameron and Bill — I tell you what we balled our eyes out the other day when we presented each other jerseys, it is emotional once you develop relationships over a long period of time and we all met in 2001.

Cameron used to drive me in his hotted up HG Holden car when I didn’t know the difference between a windscreen wiper and a mud flap but he would absolutely fang the thing on the Gateway Motorway and I remember one day it was teeming down with rain and he aquaplaned it at about 160km/h and I was holding on for dear life. So thanks for almost killing me ...

Thank you for doing the things we did.

On Billy Slater

We all know Billy’s story about driving down from Innisfail but we all don’t know the story that he used to drive a maroon Magna with roof racks — and who has surf in Innisfail, there is no surfboards.

He had moo cow seatcovers and I had a Nissan Pintara and we used to go down to the Gold Coast and race each other down there. Let’s just say I’d beat him hands down all the time.

We met each other in 2001 at Brisbane Norths and it’s now 2017 and what’s been done is, I would never have thought the moments we had back in 2001 that we’d all be standing here today.

The thing that I’m most proud of is not that we’ve won some competitions or some individual medals or represented our states and our country.

I’m proud that I’ve been a part of both of them getting married, both of them having kids, both of them having a life that they can be tremendously proud of. Not only in the things that they’ve achieved but the people they are and the example they are for other people in this room and everyone at Melbourne Storm.

On partner Tara

People used to get up here and thank their wives and their girlfriends for their influence on them as people and the way they play.

I used to sit there when I was 19 and think, they don’t help you tackle or run. So why are you thanking them?

But after meeting Tara a few years back I understand why you say thank you now. Because while football is very important, life is way more important.

So she’s not here tonight but Melbourne Storm is the second best thing that’s ever happened to me, Tara’s number one and I thank you very much everything you’ve ever done for me.