Why Authenticity? Why a Game Plan?

Why Authenticity? Why a Game Plan?

I want to answer this question by taking you back to The Dark Side of Sport. This article that I wrote launched my company Mantality (mantality.co.uk)7 years ago at 22 years old. I guess I grew up fast... The why behind Mantality lies in this article; to shine a light on the darker sides of life that we experience. In living the dream rollercoaster I had always wanted, I realised I was missing something despite executing the game plan that had been laid out before me to my fullest.

Injuries, long stints of rehab, and inability to play that role would send me into the abyss. Even when winning the trophies, after the glistening left me, there would still be the feeling that I wasn't ok. I knew teammates of mine felt the same too...

So I had to work it out... And why not work it out in one of the most macho and invulnerable environments... wouldn't that be fun?

The article was released in the summer of 2016. It starts below, and I'll check in again after :).

The Dark Side of Sport

Do you remember the moment when Leeds snatched the League Leaders’ Shield at Huddersfield last September? Ryan Hall’s last-second surge down the touchline to score capped one of the most dramatic days in Super League history. It was a day that marked one of the biggest transitional periods of my life.?

That day began with me at my Nana’s funeral, carrying her coffin out of the church as ‘Stairway to Heaven’ played. It finished with the Huddersfield game, and I’d told myself I would do everything on that pitch for my Nana, and I did. I felt like I was having one of the best games of my life that day, I got my name on the score sheet, and I believed I would be part of a last-minute score to get the shield. With just minutes left on the clock, I took an all-or-nothing pass from Rob Burrow, and then it came... SNAP! My knee crumpled beneath me. I later learned it had completely ruptured, an injury which would have seen my career written off in a previous era. I couldn’t believe it. Surely this wasn’t meant to happen??

Everyone goes through adversity. At Leeds, I’m surrounded by so many champions and so many experienced players that you’d think I’d have no shortage of people to look up to when dealing with this setback. So there may be some irony in the fact that the role model seeing me through this long-term injury is my Nana. But why would she be someone I look to for inspiration?

Many of you will know just how vicious cancer can be. I used to visit my Nana every week and watch her deteriorate. Her cancer had stemmed from melanoma, and she had developed tumours on her face. Her condition worsened every time I saw her, but she would still light up immediately when I entered the room. It was a connection I felt so strongly.

Every time I went, I couldn’t believe how steely she really was. When I visited her, it sapped me of my energy. I’d look at old photos on her bedside table of her and my Granddad in their youthful days and then look at what she was currently going through. You know that feeling that you get when you’re a kid, and you get a whack on the nose, and your inner voice says, ‘DON’T CRY’. Well, I had that feeling every time I visited my Nana; it was only after I left the hospice that I’d let myself cry. It was my way of releasing the tension which had been building up during every visit.?

Being sat on that physio table, staring at what looked like an inflatable knee, prompted the same feeling I felt every time I left the hospice. Despair. The absolute loss of hope, having to face your worst nightmare. Then I heard the stadium erupt. Hally had scored the winning try after screaming wide-eyed down the touchline, although I didn’t know that then. I was sitting on the physio bed, feeling more alone than ever. There’s a fine line between living the dream and living a nightmare, and it’s my experience of injury and setback over the last eight months that have made me realise that because TV adverts and pre-match montages can make rugby league players seem superhuman, it’s easy for fans to believe that we are. But we are anything but.?

As I’m sitting here writing this, I’m ducking the waves of anxiety that can wash over me every day. I could be having a coffee with close pals, and then suddenly feel a flush of worry as if I was late for something or I had to be doing something else right that second. Two years ago, I had depression. How do I explain what that feels like??

Simply put, I didn’t value anything I did or said anymore. I was stuck in a rut of low moods, which is dangerous if you’re used to going out in front of roaring crowds at 8 pm on the dot on Friday nights. We have this idea that athletes are supposed to be all about positivity, and if you came to me with a set of questions, I could guarantee you that one of them would be “What is your greatest achievement?” rather than “What has been your lowest point?”. Everyone struggles at certain points in their life, but men, in particular, avoid talking about it or do their best not to make it obvious.

After Hally’s try, I hobbled out onto the pitch to the roar of the Leeds fans chanting my name. It felt different to when they do it after you’ve scored a try. It was almost as if the fans felt sorry for me. I went out there and smiled. I stood on one leg and held the League Leaders Shield up in the air. It was all a little bit weird after that condensed 4-minute period of injury, and last-second try to become top of the table. I didn’t know whether to genuinely smile, grit my teeth, or cry.?

But my Nana had prepared me for the upcoming adversity. I’ve never thought too much about fate. I’m just a lad from Morley who did what he had to do to make it. I am aware that everything I had seen of my Nana and everything she had been through would lead me to stronger resilience to cope with yet another nine months on the sidelines. The last time I saw her, she wasn’t with it. She was on so many drugs to cope with the pain. But when I entered the room, I’ll never forget the smile she gave me. That was all she could manage. It was her last treasured, lucid moment, and I’m left with the memory of her brutal, honest strength. That smile was so powerful to me. If she could force out a smile for me in her darkest and most testing of times, knowing she was going to die, then surely I could smile at everything I’d achieved that season.

When you’re injured, you get bored or feel worthless on account of being out of the game. When you’re a rugby player of either code, you know that if you put the hard work in physically, then you can take your bag off the hook at the end of the day, leave your mates in the changing rooms and know you can relax for the rest of the afternoon. You feel as though you’re paying the price to be an athlete. But during injury, you cannot pay that price. You’re stagnant, and you feel as though you’re stuck in the mud.

One Saturday night, my mum and dad had come over to keep me company, as all the boys I lived with had gone out. It was a week before the Grand Final which we had secured our place for as a team, and I had my crutches laid on the floor, next to the sofa. I sat in my ‘comfy’ spot, where I wasn’t finding any pain and could watch the television. I had some dinner made for me, and we watched some Karl Pilkington, a man that would almost certainly have a more cynical view on things than me. Anyway, he made me smile.

All the way through my mum and dad’s visit, I was acting positive and pleased with what I had already accomplished. I was already the youngest Grand Final winner, and I’d been hit by a brick wall of noise at Wembley, playing in 2012 in the Challenge Cup Final, all of this at 18. Plus, I’d been a part of the Leeds squad that was now on its way to securing a historic treble. It was a dream come true. But as I heard their car leave the drive, I sobbed.

Why am I telling you all this? Rugby players don’t do this, do they?

Why should this side of sport – why should this side of life – have to remain silent and undiscussed? Since I’ve been injured, I’ve learnt that the most valuable thing you can have is drive. As a result I’ve created Mantality. My goal is to inform people and bring those less-discussed sides of sport out into the open. “You don’t do things by halves, do you mate?” our physio told me when explaining my latest injury. It turns out I don’t.

I also want to provide frank answers to any readers' questions. If I can provide honest features and articles that provide deeper insight, then I will. It’s a way to focus my drive on something else. My legs might not be running right now, but my mind certainly is. If I can break down the barrier where people hide how they feel and shine a light on the dark side of sport, I will have achieved another one of my goals: just off the pitch.

Ends.

Launching Mantality was launching myself into a self-discovery. I was on the hamster wheel. I felt like the treadmill was never-ending, and I wondered how to stay on it. And do you know what? Truthfully, I was wondering; this can't be IT... What am I missing here? I was looking for a way to stop suffering. I was looking for a way to avoid getting injured and, at the very least, stay in the game. Unfortunately, I didn't find a way to get injured less... I retired with a brain injury two years ago after being named captain of my hometown team.

When I look back, I believe that there is a thread I was pulling at that ran through all the times I've been at my best as a rugby player, leader, partner, friend and speaker.

I believe that thread to be authenticity, and after writing this article in 2016, whether I liked it or not, it was a commitment to live by that. I started to write a new game plan, not just to win games but a game plan for life.

I should still be... or could still be following game plans if I could still play rugby. But I am not letting the fact that I was a rugby player define my life. Over the last year, I have re-connected with the parts of myself that I had closed off to be a rugby player. Catching up with those emotions that you sometimes can't find time for when you are smashing yourself up has been quite liberating. I have realised that that is where a renewed exuberance for life exists, a radical responsibility and well-being that isn't tied to winning and losing, being fit or injured. Within it lies a truer form of resilience. That's the game plan I live by now and the one I endeavour to share.

Over the next newsletters, I will be stating what I believe authenticity to be, why it is a sought-after currency right now for internal and external comms and the game plan to wedge you and possibly your team into a more authentic way of life.

Do contact me if you have any questions; I'd love to share the journey with you :).