'I appreciated his support': How Todd Carney's father changed his mindset
In this extract from his new book ‘Hard Truth’, rugby league bad boy Todd Carney talks about those closest to him, and the profound effect they’ve had on him in life and death.
Todd Carney for PlayersVoice
As far as footy was concerned, Dad was a perfectionist and probably a bit hard on me. He was a tough taskmaster and stayed that way right until he started to get sick.
He taught me a lot about rugby league and life in general. Dad knew a fair bit about footy and also coached me and my mates.
In his heyday, they tell me he was a pretty fair player for Goulburn United – a halfback of course, like me. He was highly regarded in bush footy circles and Don Furner, the first coach of the Raiders in the early 1980s, had a high opinion of him.
Dad was never interested in playing in Sydney but bush footy was strong back then and they got good crowds. After two daughters, he was delighted to have a son and never made any secret of the fact that he wanted me to follow in his footsteps and be a rugby league player.
Of course, Dad took a special interest in me and my development on the field. He wanted me to be a good player right from the start and success came fairly easy to me, which I owe to him.
He saw I had talent and wanted me to be the best I could be. Not just on the footy field, but at training, on the cricket pitch and the like. Pop could see Dad was pushing me, and he was a bit protective of me as a result.
I guess Pop thought for a kid, football should be fun, and he wanted me to enjoy myself. If I played well, I got praise from Dad, but if I had a bad game, I’d be in the doghouse.
Some days if I had a poor game I’d sit in the back seat of the car and Dad wouldn’t say a word to me all the way from Sydney back to Goulburn. It felt like the drive took days.
When we went on a holiday to, say, the Gold Coast, we’d go to a theme park in the morning like Wet’n’Wild and then in the afternoon Dad would say, ‘Come on, let’s go,’ and we’d head to the nearest park to do skills and fitness training. When we went to the shops, it wasn’t to hunt for souvenirs or comfort food, it was to buy protein powder.
One day I had three mates from my team around and Dad said, ‘Come on, boys, let’s go for a drive.’
We were silly kids, probably around eleven, and didn’t ask any questions. I remember seeing four rusty old pushbikes in the back of Dad’s ute but again, didn’t think anything of it.
So Dad drove us around 30 kilometres from home and stopped the ute in the middle of nowhere and said, ‘Right, everybody out!’ Then he took the four pushbikes from the back of the ute, making sure I had the hardest one to pedal, of course.
Then he said to us, ‘Alright – ride these back home.’ Our jaws dropped, but we did as we were told. He rode behind us in the ute the whole way just to make sure we didn’t get up to any funny business, while our dog ran alongside us.
I felt sorry for the poor mutt – he was rooted by the time we got home. We rode for what felt like forever. It was dark when we got back, exhausted, but it was great for our fitness and, as young kids, we were active and happy to take on the challenge, even though I felt like stopping a few times.
During footy games, I always had to take note of where Dad was sitting and look to him for hand signals during breaks in play. He’d usually give me a thumbs-up when I was going well … but I dreaded it when he gave me the thumbs-down.
Mum once asked me, ‘Are you going to be as hard as he was on you when you have kids?’ I thought long and hard before answering. In the end, I told her, ‘Probably, yes … I think so. I wouldn’t force them to play rugby league but if they did, I would do all I could to help them realise their potential and be the best player they could be.’
Dad was hard and it wasn’t always fun, but I knew he had my best interests at heart, even though there were times I wished he would back off and just let me be a normal kid like my mates. Pop saw the negative effect that the pressure from Dad sometimes had on me – constantly having to be the best – and the two of them clashed a bit over that.
It got to the stage where the pressure became too much and, at around age 12, I decided to ‘retire’.
It all got too hard. I wanted a normal childhood. I wasn’t allowed to ride skateboards and there was no partying because I had to look after my body.
I resented it a bit, seeing all my mates have fun like kids are supposed to, and rebelled against Dad’s tough approach. Pop was on my side and said to me, ‘You’re entitled to push him away.’
I appreciated his support.
My retirement lasted all of one week and, looking back, it was probably nothing more than a hissy-fit from a kid who didn’t like to be pushed too hard. But at the same time, I think it sent Dad a message that I was still just a little kid and wanted to enjoy my footy more than anything else.