A New Wardrobe in Ian's Closetby Brad Green , pictures by Joanne Negrine of JNP Studios (Cafe Society, #24, May 2002) The player lies prostrate, arms sprawled and eyes glazed, undoubtedly the victim of a foul deed in the back-play. Another man, with a whistle, waves his arms around vigorously, one limb signaling a penalty to the side of the man on the ground, the other dispatching an opponent to the dressing sheds. A few moments pass, and the supposedly concussed player is on his feet, alert and healthy, eager to rejoin the fray. There is no panacea like putting one over the ref. Feigning injury is a time-honoured form of expression in rugby league, and about as close as most footy players will ever come to the acting caper. True, when they eventually hang up their boots many grab for a microphone. But this can be an unfortunate move. The most flamboyant athletes often go on to deliver the most flaccid sporting commentary; while at the other extreme, those striving for showmanship transform themselves into clowns: cross-dressing for laughs, or laying on low humour and high ham as "sideline eyes", or panel-show buffoons. Let's face it, not too many Australian sports stars successfully audition for NIDA. About the same number that publicly declare their homosexuality in fact. Which leaves us with approximately... er... Ian Roberts. First he came out of the closet, and now he's filling it with an actor's wardrobe. Two years ago, Roberts was offered a place at The National Institute of Dramatic Art.— one of twenty-five new students accepted for its yearly intake. That's twenty-five culled from a couple of thousand applicants. Yet, as Roberts tells it, the decision to even audition was as spontaneous as one of those mercurial passes he used to conjure up from the bowels of gang tackles.
"I was walking past NIDA one day, for no other reason than I was on my way to Kingsford, and I just thought I'd go in there and see if there was someone who might be able to help me. You see I used to do a bit of public speaking, but then I started to get performance anxiety, sort of stage fright, to the point where I couldn't do it anymore. So I walked into NIDA just thinking they might be able to recommend someone to help me out. I didn't even consider that they'd be taking students of my age. But as it turns out, I walked in, and there I am today. Quite literally this morning, however, Roberts has joined me at Rustic Café in Surry Hills. Normally, he'd already be in acting class, but tonight they're staging a production of Eugene O'Neill's The Long Voyage Home, so they start late, and he's got time for a relaxed and lengthy chat. We have a fabulous breakfast laid out in front of us, and with the dictaphone nestled like a table ornament between cereal, fruit loaf, scrambled eggs and orange juice, it's easy to transcend the formality of an "interview". "All gay people love being in a café," says Roberts, taking the liberty that it's fine to promote a stereotype if you belong to it. "Being able to sit around like this and just talk. I'm not that keen on fancy restaurants, the whole silverware and crystal thing. When I go to fancy restaurants I almost feel like I'm on show." Roberts has also brought along his partner, Andrew Cowie. They have been together for six years, having met through mutual friends not long after Roberts public "coming out", in 1995. Roberts silently beckons to the final piece of loaf and glances in Cowie's direction. It is a revealing gesture. Between them, Roberts and Cowie display the tacit mannerisms of a youthful Darby and John (for Joan must have her male counterpart in this era of political correctness). It is easy to see how well they know each other; there is no need for overt affection when feelings run deep. Superficially they are unalike. Roberts is a veritable man- mountain: six-foot four, biceps like watermelons. Cowie is slighter and fair-complexioned. He's also quiet and patient, seemingly happy for Roberts to take the spotlight. Not that Roberts himself craves attention. After all, he can even feel uncomfortable in a restaurant. His fame (or "notoriety" as he jests) is merely a by-product of other motivations. He played sport because he was good at it; he is open about his sexuality because of a need to be true to himself; he is pursuing acting as a genuine passion. "I'm finding that I love doing this a lot more than I ever expected," he says. "And what I love about it is that it's fantastic to able to go out there and share something with the audience. There are two types of performers: the one who is arrogant and is just a shows off; and the one who is in it because he loves performing for people, loves the relationship with the audience. That's what makes the great performances." Roberts is unconcerned that he will be better remembered for his sexuality, and perhaps his choice of post-football career, than his performances on the field. It is already easy to forget just what a fine player he was. Blending power and finesse, he was unusually skilful for a forward. He could bust tackles with brute strength; but he also had agility and a side-step, a brilliant offloading game and a devastating defensive technique, all augmented with an imposing aura of self-belief. He was a multiple State of Origin representative and a Kangaroo tourist. "I'm very appreciative of everything I got from the game," he says. "I sit on the judiciary now, which is a great way to keep involved without it taking up too much of my time. I do have lots of great memories, especially the whole experience of the 1994 Kangaroo tour. But how I'm remembered as a footballer doesn't bother me at all. Football was never my life. It was never the be all and end all for me." Such an attitude could well be more shocking to the Australian sporting psyche than being an openly gay rugby league player. When you devote yourself to sport you're not supposed to have the opportunity to develop an affinity for the arts. You live sport. You breathe sport. Gay, bi or heterosexual, the one thing you should always be sleeping with is a football under your arm.
Understandably, Roberts has become an icon for many in the gay community. None other than Elton John described him as "a personal hero of mine" at a recent Sydney concert. But Roberts insists that his decisions have never been politically motivated. "I didn't go public for any other reason than for myself. I accept that I have a profile but all I can do is to be the best person I can be; take responsibility for my own actions. If you do that you make a statement anyway. Everyone asks whether I could have done the same thing twenty years earlier. My answer is always that whoever you are, when ever you live, you should take responsibility for yourself. Say a rugby league player had come out back in the 60s, can you imagine how much good it could have done? "My outlook is that it's so easy to get along with people. All you have to do is greet the world with a grin. Kids in this country growing up today no longer have installed in them the attitude that there's something wrong with being a 'faggot' or a 'poof', but there's still plenty of hatred out there. Hopefully one day everybody can appreciate that love is love in whatever form it comes along. I think we're getting there in small steps, and I believe society can benefit a lot from giving more attention to the arts. One of the things I'm finding fascinating about studying the history of drama is that there's nothing new. All the latest plays are just recycled plots from the ancient Greek playwrights. They were exploring issues back then that are still relevant today, which goes to show how slow human beings are at learning from our mistakes." So, we progress, not in the loping strides of a second row forward, but gradually. In the wake of Roberts' coming out, there's been a notable absence of other gay sports stars scrambling for the keys to their closets, but the overall response to his candour permits us to imagine a day when an athlete's sexuality won't even be an issue. And who knows, one day after that, the Australian psyche might even evolve to a finer realm. A world in which treading the boards is granted the same esteem as trotting out onto the hallowed turf of the sporting field. |
