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Stranger In Paradise
by Damien Lovelock, photos by Graham Monro (Inside Sport #80, August 1998)
How's the only professed homosexual in any major code of football coping with life in Cowboy country?
It was 13 years ago that Australians met a juggernaut named Ian Roberts. Arriving as a member of the best South Sydney side for 25 years, Roberts was tall, good-looking, muscular and ferocious. Later, amid acrimony and headlines, he crossed the bridge to join Manly, the most detested team in the league. For the next six years he edged towards greatness and won state and national jerseys. Things seemed just as good off the field, where he dabbled in modelling and did a lot of "nice guy" charity work. This was a rare bird.
Then, four years ago, Ian Roberts did something unique in the history of Australian sport: he came out. (Across the world the ranks of open homosexuals in the football codes aren't much thicker. America's National Football League had Dave Kopay, England's Premier League the late Justin Fashanu.) Around the same time, he defected from the ARL to Super League, becoming a prize scalp in an odious public battle. The result was that Roberts felt the media spotlight like few before him, as the most private details of his life were sprayed across the tabloids. Then suddenly, at the peak of the hullbaloo, he disappeared. The game's best-known player (one of the few known beyond the eastern states) — the only openly gay player in perhaps the world's toughest sport and the subject of one of the biggest-selling sports biographies in Australian publishing — went to Townsville to play football for the North Queensland Cowboys. Four years later I travelled north to find out why.
The first white man to live in Townsville was James Morrill, a survivor of the shipwrecked Peruvian in February 1846. After 44 days adrift, Morrill and six other crew reached shore and encountered a group of locals. The other six perished but Morrill lived quietly among the tribe for 15 years. He then went public, bought some land at a good price and lived happily ever after. It's the Ian Roberts story in reverse. Though it's doubtful he'll stay as long, there's no doubt Townsville has again opened its arms to provide safe haven for a weary traveller keen to live quietly among the locals.
When it was announced Roberts would join the Cowboys, the reaction was equal parts amazement and dread. It seemed an exercise in precipice-jumping. Fairly or not, most people think that if Townsville isn't the heart of redneck Australia, then it's at least close by.
"I suppose I was guilty of that as well, Roberts says. "I kind of thought it would be a whole lot worse than it has been. I get ten times more trouble in Sydney than I ever have up here. I'm not saying I haven't had any trouble, but it's much easier for me living up here."
Don't get him wrong. Town council isn't planning a gay march, but in three days of talking to taxi drivers, publicans, kiosk operators and newsagents, I couldn't find a single person to unload anything resembling a redneck tirade. Gay or not, Ian Roberts has great qualities as a footballer and as a man, and the folks up north are delighted to have him leading the Cowboys. Former Manly team-mate and now Cowboys physiotherapist Greg Gibson says Roberts has changed since the early Nineties. "Back then he was more aloof. He'd come to training, pretty much keep to himself, then leave straight afterwards. Here he seems much more at ease. Today I consider him a personal friend."
And his impact on team and town? "As captain he inspires the team," Gibson says. "His dedication and work ethic are second to none. In football terms, he was already known as one of the toughest guys ever to play the game. But in a funny way, by coming out, he's gained even more respect."
Assistant coach and former North Sydney and New Zealand great Mark Graham is effusive: "He's a champion player and a champion person, and his being here brings great respect to the club. His training ethic is the best I've seen. He's the benchmark for all the other players. Leadership by example. As a player, Ian's greatest assets are his athleticism and physical courage. His skills are about average; his defence is very good. His fitness and his sheer determination have taken him the rest of the way to playing for Australia."
When I pressed Graham about having an "out" footballer as the captain of the Cowboys, his attempt to express the unconditional acceptance and support given to Roberts, not just by the club but within the community, was at once charming and amusing. While he struggled for the right response he seemed momentarily uncomfortable, as though the urgent desire to support his player had thrown him off balance. Finally he blurted out: "Not a problem. Not an issue. Send us some more just like him." (I left Graham's office grinning at the thought of an army of gay footballers descending on the heart of Pauline Hanson country.)
When Roberts came out I remember thinking it inevitable that others would follow. Well, I'm glad I didn't hold my breath. Roberts' declaration has been followed by nothing but prolonged silence. The same thing happened with Fashanu and Kopay - and they came out roughly ten and 20 years ago. Roberts is breezily philosophical. "It was never about that anyway," he says. "I didn't come out because I read about someone else doing it. People keep saying to me that by doing what I did I've made it easier for the next bloke. But, like David Kopay, where's the next bloke? It's bullshit, mate."
But didn't you think there'd be someone?
"Yeah. It's quite funny, actually I got letters from players - I'm not just talking rugby league here - so it was like, 'Oh, maybe something might happen.' I wrote back to one and said unless you're really comfortable in yourself and you're in a stable relationship and you have the support of your family . . . I mean, once you do it there's no going back."
Just ask Dave Kopay. In 1978, at the end of a journeyman career as a tough guy for the San Francisco 49ers, the Detroit Lions, the Washington Redskins, the Green Bay Packers and the New Orleans Saints, Kopay came out in newspapers and talk shows across America. At the time, the first wave of the gay pride movement was sweeping America. Support, solidarity and encouragement were everywhere. There were signs that great change and greater acceptance were the popular guidelines to a better tomorrow. After his revelation Kopay was catapulted into the rarefied atmosphere of media celebrity. But 20 years later the sole monument in mainstream culture to Kopay's outing is a trivial pursuit question in The Milwaukee Journal's "Cheeze Quiz" : "Who was the former Packer player who declared in his autobiography that he was gay?
In the gay community he remains famous, but as far as blazing the trail for others to follow or breaking down the walls of ignorance and prejudice... nada. Kopay maintains that his career was ended prematurely and that he was denied a coaching position as a result of his actions. The NFL has never commented publicly on the Kopay issue nor adopted policies on gay footballers or vilification. Nor has it taken a stance against prejudice in high school and college football.
The case of Justin Fashanu is more tragic. A product of the Barnardo Homes in London, he was quickly identified as an outstanding talent and, as a teenager, joined the ranks of the Premier League. With his star on the rise Fashanu was added to the England B squad, where he shone. The kid was going to be big.
Then he came out. His timing seemed fine - the height of the swinging gay club scene in London; Boy George, the Bronski Beat, the whole "Say it loud, I'm gay and proud" atmosphere. Bang. Suddenly Justin Fashanu was out of form, out of favour and pretty soon out of a job. Stories about his "attitude problem" began to appear in the press. There followed a decline even more rapid than his ascent, into second division and then out of football altogether. A bad knee injury seemed likely to put the sad affair to rest, but Fashanu refused to go away. He had several moderately successful comebacks, all the while maintaining he'd been a victim of an aggressive homophobia within English football. Fashanu's final appearance was again as a tabloid headline, but this time the type nobody wanted to read. While on the run from sexual assault charges in the US, he returned to London, where he hung himself in a garage.
On the flight to Townsville I recalled the last time I saw Ian Roberts - midway through the 1996 season. His biography Finding Out had been released, the Super League/ARL war was in full cry and Roberts had opted for some overdue knee surgery and was sitting out the season. He looked drawn, tense and weighed down under the burden of media scrutiny. Even now his expression clouds over as he recalls that time.
"I'm not trying to bang my own drum, but most people ...it's beyond their comprehension what the pressure was like, he says. "You couldn't fart without reading about it. I started having these anxiety attacks . . . I don't know how many I had... It was horrible. The build-up of pressure... just incredible. Every time the phone rang it was someone wanting some quote or comment on some gay issue or other. When the attacks first happened I started thinking, Am I losing my mind? Am I always going to be like this? Then I kind of got to a point where I could predict when they were coming on... it was, Weee. . . Don't panic. Just settle down. They've stopped since I've been up here."
Though there are similarities between Roberts, Kopay and Fashanu, there are also important differences. When Roberts came out he was neither a rising star nor an aging warhorse. Rather, he was an established player, a champion, perhaps slightly past his peak but still at the top. He had the support of his family and finally, perhaps most importantly, when he came out there was already widespread knowledge and acceptance of his homosexuality within football.
"I mean, let's be honest, he says. "Ninety percent of people in football already knew. It was the worst kept [pauses, typically, for a moment's introspection] ... well, it wasn't even a secret. I was pretty open about it before I made it public. In the end I was just so over the bullshit and innuendo."
No matter how many times I see Roberts I'm always stunned by his physical presence. His size and strength command attention. These days his face is set with age and carries the marks of battle. The French have the phrase to describe him: "Le Formidable!" It's the first time I've seen him in nearly three years and I'm struck by the changes. For a start, both legs bend at the knees, a marked improvement on the stiff-legged gait he had for much of his time at Manly. His face now looks more like a classic front-rower's than that of a clean-cut matinee idol. And there's something else... calm.
The terminal is full of holiday makers, business folk, army personnel and two high school rugby league teams up from Brisbane for a knockout competition. Roberts is instantly recognised and the atmosphere around us crackles with the electricity of fame. At a certain level this isn't an unpleasant experience. Then I register a few second glances, expressions of a different kind directed at me. It's the knee-jerk bigotry of adolescent and not-so-adolescent ignorance. It has a leering quality that is pure Benny Hill, and as pleasant as an Ian Roberts shoulder charge. In the Toyota Land Cruiser, Roberts laughs it off. "Yeah, it's that 'He might be gay, but he can play football' stuff."
Winding through the streets of mid-afternoon tropical Townsville, it's easy to see how a person could get used to this. It has an unpretentious quality. I wonder aloud if this was the clincher.
"I had the opportunity to stay in Sydney or go overseas," Roberts says, "but it was like, I dunno, time for a change. Obviously Tim Sheens being there and Box [Steve Walters] and all the other players... I thought we'd be more competitive than we were. But even if I'd known we'd struggle, I still wouldn't change a thing. It's the best thing I ever did."
Roberts used this phrase several times in the next three days. At first it seemed like the result of having done a 1001 interviews, but little that Roberts says is offhand. He seeks precision, wants to be understood exactly. Often in the course of an answer he will pause for several seconds, eyes downcast, then spark back to life when all is scrutinised to his satisfaction. This is a man who wants to be taken seriously.
Home for Roberts is a high-rise apartment block on the beachfront. Up in the elevator, through the front door and... discard your image of an average flat. Across the living room are two floor-to-ceiling glass doors that open to a verandah looking out over a diamond sea and endless blue sky to Magnetic Island. It's a picture of possibility. Inside, the feeling is comfortable, homely. Large wooden dining table, wide screen TV, killer sound system, computer with Internet access, book and video library. Most interesting is the absence of football memorabilia.
No bronzed boots, framed jerseys or deflated match balls. The only clue to the inhabitant's profession lies in the pantry and refrigerator: dozens of jars of Creatine (which helps keep weight on and is widely used by players), packets of dehydrated sea sponge and a plethora of vitamin supplements.
Roberts plays football for a living but off the field he has bigger fish to fry. "I've been trying to get this education kit up and running. For 12 months I've been lobbying both major political parties and they just won't have a bar of it. Since the book came out I've had a lot of letters from kids. For a lot of them, it's got to the point where they don't know who else to write to. They're desperate. I mean, when a kid has to write to Ian Roberts because there ain't anyone else, then something's very wrong. I'm not just talking about a gay thing. It's prejudice overall. People don't realise how much some people suffer with this. It's for straight kids to help them realise that gay kids are not a threat or a menace. I can see, not so much a career, but a path with this stuff. People just don't realise how hard it is, you know, if you're brought up every day of your life being told that gay people are vile and disgusting."
Roberts' openness and sincerity can be unnerving. In the last four years he's undertaken a journey with more peaks and valleys than most of us experience in a lifetime. After years of pretending, of hiding his true self, he has settled on truth - however confronting - as his guiding light.
"I've got no regrets," he says. "I wish I'd done it ten years ago. With what I know now it would have saved me a lot of heartache, a lot of money and a lot of pressure. You're just... you gotta put your hand up for who you are."
The phone rings and suddenly we're off to Cowboy headquarters for a late afternoon training session. Such is Roberts' complexity, it's easy to forget that he's first and foremost a footballer — and a dedicated one. On the paddock, Tim Sheens looks like the sportsmaster you always wished you'd had: smiling, genial but in control. A glance at the players and you realise this is a club with something going for it. Shearer, Walters, Lomax, Cunningham, Nadruku... it's just a matter of getting the mix right.
Ten minutes into the session and Mark Graham's words are ringing true. In all drills Roberts gives 100 percent, listening intently to instructions then translating them into action. A grin, maybe a laugh, but this is business. As the session continues he seems to become physically larger. Even among his peers he's towering, imperious. Sitting three metres from Ian Roberts as he hits a tackling bag triggers disbelief and mild nausea. After the first hit, photographer Graham Monro and I wince and exchange sideways looks: Do you fucking believe that? Two hours and a hundred frames later we pile into the Land Cruiser and an exhausted Roberts slumps behind the wheel.
That night we regroup over spaghetti bolognaise. I comment that Roberts' style of play seems to have changed.
"Yeah," he says. "At Manly I had a much freer role. My main thing was off-loads. Here with Sheensy it's much more structured. Quick play the balls, red zones. . . I suppose I talk more now than three or four years ago. And now I put the team's performance ahead of my own. At Manly it was the other way around. I don't know if that's a good thing or not."
On a late-night supermarket expedition for fresh supplies, the whole question of Ian Roberts in Townsville is simply answered. As he strolls through the aisles nearly everybody has a nod, a smile, a word or two. Each exchange is marked with respect. There's a quiet dignity about Roberts that encourages people to embrace the better parts of their humanity.
Next morning at a civic reception for "Schizophrenia Awareness Week", Roberts wins them again with this same quality. He stands on the rostrum and announces he will read from a prepared speech because he doesn't know all that much about schizophrenia but is happy to help in any way. They love him for it.
As we part company, a last question occurs to me. "How do you want to be remembered?" Roberts pauses, cocks his head and replies: "That I was an honest footballer. That I worked hard."
On the flight back to Sydney I wonder how I'll remember him. The ballistic defender? The hard yards man? The tireless worker for charity? The gay footballer? The good bloke? I settle for my favourite memory of Roberts as a player. It. was at Brookvale Oval in 1995. Late in the second half Manly were well ahead of the Broncos — the match was over. The Broncos won a scrum 75 metres from Manly's line, and Allan Langer put Michael Hancock in the clear. It was a lay-down misere. Only one Manly player felt inclined to respond. As Hancock took off, Roberts peeled out of the scrum and gave chase. After ten years in first grade, Roberts' body was a mess — bung knee, crook groin, the works — but he pinned his ears back and limped flat-chat after the Brisbane flyer, cutting him off and forcing him to score in the corner. The crowd applauded for so long that Hancock must have thought he was back in Brisbane, in front of his home crowd. But he wasn't. The applause was for an honest footballer. And that's how I'll always remember him.