When you’re no longer part of your football family

Manly Sea Eagles rugby player Steve Menzies has announced his retirement on Thursday two months before turning 40. Having had the personal experience, Stefan Grun explores what is left once the active sporting career is over.

Is now the right time to walk away? That is the question almost every athlete and sportsman I have met asks themselves as they realise the end of their sporting career is nigh.

Do I have another year left in me? Can I make it through for one more finals campaign? Has my sporting mortality caught up with me?

Or more simply, what will I do when my sport is gone? Is it what defines me as a person and makes me who I am?

When I heard of Manly Sea Eagles legend Menzies retirement and of Swans and Crows stalwart Marty Mattner’s decision to leave active sport recently –  the latter being linked to a degenerative hip condition and the prospect of a life of ongoing pain – it brought back many memories from almost the same day for me 11 months ago.

These were the questions that I asked myself last season as my ailing body once again asked me another set of testing questions. Years of hip, hamstring and back issues had finally caught up with me once and for all.

Performing at AFL level – either playing or umpiring – requires you being close to 100% physical and mental capacity. These days there is nowhere to hide if you’re even one or two percent off your game.

As an umpire you must be able to run more than 14 kilometres each game, most of it at a sprint pace. At the same time you must be mentally alert to process over 3,000 decisions whilst dodging players, runners and the occasional football. Without an elite fitness base you simply cannot keep up let alone find the right position that will give you the best chance of making the right decision.

Throw in bouncing the football and the stress this puts on your back and hamstrings, and it’s clear you need a body and mind that are flexible, fit and durable.

And that’s before you consider the mental strength needed to withstand the constant scrutiny and debate about your performance.

Working out when your body and mind has had enough is one thing. Being ready for the ramifications is another.

Being part of an elite sporting team is a privileged opportunity. When you spend time with a passionate group that is fully committed to the same goal it produces an incredible bond. The competitiveness and camaraderie bonds you together like superglue.

You spend more time with your teammates than some of your nearest and dearest family members. They become your family members. And when it was over for me, this is what I missed the most.

It is like you are no longer part of your own family. Your friends are still part of that family, placing you in a strange Twilight Zone where you’re still connected and involved, but at the same time you’re not.

You’re no longer at training every night. You’re no longer sitting on the plane or in the hotel room preparing to go into battle, together with your brothers in arms, sometimes literally.

You no longer live or die by the bounce of the ball or tweet of the whistle. You feel the adulation and pain for your mates, but it takes on a different perspective. You are now standing on the outside looking in.

Watching this season unfold has been a tricky one. Am I an umpire? Am I a spectator or footy fan? Do I still love footy like I used to?

I am still looking for answers to these questions.

Umpiring was never a job for me. It was always a sport. The sport that took up over 40 hours of my time each week dictated how I spent a huge proportion of my time, but it never defined me as a person.

As AFL umpire’s we are lucky to have a life and professions outside of the AFL fishbowl. For me this is what kept me sane for a decade. If footy wasn’t going well I could retreat into a normal world where people didn’t care what decisions I had made on the field.

This salvation is what kept me going through my AFL career. It also gave me the confidence that when my AFL adventure came to an end – either by my choice or someone else’s – that life would be OK. Maybe even better?

The life of an AFL umpire (and player) requires many choices – a lot of them incredibly selfish. The life of any elite athlete is a selfish one where your training, dietary and sleeping needs take precedence over a “normal” existence and routines.

Some people call these choices sacrifices; however I consider them conscious decisions that I made, knowing the consequences that would come with them. And when you’re no longer happy to accept these consequences it is time to walk away.

You never know, you might just end up finding another type of family and their attitude towards football might even give you a new and greater appreciation for the game you love.