Gorden Tallis is a modern day league legend. He reached the pinnacle of the game, having captained the Brisbane Broncos, Queensland and Australia. Gorden currently appears each week on Foxtel and Channel 9 Footy Shows.

Gordie’s Tales

By Gorden Tallis

Allen & Unwin

Copyright © 2013 Gorden Tallis
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-74331-771-6

Contents

Little League,
Wardrobe malfunction,
Gordie’s rule (opinion): Choc is full of …,
The battle of the lady-killers,
What a croak,
Robbie Kearns,
Allan Langer,
Alf and the wheel of fortune,
Alf’s tragedy,
Alf can dance,
Short and sweet,
Sam Burgess,
How JT got the sack from Souths,
David Gallop,
Locky has the last laugh,
Melbourne Cup,
Chris Munce,
Brad Thorn,
Wendell,
Dellirious,
Box stamps,
Box drops the ball,
Des,
Gus,
Gus and Brohman,
Gordie’s rant: tattoos and the modern player,
Gordie’s advice on role models,
The Generator,
Retirement,
Celebrity Grand Prix,
Fatty,
Russell Crowe,
If I was in charge of the NRL for a day,
Gordie on …,
Best sledges,
Coaching sprays,
Most underrated coaches,
The ugliest 13 v the prettiest 13,
Ray Warren,
A parking debacle,
Tim Horan — race horse,
The weight challenge,
The original rugby convert,
The real raging bull,
Super League scam,
Bradley Clyde,
The legends that spur on Queenslanders young and old,
Origin passion: New South Wales v Queensland,
Bon Jovi and Jay-Z,
Michael Vella,
Pat Rafter,
Wayne Bennett knocked out,
Car crash,
Mark Murray and the remote,
Scott Sattler,
Tamworth Country Music Festival,
Car classifieds,
Goldthorpe,
Television debut,
On the life rugby league has given me,
Gallengate: two punches that changed Origin forever,
New South Wales foot-brawlers,
Sydney media,
Fighting ban: why it’s good for the game,
Five reasons why I love rugby league as a father,
Five reasons why I love rugby league as a fan,
The unsung hero,
Rugby sevens,
Indigenous talent,
I’m Aboriginal and proud,
What makes an Australian player,
Commentators,
Greatest player of the Origin hot streak,
My greatest Queensland side ever,
The New South Wales team Queenslanders love to hate,
Mal Meninga and Mark Waugh,
Skiing in Japan with Russell Ingall,
Ingall’s driving lesson,
Wendell being Wendell,
On rugby,
Things rugby league can learn from the All Blacks,
Jerry Collins and the dreadlock,
Jerry Collins and the maltese dog,
The real difference between the games of league and rugby,
Indigenous players,
Nicknames you don’t want,
More sledges,
Locky drag race,
Garrick Morgan,
The Rolling Stones,
Queensland eight-straight,

CHAPTER 1

LITTLE LEAGUE

I was standing around with Kevvie Walters, Ben Ikin, Glenn Lazarus, Broncos coach Anthony Griffin and the self -proclaimed master coach Wayne Bennett watching another coach give his team a spray when it hit me, Who is this bloke? And I won’t mention his name because, quite frankly, I’m embarrassed to admit I don’t know it. Like big Georgie Rose, the only things that I pay attention to at half-time are the oranges.

So there we were, four Broncos, Origin and Australian players with the greatest rugby league coach to walk the planet — his own words — standing on the sideline prouder than Mark Zuckerberg’s dad, watching our little blokes go at it. Now, look, I’d be lying if I said watching the game is more enjoyable than playing it. Show me an ex-player who really believes that and I’ll show you a liar. But watching your sons, your own flesh and blood, take to the field is something else entirely.

I’m a strong believer in supporting the grass-roots and when my wife Christine finally let the boys trade in their tennis lessons for the greatest game of all, I was a happy man. Just like back in the Broncos days, Kevvie was cracking jokes and Benny and I were the butt of most of them.

During our conversation the whistle had blown for halftime in the Wests v Panthers under-nines match and the little blokes assembled just to the right of us — not that we were paying any attention; we were too busy listening to Wayne tell us about the 15 articles on the Knights he hadn’t read that week.

Next thing you know, it’s silent. We look down and here’s this nice young bloke, probably in his mid thirties, trying to give the puppy Panthers a rev-up. Like the rest of us, he’s the dad of one of the kids and for some reason he’s having trouble talking to a bunch of Year Three students. C’mon, I think to myself. I stare at him with a raised eyebrow as if to say, ‘What’s the problem, mate?’ And then it struck me — well, to be honest, it struck the others first. Wayne’s face lit up — actually, ‘lit’ is probably the wrong word — with a rare smile while Kevvie and Ben were in stitches.

Here’s this poor bloke trying to teach a bunch of primary school students the ins and outs of playing rugby league, and all the while he’s got Wayne Bennett, Anthony Griffin, Ben Ikin, Glenn Lazarus and Kevin Walters over his shoulder. Apparently he thought I was just Wayne’s security …

The Brick explained it’d be like coaching a junior cricket team with Allan Border’s kid in it.

Now, I don’t know exactly what the coach told the little blokes but I reckon it would have gone something like this:

‘Put your hand up if your last name is Ikin, Lazarus, Walters or Griffin. OK, good. Go and ask your dads and granddad how we get ourselves out of this mess and report back immediately.

‘Now, put your hand up if your last name is Tallis. When you bring the oranges, boys, you are also meant to share them.’

The orange doesn’t fall far from the tree, hey …?

WARDROBE MALFUNCTION

I was at Sizzler seeing through my nightly routine with a few of the Dragons’ young blokes when Nathan Brown took our ‘dacking’ challenge a little too far. We lived in a house with five grubby blokes, so cooking wasn’t an option — or even a consideration for that matter. In fact, we spent less time in the kitchen than a catwalk model and if we didn’t eat at Sizzler, we didn’t eat. It was as simple as that. Washing clothes was another of our not-so-strong points, and this night those two worlds — or two cheeks, should I say — collided.

There I was, in a packed Kogarah Sizzler minding my own business trying to plan out the perfect combination of pasta, that delicious cheese bread and dessert, when it happened.

At first I felt a light breeze, down there, followed by a sudden eruption of laughter. It took less than half a second to realise I’d been got by Nathan ‘Goldilocks’ Brown but what felt like an eternity to get those dirty shorts back around my waist.

So there I was pants down and, courtesy of our refusal to do washing, I was also without underwear — doing a Britney Spears, you could say. And just quietly, I was lucky it was 1992 and not the new millennium, where that particular area tends to be more Brazilian than bush.

Mums and daughters are looking at me like I’m some sort of sicko. And as I wrestle to restore my pride, I manage to get the shorts tangled around my ankles. Worse still, I’m right in front of the big window and my money’s on the ground everywhere.

And you thought me trying to put through a chip ‘n’ chase was hard to watch …

By the time I got my shorts up, everyone had had an entree of some sausage that wasn’t on the menu and I was filthy. I wanted to punch Brownie, I almost did, but I couldn’t do it in public. So I chased him through the restaurant, like a raging bull in a china shop. And let’s just say that was the last time I was dacked. It goes without saying that the shame didn’t linger. I returned to Sizzler the very next night — with my shorts tied so tightly I had a muffin top.

GORDIE’S RULE (OPINION): CHOC IS FULL OF …

Goodness. Actions speak louder than words but unfortunately the public don’t get to see my mate Anthony Mundine in action unless he’s speaking very, very loud words.

I’m the first one to admit that some of Choc’s rants over the years make Beau Ryan seem normal — almost. But anyone who has actually spent time with Choc wouldn’t have a terrible word to say about him.

Is the public perception of him bad? Yes. Does he say the wrong things? Of course — he makes gibberers like me look like experts. But is it true of him? No. He does so to provoke a reaction and get some hype around his fights. And he won’t admit it, but I know deep down it hurts him to be despised by the public.

Some friends at Fox Sports reckon that for the one fight Choc talked up his opposition and said he respected him, there were over 40,000 less subscribers than when he gave it to someone. Choc understands that if people want to see him get knocked out, they’ll tune in. He plays the villain.

I ran into Danny the ‘Machine’ Green once before a fight with Choc and the Machine starts telling me about the first time he met Mundine outside of the ring. They’d already fought a few times but they didn’t know each other, despite what you’d read in the build-up.

‘Mate, Choc’d only eyeball me because I’d be on TV saying I was going to knock out his dad and this and that,’ Danny tells me. ‘But I loved it. And it gave us the chance to meet as people and not promoters or fighters.’

Perception is everything. Even with me. I’d like to come across on TV the way I think of myself, but what’s to say I do? When I look in the mirror I see a forehead that’s no bigger than Brad Pitt’s and blond hair before it turned blue — blew away.

In truth, Choc is one of the most generous people you could ever hope to meet and an exceptional athlete. Now, I’m not too sure if he’s the best athlete Australia has ever seen — Wendell would have something to say about that — but I’m not convinced even he believes that. But he’s definitely a talented athlete and one of the hardest working. I know he’s a very good basketballer, a very good rugby league player and a very good boxer, but he probably can’t swim …

I remember playing golf with Choc once. We were at a St George charity day and he’d never picked up a club before. On the first hole, a par four, we were 150 metres out after three and Choc hits it into the cup — just like that. I’ve spent more time on that hole than the greenkeeper over the years and I’ve never come close to that.

He’s a natural athlete and if you wanna talk about role models, well, Choc is one athlete who kids should look up to. I’ve never seen him have a beer or even a softdrink. He doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke and is as healthy as you can be.

Comparing Choc’s public perception to Shane Warne’s, for example, leaves me more confused than a video ref. Warnie is one of the great blokes but also a good example of a bloke who does all the wrong things but says all the right things. Then you’ve got Mundine, who does all the right things but says all the wrong things. One’s an Australian icon and the other is one of the most hated. It just doesn’t make sense to me. And both are great mates with Steve Waugh, who is renowned for his no-dickhead policy.

But he’s not just quick with a left jab, Choc, he’s quick on the lip, too, and loves a laugh.

The Broncos had just won the premiership and we were over in America on an end-of-season trip. We went to Denver, New Orleans, Las Vegas and all that, just being typical dickheads. Since Choc didn’t drink, hanging around me and Wendell was an achievement in itself.

We were walking along in San Francisco and Choc spots this huge, fat stuffed gorilla. Just loud enough for Wendell to hear, Choc slips out: ‘Hey, Dell.’ Now, possessing the ultimate body as Wendell thinks he does, he didn’t take kindly and almost immediately put a hit on Choc in the middle of the street, only for Choc to offer him the chance to step into the ring. And Wendell did take up the offer of a bout with choc — only the choc was Cadbury and it won …

THE BATTLE OF THE LADY-KILLERS

Thanks to every match being televised nowadays, we’ve got a lot of pretty boys in the game and just about every one of them lays claim to being a lady-killer. But I’ve got news for the lettuce-eaters: in the past 30 years almost no one can hold a candle to Willie Carne or Nathan Brown.

In fact, I reckon it’d have to be a play-off between the two for the title of lady-killer. In one corner you’ve the blond-haired, blue -eyed teenager who surfs and in the other corner you’ve got Willie Carne, an Australian and Queensland star who was in his mid to late twenties. Slick Willie was the Hugh Heffner of Brisbane. You’d walk over to Willie’s and he’d have more girls in his living room than I’d seen in Kogarah in three whole years. Like all wingers, Willie played harder off the field than he did on it.

At 21, I’d just moved to Brisbane and Willie had asked me to tag along. Needless to say, I jumped at the chance but I was anything but a wingman. Is there a word for the opposite of a wingman?

I dressed up in my Townsville tuxedo — a set of R.M. Williams, belt buckle and chequered shirt. The girls only had eyes for Willie and the only time my name was nearly mentioned was when the girls would ask Willie to ‘tell us another story and tell your cowboy mate to get lost’. Willie was the mayor of Brisbane and lucky for me there was one girl there whose vote Willie didn’t have.

It was the bartender, Christine. I couldn’t take my googly eyes off her and when she told me she didn’t like footballers I was shattered. I thought to myself, If she doesn’t like footballers, then maybe she does like Willie after all. Because wingers aren’t footballers, they’re just blokes who hang around footballers …

But I persisted and almost 20 years later I can still call Christine my beautiful wife — or as some of the boys like to call her, Fiona, because she’s married to an ogre. You could say I’m the CEO of Blokes Batting Above Their Average. But I digress …

Brownie, on the other hand, was young enough for all the schoolgirls to have crushes on him and at 18, far fewer people have boyfriends and girlfriends. So you could say Brownie had an unfair advantage.

But while he got his fair share in the early days it wasn’t until one fateful Sunday morning that he became a pin-up boy. Blokes complain about media these days but back then, a double-page spread in the paper was as good as it got. And when Brownie found himself on a spread in the Daily Telegraph, he had more women throwing themselves at him than Ryan Gosling.

He already had the top-down Jeep and the surfing; now he’d found fame he was more sought after by girls than designer handbags. What that meant for plebs like me and Jason Stevens — who didn’t struggle with the ladies before he was born again, mind you — was that we became seagulls.

When blokes like Brownie were out, a bunch of us would just hover around like a seagull over chips and try to pick off the ones Brownie passed up. I guess you could say he was John West and we were the rest.

One line of Brownie’s in particular still stands out. ‘Hey, girls. I’m a bit worried and I don’t know what do to. Do you think you could tell me what these lumps are on my stomach?’ He’d then pull his shirt up to show off his sixpack.

WHAT A CROAK

Before Justin Bieber, there was Darren Lockyer. We were sitting at a Bali pizza joint just up from the Sari Club. It’d been a big week for the boys after winning the premiership. The band sang ‘Khe Sahn’, missing eight words and mispronouncing the others, while we shared a laugh and a quiet beer.

Wearing the same clothes we’d worn all week, we smelt like yetis and Locky disappeared for what I thought must have been a new Bintang singlet. When half an hour had gone by a few of us began to grow concerned — not for his well being but for what he might be up to. And sure enough, our greatest fears were realized. Locky had quickly grown friendly with the Balinese locals and he’d returned with a pet monkey, on a leash and all. And this wasn’t your average Curious George. This monkey was a bag-snatching, beer-drinking, cigarette-smoking outlaw — the kind you’d only find in Bali or Thailand.

And not unlike most red-blooded males, the monkey also quite enjoyed playing with himself. So after treating himself like a fun park, to our amusement, the monkey decided to take to Locky like he was a jungle gym.

The monkey scaled Locky like King Kong did the Empire State Building. And while we were in hysterics, Locky was left gasping for air as the leash was wrapped around his neck. It was hilarious at the time but quite dangerous, thinking back on it. At that exact moment the monkey’s owner called out and the little bloke scampered off and took his rightful place on his master’s shoulder, beer and all.

Locky’s voice never has quite sounded the same since …

And I can’t tell you how many times my wife’s answered the phone when Darren’s called and thought we were being held to ransom by a cruel stranger.

ROBBIE KEARNS

He’d only just returned from a broken arm and Robbie Kearns’ luck didn’t get any better on the 1998 Kangaroos tour. We were in Barcelona, and let’s just say like the horse that threw the big bludger, the local kids were about as intimidated by Robbie as us Queenslanders were.

Locky had bought a soccer ball, and a bit like those FIFA ads you see with the cute bare-footed locals playing street ball with Zinedine Zidane, we were kicking the ball side to side through the streets of Spain — only we were fully grown adults.

(Continues…)Excerpted from Gordie’s Tales by Gorden Tallis. Copyright © 2013 Gorden Tallis. Excerpted by permission of Allen & Unwin.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.