James Murphy is tall, as you’d expect for a footballer, but not massive—more athletic than muscly. He’s friendly and talkative and there’s a sincerity about him, an intensity. But the 21-year-old isn’t your average Melbourne boy. He doesn’t live for footy. In fact, he did the unthinkable—quit his AFL club after three weeks of pre-season training.
‘I realised there are bigger things in life than football’, he says.
James is more interested in social work and is currently working as a boarding supervisor. He grew up in Fiji and his fondest memories are of throwing rocks to get mangoes out of the tree, swimming for mussels in the river and spending weekends at his family’s housemaid’s village in the mountains.
He hasn’t been playing football for that long, about three years, but he has impressed people with his natural athleticism and strong overhead marking. In Year 12 he tried out for the firsts football team. He got in, but soon discovered they were so serious and success-oriented—whereas he just wanted to have fun—that he quit and played in the seconds.
When he got to university he didn’t play for the firsts there either, choosing instead to play for his college. It wasn’t until he arrived at North Brunswick D4 Amateurs that he found what he was looking for in a football club.
‘I loved it. I was playing in a social environment and learning about different cultures and meeting people I hadn’t been exposed to. There was a strong sense of history and tradition at the club. And I was playing with the roughest guys in the league. The centre half-forward was covered head to toe in tattoos; another player used to be the ringleader of the Lebanese Tigers.’
James felt a sense of belonging at this club, a feeling he had perhaps been missing since returning to Australia. ‘In Fiji I saw people getting paid 60 dollars a week who were happier than anyone in the world. I realised then that what’s important is belonging to a community and a sense of identity within that community’, he says.
James’s football development really took off after joining North Brunswick. The president mentioned him to the Victorian Amateur side and when he was picked the whole club went to watch his first game against Vic Country at Elsternwick Park—a big game where all the AFL scouts go, a pathway to the AFL.
They put him at full-forward because of his marking ability. He kicked nine goals and helped his team to victory. James describes the euphoria: ‘There was some freaky stuff happening. I couldn’t kick a goal from straight out in front but somehow I managed to get them from the boundary or on the run. My whole club was following me from end to end. That was the start. That was when I realised I actually wanted to represent people.’
Phone calls started coming in from various clubs, but James was drawn to a club from a battling area because he wanted to be a social worker one day. He thought, in his role as an AFL footballer, he could get more involved in the community.
Unfortunately very few AFL players have successfully used their position and influence for positive social change. In James’s case, it is not exactly clear how he planned to do this. The sentiment was good, but fame and social justice don’t usually go hand in hand. His audacity is admirable but wasn’t he a bit naïve to carry his idealism, like a shiny, new lunch box, to the mercenary AFL?
‘I didn’t have a voice at that club. No one cared about me. There was hardly any feedback for rookies from coaching staff or senior players. You were on your own.’
There is disappointment in James’s voice. He seems genuinely disillusioned by the uncaring environment he encountered. He recalls a team meeting where the players were told that they didn’t need to be best mates off the field, just to live and die for each other on the field. This grated against his idea of what a team should be.
Another thing that went against James’s morals was the chauvinism at the club. Wives and girlfriends were to be shielded from what happened on end-of-season trips. The hierarchy of ego also weighed him down. ‘When I was calling out their names during training sessions I had to ask the person behind me, "Who am I kicking the ball to?" and for these guys it was like, "You’re supposed to know me".’
It was soon apparent to James that he didn’t have the influence to bring about positive change at the club—‘it was going to take too long, and I didn’t want to find out the kind of person I would become by staying there’—so he quit.
When he told the coach, it was the first time they had spoken. ‘He knew nothing about me so I think he realised there was nothing he could say that would keep me there.’ That night the recruiting manager from another club called and wanted James to come down for a skills session. They spoke for two hours but James had made up his mind. The manager said, ‘It’s a real shame that all your values and beliefs can’t be shared with the industry because the industry really needs it.’
It made James feel good to know that he wasn’t completely alone. But did it also make him feel bad about quitting and not toughing it out? ‘Yes, definitely. That was part of the difficulty of the decision.’
In fact, this is the essence of his dilemma. He wanted to tough it out and use his gifts and talents to the full—such ideals are applauded by society. But he also wanted to continue his own personal growth by being a driving force in social work and avoiding bad influences—admirable ideals also. A person can achieve great things when he or she perseveres. However, the question here is: how great is that achievement if you have to go against the calling of your heart to attain it?
How did James decide which was the right path?
He took time out to reflect on past experience and gather strength from the people he trusted. He talked with a priest at his old school and found inspiration in his commitment to faith. James asked himself, ‘Am I being the best Christian I possibly can?’ He remembered his life in Fiji, and the arrogant expats whose egos were kept inflated by the undeserved respect of the locals. And he remembered the day a boy came up to him after training. It was this defining moment that sealed his decision.
‘A boy asked me to sign his jumper and I thought: This kid doesn’t know who the hell I am. It’s just because I’ve got the club jumper on.’
James spoke to him for about ten minutes. But he was really thinking about the kids back at his old, family-oriented club—North Brunswick. ‘I missed the ongoing contact with those kids. I didn’t want to be some kind of distant celebrity. I wanted to be involved in their lives.’
The real irony in the story is that the club that made James happy and made him feel like he belonged, North Brunswick, was the one that encouraged him to leave for the AFL, a world in which he was ultimately unhappy and completely out of place.
How does this happen? Sometimes the expectations of others draw us away from our ideals. Sometimes it is only when we stop and remember where we have come from that we are reminded of our true path. But even then, when we do the ‘right’ thing, we may regret passing up an opportunity.
Does James lament the fact that he will never play in front of 80,000 screaming footy fans? He says, ‘Never judge me on my achievements, judge me as the person I am now and what I bring to my relationships.’
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