It was looking good there for a while when it came to the image of rugby league and the men who play it.
There was the Johnathon Thurston-led Cowboys’ cinematic grand final win on Sunday, and the stories that came out of it: that moment after the final whistle with Thurston and his daughter Frankie, the hug between the two Indigenous captains before the game, the sportsmanship, the skill, the spectacle. It was fabulous.
And then? Well, then Andrew Johns tried to defend himself over the Toowoomba incident. He wasn't passed out drunk on the floor; he was “tired” and he took himself “away into a quiet corner and lay down and had a sleep".
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That’s what Johns and his management said yesterday. I do the same. Whenever I’m tired, I curl up on the nearest bit of carpet in a transit lounge, right on top of 13-month-old spilled coca cola and Smith’s crisp crumbs, and have a kip. It’s very refreshing.
My concern is not so much with John's state. A picture may paint a thousand words, but one sentence can say everything. My issue is with what he said to Helen Wright, a mother of three league-loving sons, when he propositioned her. As Wright wrote on her Facebook page:
"He was severely intoxicated. I am a 42 year old woman that he asked to kiss him. When I refused to kiss him and replied I was happily married and had three sons, his question to me was 'did you have a cesarean {sic} birth?"
To think that? To say that? I can’t even. In short, this is what men usually mean who ask a woman that after they proposition them; they reduce women to holes for sex. Intact holes.