“THERE was a moment. My children were there, I was there and that was the defining moment. That was it. That was the day it had to stop.”
For over a decade, Carlton supporters were used to Wayne Johnston winning contests. Dominating.
He ended his career as a four-time premiership player, a captain of the Club. Literally, ‘The Dominator’.
But when the final siren sounded on his illustrious career, there was a battle off the field which he couldn’t get the better of.
Exacerbated by gambling, alcohol and more, it got the better of him. Speaking to Courageous Conversations (presented by Movember), he conceded that he “never thought [he’d] be here on this day, talking like this.”
But this was his story alone to tell.
“Leaving footy was tough… When I left Carlton in 1990, I was shot. Mentally and physically gone,” Johnston said.
“The hard part for me was a few of my fundamentals, a few of my fabrics of my unconditional stuff went away from me.
“I was fanatical, I was aggressive. I enjoyed that. All of a sudden there was nothing to be fanatical about, nothing to be aggressive about.
“Unfortunately, when you have alcohol, you gamble, then you do know what comes in — a bad aggression, a bad attitude.”
For all intents and purposes, Johnston played his football as a larger-than-life figure, especially when the occasion called for it. He’s the man who David Parkin considers as the best big-game player he’s ever seen.
However, this was nothing like Johnston had faced before. The man who willed himself to football immortality moment-by-moment had, in his own words, lost control.
For him, it was that aforementioned one moment. One moment which meant enough was enough.
“I have no doubt that I had lost control of my moral fibre as a man. My physical fibre as a man. As a father, God knows,” he said.
“I was home. I had a marriage split, which was pretty bad — I thought I had gotten over it a bit, but I hadn’t. I drank a bottle of vodka, substance abuse, somebody gave me a sleeper.
“I rung my daughter in Sydney and started abusing her over the phone, because I thought she owed me money — she didn’t owe me anything.
“She must have rung my sons and they came into my house.
“Clay come in, Marc came in. Another kid came in — I didn’t recognise him.
“It was Tomi Johnston, my son. It took me four hours to recognise who he was.”
Identifying the marriage breakdown as the catalyst, not the excuse, Johnston said that was rock bottom — but it was also the moment to move forward from.
He wanted to do right by his family, by his kids - “they’re a freak show, they’re super to me” - and by his friends. He wanted to win them back, his integrity back.
The 61-year-old views this Courageous Conversation as a start, as a “day of redemption”.
“I’ve got to a stage now where I’m very happy,” he said.
“I think I can go a lot, lot further than this, for myself personally as an individual, family man, father and a friend.
“I’m probably one from an era of the ‘70s, ‘80s and ‘90s that can tell you what hell is. To do everything wrong, to break all the rules.
“To come back… yeh, you know what? You’ve broken them, you’ve buggered up, you’ve stuffed up — but now you’re back.
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being back.”
Johnston’s Courageous Conversation is presented by Movember: the leading global organisation committed to changing the face of men’s health.
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