Jack / Hawse Jumping Jack

1. Auflage 2026
ISBN: 978-1-923236-40-0
Verlag: Fair Play Publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 246 Seiten

Garry Jack was one of rugby league's most respected and consistent performers - a Balmain Tigers legend, New South Wales State of Origin representative and Kangaroo who built his reputation on courage, reliability and team-first values.

In , he tells his story with honesty, humour and perspective. From his early days chasing the dream of first grade to the unforgettable highs of the late 1980s - including the epic 1989 grand final - Jack reflects on the moments that shaped his career and the people who shaped him.

He shares insights into the changing world of professional rugby league, lifts the lid on key moments on and off the field, and speaks candidly about life after football, including surviving a cardiac arrest and finding new purpose beyond the game.

Warm, reflective and refreshingly grounded, is a story about resilience, loyalty, and staying true to yourself - on the field and beyond it.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Jack, Garry

Hawse, Adam

Leseproben

CHAPTER 1

THE DAY I DIED

JANUARY 22, 2021, was a typically sweaty mid-summer’s day in the north-western suburbs of Sydney.

The temperature hovered around 40 degrees all afternoon, barely dropping as evening approached.

At the Jack household in Cherrybrook, it was business as usual. My wife Donna joined me in the backyard to admire the new fence we’d had put up that week. We spoke about getting the guy back to do some stairs.

Rupey, our pug, was scooting around in excited circles. It wouldn’t be long before he would crash in the loungeroom, drowning the place with his snoring.

It was Friday, which meant I was scheduled for Brazilian jiu-jitsu training. Otherwise known as BJJ, it’s a martial art and combat sport based on grappling, ground fighting and submission holds.

I trained three times a week at the Universal Combat Academy (UCA) at Castle Hill, where I earned my black belt. Overall, I had been training for 20 years, and introduced BJJ to my three sons Kieren, Rhys and Brandon. Rhys was the keenest and progressed through to black belt (at the time I was told we were the first father and son BJJ black belts in Australia, something that I am very proud of as a dad).

I was looking forward to class on this particular Friday evening. Since New Year’s Day, I had been punching out some fast lap times down the road at Edward Bennett Park. In just two weeks, I had slashed three minutes off my three-kilometre run, from 29 minutes to 26 minutes.

I always felt running in my spare time was good for my BJJ. It gave me an edge over others in the class.

I arrived at the UCA just after 6 p.m. and the same old friendly faces were there to greet me.

Some people see Friday evenings as a great time to grab a schooner of cold beer at the pub after work. At this stage of my life, I see it as a chance to grab someone half my age and wrestle them to the floor.

The competitive fire still burns more than two decades after I last laced on a pair of footy boots. I like to challenge myself against men who are younger, fitter and stronger than this old fullback.

Leading the way at UCA was Simon Farnsworth. He’s a fourth-degree black belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu, which makes him a formidable fighter.

Simon is a top bloke. I have been training with him for 20 years. He’s the instructor and when he says it’s time to start training, everyone knuckles down.

Simon took us for our warm-up, and I wanted to show him what great nick I was in. We did five laps of the venue, and the pace was quick. That was fine by me. I pushed myself. The harder Simon took it out, the harder I went with him. We followed up the run with a series of dips, push-ups and crunches.

Even though it was getting late in the day, it was still very hot.

In between sets I could feel my heart beating quickly. I also had some short, shallow breaths. I reminded myself that this was nothing out of the ordinary. During my runs at Edward Bennett Park, I often felt the same way. I would just slow down and walk until my heartbeat settled.

I put it down to not being a young man anymore.

After our run, Simon stopped and spoke with the group. My heart was still racing. I was aware of it but not panicking. My only thought was to try and somehow slow the rate of beats before we started wrestling.

Simon finished speaking and it was time to get down to business. Each of us had to find a training partner. I paired up with Frank Gehret, another black belt in the group.

Frank and I made small talk, but I could still feel my heart pounding. I told myself to “walk it off”, just like I would at Edward Bennett Park.

As I walked to Frank, getting my breath back, I felt better. It was time for jiu-jitsu. Frank approached and I crouched to face him.

Then my life changed in a split-second.

I collapsed backwards into a wall, giving out a sickening moan. I then slumped back on the matting at Frank’s feet.

My heart had suffered a catastrophic failure—a cardiac arrest.

Simon ran straight over. He was shaking me, screaming “Gaz! Gaz!”

I was unconscious and my stricken body was fighting against itself. My fists and jaw were clenched tight as I convulsed and writhed in front of my shocked peers.

My heart, beating so fast only minutes earlier, had stopped completely. So had my breathing. My face and lips had gone from grey to blue.

By now, everyone inside the hall had stopped what they were doing. Students, mums, dads and kids were watching on in horror.

One of my training buddies, Dave Ward, thought I had fainted. Frank was asking me if I was okay. When there was no response, Simon said he was starting CPR.

His brother, Luke Farnsworth, called for an ambulance. Someone else grabbed the defibrillator, which proved unsuccessful in reviving my heart.

Simon started CPR on me. He did this with his typical focus and intensity. He wasn’t going to let me go without pounding my sternum, using every bit of strength in his powerful 70-kilo frame.

My entire body was bouncing off the floor as Simon pumped out 100–120 compressions per minute.

Dave and Frank offered to take over, but Simon said he wasn’t stopping until the ambulance arrived. He knew every extra minute it took to get my heart restarted was a 10% less chance of avoiding permanent brain damage and death.

While Simon hit me with everything he had, Frank and Dave were trying to keep my airways open.

After about six minutes, just as hopes were fading, there was a flash of hope. Simon felt a weak pulse. But then I slipped away for a second time. My lips went blue, and Simon started up again.

You don’t become a fourth-dan Brazilian jiu-jitsu black belt without a lot of discipline and determination. Simon kept going. He’s the fiercest competitor I’ve ever met.

After 10 minutes of CPR from Simon, the ambulance arrived. NSW Ambulance Inspector Kevin McSweeney led a team of four paramedics who took over. They threw another defibrillator on me, then rushed me to Westmead Hospital.

The three men who worked so hard to save my life shared a hug, not knowing if they would ever see me again.

Throughout all this, Donna had been called by Simon’s son, Jake, to let her know what was happening. She was driven by Kevin McSweeney to Westmead Hospital, not knowing if her husband was alive or dead. It was agony for her. She was beside herself and in no state to drive.

Kevin told Donna that at one stage during the cardiac arrest, I had been trying to turn from my back to my belly to try and get up. He said that was a good sign because in his experience, most patients don’t move at all.

Later that night at Westmead, with Donna keeping a bedside vigil, my condition improved. The nurses took out my breathing tubes so I could breathe on my own.

I had memories of my late mum watching over me as I lay in that hospital bed. The clock in front of me displayed JAN 22 (the date of January 22). My mum’s name was Janice, and her date of birth was the 22nd (of June.)

Mum had passed away 11 years earlier from heart-related complications. I have no doubt my mum was there with me.

They say your life flashes before your eyes in those final moments before you die. Memories as a kid, your wedding day, the birth of your first child, etc.

As Simon fought to save my life, that didn’t happen for me.

But I did have a vision of myself alone in a room that I couldn’t escape.

All I can recall was being in a dark room, looking down on myself, with a shining light on me. And I kept falling over. Every time I got up, I’d fall over again and again.

I was saying to myself in this dream, “I can’t stay here, I can’t stay here.” It was like an out-of-body experience where I was watching myself from the corner of a room.

That’s the only recollection I have.

An angiogram showed the left circumflex artery to my heart was completely blocked. Everyone has four arteries taking blood to and from the heart. I was a ticking timebomb.

I required major surgery to rebuild the artery with two stents inserted. I was also put through an induced cardiac arrest—which terrified me—to ensure the electrics of my heart were working properly, before I could be released from hospital.

I have since learned so much about cardiac arrests. I didn’t even realise they were different to heart attacks. Kevin McSweeney said to me, “You can survive a heart attack, but you won’t survive a cardiac arrest, unless you have people around you who know what to do.”

I became an ambassador for the Michael Hughes Foundation, a not-for-profit charity whose primary focus is to “Turn Bystanders into First Responders” in the event of cardiac arrest. I want to help others avoid my experience.

In the year leading up to January 2021, more than 33,000 Australians suffered a cardiac arrest.

Sadly, 90–95 percent of cardiac arrests are fatal. We need to improve this with better awareness of CPR. Performing CPR keeps the brain alive.

Simon has since admitted he thought I was “gone”. In a magazine article, Insp. McSweeney said: “When Simon says he thinks Garry was gone, well that’s because he was—he was dead.”

Cardiac arrest can happen to anyone. I had no pain. I just collapsed. If I’d have died, I wouldn’t have felt a thing.

I had unknowingly joined a very exclusive club, called the cardiac arrest survivors’ club. I’m very glad to be in this club.

I now have three grandchildren: Alfie, and twins Hugo and Clara Jack. They are beautiful. There will be special times ahead with their...