Me and Fevola: the Obi-Wan Kenobi of Footy Flashers #Dickileaks
It is full to bursting with irony that, in the wake of the #dickileaks scandal, Brendan Fevola is in trouble for something entirely unrelated to exposing his penis. Fev, instead, was arrested and detained overnight (well at 4.30am, so the morning really) for being a public nuisance and obstructing police. This will no doubt trigger another round of feigned outrage and finger-wagging over how disappointed we all are by the behavior of these “role models”. Tish and pish. Fev is a manchild, a troublemaker and a person who literally cannot keep his genitals to himself. If he is not actively engaging them in vigorous sexual work-outs, he is displaying them for all to see. I wrote the following in the wake of a scandal back in September regarding Fev flashing a mother of young children in a carpark. My own experience seems worth retelling in light of his arrest, and its juxtaposition to Dickileaks.
I provided media training for the Carlton Football Club in 2007 , soon after billionaire Richard Pratt had taken the struggling Australian Rules football club under his wing. My job was to offer the players a basic overview of how the media works and provide some simple tips on how to deal with press, radio and TV interviews. I ran “theory” sessions in two large groups, followed by practical run-throughs, complete with cameraman, in groups of 3-4 players at a time.
Brendan Fevola, who played for Carlton at the time, has made the news in Australia this week for allegedly indecently exposing himself to a “mother of four”. (Now, why does the fact that she is a “mother of four” make the sight of a penis more shocking, and not less?).
In the face of these allegations, Fevola is not receiving much benefit of the doubt from his current club, Brisbane, nor from anyone else. This is not surprising since Fevola has long been a problem-child – a boozer and a shagger, a public urinator and a shameless media whore. Waving his privates at a solitary woman in a carpark seems like a fairly standard day at the office for Fev.
Fevola refused to take part in the mock interviews because, I guess, he thought he was too experienced to need it. He did, however, sit through the “theory” sessions, making a series of “woe is me” statements about how football reporters that he “thought were me mates” wrote scathing stories about him. When he wasn’t whining, he was texting and giggling and showing off. To their credit, the other players were completely unimpressed, even the rookies who had worked out quickly that Fev, for all his footballing prowess and media profile, was about as good a choice for role model as Jeffrey Dahmer.
But Fev could not keep away from the one-on-one training sessions, even after refusing to take part himself. The presence of a camera was too much for him to resist.
Fevola arranged a physio session in the neighboring room that coincided with the on-camera interviews.
Periodically, Fev would emerge from the physio room and stand behind the cameraman and me and try to break the concentration of the whoever I was grilling at the time. This caused us to halt proceedings on a couple of occasions as the player in the chair lost his train of thought or broke into reluctant guffaws at Fev’s antics. The Carlton media guys just rolled their eyes, muttering “It’s Fev, what can you do?”.
Soon enough, the players learned to ignore to Fev’s disruptive presence. But Fevola is a child in a man’s body — an evil and stupid child, mind you — and he hates to be ignored. He needed to up the ante.
That was when Fev reached into his shorts and began to reveal the contents thereof. He was behind me, so I couldn’t see for myself — but I could feel the presence of an unwelcome intruder near at the point of my left shoulder, and perhaps even the gentlest of zephyrs as he gyrated his hips, drawing perfect imaginary circles with his now-exposed genitals.
The horror etched on my colleague’s face confirmed what was going on behind me, but the players themselves were unsurprised and unperturbed. This was clearly not the first time they had been subjected to the full Fevola package, nor was it likely the last. I am sure they count the day Fev packed his bags for Brisbane as among the happiest of their young lives.
What an irredeemable jerk.