Adam Cooney’s hilarious memories from training camp from hell in his first pre-season
MELBOURNE’S cancelled preseason football camp was a walk in the park compared to the torture experienced by a young Adam Cooney and his Western Bulldogs teammates 15 years ago. Read his terrifying, yet hilarious tale.
Adam Cooney
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WHEN I first heard about the controversy surrounding Melbourne players bypassing coaches’ instructions and going straight to the AFLPA to raise concerns about a pre-season commando camp planned for the team, terrible, horrible memories came flooding back about a similar camp I was thrust into in my first couple of weeks as an AFL player.
Fifteen years on and I and all of my teammates still have nightmares about the brutal boot camp we were forced to undertake.
The year was 2003 and the sea was angry that day, my friends ...
PLAYERS PASS: DEMONS SCRAP COMMANDO CAMP
BOOT CAMP: DOGS FEEL THE PAIN IN TORQUAY
COONEY: EMBARRASSING CONFESSIONS OF A NO. 1 PICK
GET MEAN: FAGAN’S PLAN TO TOUGHEN UP LIONS
It began at 5am at the Whitten Oval. We were told to bring golf clubs, surfboards and tennis racquets as we were off on a four day leisure camp. I think Ryan Hargrave actually had his wetsuit on in the morning.
We assembled in the meeting room excited for what lay ahead.
That was shattered when four men with Dwayne Johnson physiques appeared dressed in all black. One had a balaclava over his face.
“I hope he’s in my four-man Ambrose team,” I thought as I gripped my TaylorMades tightly in my hands.
Immediately the yelling began — so much yelling — as we were separated into four groups and given a coloured bib with a number on it — white, red, blue, yellow colours with numbers 1-10 — then marched out to the car park.
No names were to be used for the duration of the camp. We were to address our teammate by colour and number at all times. From memory I was Red 10.
In our groups we lined up for the first set of thousands of push-ups on our knuckles in the gravel car park out the front of Whitten Oval.
After 45 minutes of push-ups, sit-ups, star-jumps and burpees I was exhausted and at my limit.
Then we grabbed our backpacks and piled on to the bus, kissing goodbye our surfboards and our sanity with the realisation that this was no leisure camp.
Port Melbourne beach was our first stop on the highway to hell.
A torturous three-hour beach session followed — there was running, yelling, sit-ups, dips until you couldn’t dip any more then more dips, push-ups in the water with waves crashing on our faces, yelling — so much yelling — carrying heavy, waterlogged ropes in waist-deep water over our shoulders for miles.
If someone dropped, the whole group was punished.
I remember vomiting through a crack in the pier on my 834th push-up — thankfully, no one noticed but White 5 wasn’t as inconspicuous. The big fella couldn’t hold it in and breakfast went everywhere.
“EVERYBODY STOP!” The call rang out from one of The Rock’s disciples.
“ARE YOU WASTING WATER, WHITE 5?”
“No, sir, not at all,” spluttered White 5.
“START AGAIN, BOYS. WHITE 5 HAS DECIDED HE DOESN’T VALUE H2O.”
So away we went.
It’s fair to say this set the tone for the attitude of the officers for the duration of Kamp Krusty.
Satisfied that they had broken us physically and mentally, the SOG officers were kind enough to let us dry off with a towel before carrying us all back on to the bus for our next adventure.
It was at this stage Yellow 10 finally clicked. “Boys, I don’t think we’re going down the coast for leisure camp, are we?”
To be fair, Yellow 10 was still mildly hung over from schoolies.
One-and-a-half hour bus trip. Location: Mount Disappointment. And didn’t it live up to its name.
The bus driver was kind enough to drop us a leisurely two-hour hike from our camp where were all given a heavy 1.5m-long steel pole, which I assume was to use as a lever to stop us from fainting.
Late afternoon we made it to “camp”, a flat bit of dirt among hectares of bush and depression.
We assembled tarps overhead and had small stretcher type beds to sleep on.
The rest of the afternoon and evening involved more cardiovascular activities, some team exercises and one of the best dinners I’ve ever eaten in my life.
The one positive from the camp was the food — they fed us magnificently and I’m positive it’s the only reason we survived at all.
Post-dinner we sat exhausted around the campfire. At this stage my memory is a blur but at about midnight we were marched back on to the bus, driven further out into darkness and dropped off individually about 500m apart from one another.
There we were told to stand, holding our metal pole on guard at all times and at no stage were we to sit down. If we heard a noise we had to shout the phrase, “Halt, who goes there.”
I was 18, had just left home, had been up since 4am and was physically and mentally exhausted, standing alone in pitch darkness holding a metal pole screaming out “Halt, who goes there” every couple of minutes as I was hallucinating thinking the trees were coming to get me.
They left us there for three hours.
Not once in that three hours did I sit down. I was too petrified to move.
As I was on the verge of death the most glorious site I’ve ever laid eyes on approached in the distance ... two bright lights from the bus slowly rattled towards me.
I crumpled in a heap on the bus as we picked up weary standing men every 500m until we reached Yellow 10, who was nestled up against a tree, out like a light. He had stood up for a minute or two then had a three hour kip. Smart.
We got back to camp about 3.30am questioning everything in life. Breakfast was 6am sharp that morning.
THAT WAS THE FIRST DAY.
This mental and physical torture went on for another three days.
At no stage during the first couple of days of camp were the coaches allowed to speak to us. Only the SOG officers could direct us.
Some other highlights included:
AN arduous hike to the top of Mount Disappointment, two minutes to enjoy the view then march back down only to be told at the bottom: “Right boys, back up we go”.
Up we went, another two minutes to enjoy the view, trudge back down then, wait for it … “I think we’ve got one more trip in us guys”. Yep, three trips up and down.
YELLOW 7 pushed himself so hard during an obstacle course he literally blew his behind out. No haemorrhoid cream available on Mount Disappointment, unfortunately.
WHITE 5 wasted more water before the obstacle course and got to ride in the van for the rest of the day, joined next to him by Yellow 5, who had a mystery hammy complaint. Cowardly behaviour by both.
TORRENTIAL rain fell on more than one evening and we literally slept in puddles of water cuddled up against each other.
FLASH grenades were used to wake us up one night at 4am. One older player (Blue 4) jumped up so quickly and was so disoriented he ran straight into a tree, nearly knocking himself out.
ABSEILING off mountains, which was actually quite enjoyable for most.
Not so much for Blue 8. He got about one metre up when rock-climbing, broke down in tears and at one stage could be heard screaming for his mum to come and save him.
YELLOW 5 had a leech attach himself to his lip while sleeping one night and was still there at breakfast.
ONE-on-one boxing, other team exercises and plenty more walking and running on the camp, which, to this day, is the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.
At the completion of the camp that evening we all got together for dinner and were given three days off to rest and recover, which naturally we used as a three-day bender to try to restore some sanity and also drown out the horrific memories of the past four days.
Was it worth it? Well, we won five games in 2004 and the coach Peter Rohde was sacked before the end of the year so I would question the positive effect it had on us as a group.
No wonder the Dees players aren’t keen on the idea.
Originally published as Adam Cooney’s hilarious memories from training camp from hell in his first pre-season
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