By Nick Walshaw
May 23, 2009 12:00am
JASON Woods still lives his life behind large, black sunnies. Even on overcast days like this one. He speaks softly. Head dipping slightly to avert your gaze. Yeahs and nahs heading an economy of words.
"But if not for the Knights, well, who knows?" mum Louise shrugs of her autistic 21-year-old. "I mean, Jase once went three years without leaving his bedroom."
Jason "Houso" Woods is not the product of some slick NRL press release. You know, leaguie visits sick kids, signs a few autographs and "sure I'll be back, pal" . . . just as soon as my name comes up again on the roster.
No, this is real.
This Novocastrian fan is standing testament to the fact not every NRL footballer is a hunching Neanderthal who grunts obscenities, drags hairy knuckles and carries a hulking wooden club for his pick-up line.
And today The Daily Telegraph reveals Woods' story among 50 reasons we reckon you should remain in love with the game of league.
Yep, 50 antidotes for every drama that has whacked, jabbed and kicked at the game since Manly poster boy Brett Stewart was first embroiled in those sexual assault allegations.
They're stories like Canberra coach Dave Furner organising cancer support groups.
Bulldogs prop Ben Hannant teaching life skills to some 20 kids every fortnight. And Mark "Ogre" O'Meley coaching the Gymea Gorillas under-11s.
It's Woods being saved by the Newcastle Knights. A truth realised the moment you first see him rushing about at a Newcastle ballwork session. Passing water bottles, shifting markers . . . smiling as yet another player shouts "Houso" because of his likeness to Knight Chris Houston.
All of which leaves the Castle Personnel carers shaking their heads. Struggling to believe only a year has passed since first alerting coach Brian Smith to this most reclusive of Newcastle fans.
A fella all introverted and friendless. Lonely and locked away. Existing among that silent minority for whom life rushes by.
"But here at the Knights," says carer Geoff Dixon, "well, people stop."
And so you watch on cue as winger Aku Uate cuddles two girls in their wheelchairs. Kurt Gidley yarns with schizophrenic Shane Lance, and Junior Sau wrestles Down sydrome sufferer Johnny Paterson. Yep, all this from a push to get Woods outside. Twice weekly sessions where Castle clients now run water, shift markers, gather Gidley goalkicks, pass the footy to Smith and remove goalpost pads afterwards.
Involved. Belonging. Real.
It's a metamorphosis only fully understood when you see two fellas watching on silently from a backseat of the Castle van, still too nervous to interact.
Or the elderly gentleman among the tall reeds of the car park garden.
Lance knows exactly how they feel. This knockabout Novocastrian, a former rigger on the Sydney Opera House, no less, whose own seclusion began the same day his girlfriend left.
It started with desperate attempts to revive her favourite phrases, he says. That's when the other voices came in too. Ones that, at just 22, saw him diagnosed a schizophrenic.
"Love . . . it's an amazing thing, ey," Shane shrugs, his wispy grey hair testament to those 31 ensuing years of medication, isolation and battles with alcoholism.
"But Brian Smith is always reminding me that no one can undo the past . . . he inspires me to keep moving forward."
