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The full story behind that infamous night at Maccas
Benji Marshall
October 9, 2011
When your old man is dying, and he tells you he wants something, you do what you can to make it happen. So I decided to help kids with cancer. The Footy Rocks fundraiser, in March, was a memorable one. What happened after it won't alter my fondness for it. I wanted to honour my father and I feel I did.
I had my friends and relatives with me and I was proud we had raised almost $250,000\. I wanted to celebrate it with them. On the way back to the hotel, some of the girls were hungry. We walked into McDonald's to get something to eat; the girls ordered and I went straight to the corner with some of my mates to sit down.
We finished our food, but we still had about four burgers left, so we offered them to a man at the table next to us, who had only bought a small chips and small drink himself. He was over the moon; the boys shook his hand and he thanked us. He said he didn't have much money.
We all walked outside. Half of the group crossed the street on the way back to the hotel, but I stayed outside the restaurant for at least 15 minutes, signing more autographs and posing for more photographs. Everyone was in good spirits.
People were yelling things. 'The Tigers are shit.' I heard: 'Darren Lockyer shits on you.' I hear that sort of stuff all the time. We started walking off, and waited for the lights to turn green on the corner of Bridge and George Streets.
I started crossing the road when the lights changed. I heard something. I didn't think I could have heard properly. I turned around and said: 'What did you say?' I knew who said it. It was a bloke from the same group who had been yelling the same stuff earlier. He said the same thing: 'F–- off you black c---.' I said: 'You can't say that. If you want to say it, say it to my face.' He leant towards me, bringing his face closer in to mine, and said it again.
I said: 'I don't need this shit.' I pushed him away to get him out of my face. I didn't punch him. I went back to the hotel, and didn't mention what happened to anyone. I had a good night's sleep. I was satisfied with the night.
What followed after that night was an enormously difficult period. There were a lot of assumptions being made about me, which I had no control over.
It was the hardest period of my life. Trying to focus on football was enormously difficult. I pretended that everything was OK, but I'm a human being. I will make this point, though. In spite of it all, I never, ever, felt like I had somehow failed in honouring my late father, because of what happened on that night. That never crossed my mind. He would have been proud of everything I did that night. Everything. If he was here today, he would have told me that. That, I am sure of.
Benji Marshall
October 9, 2011
When your old man is dying, and he tells you he wants something, you do what you can to make it happen. So I decided to help kids with cancer. The Footy Rocks fundraiser, in March, was a memorable one. What happened after it won't alter my fondness for it. I wanted to honour my father and I feel I did.
I had my friends and relatives with me and I was proud we had raised almost $250,000\. I wanted to celebrate it with them. On the way back to the hotel, some of the girls were hungry. We walked into McDonald's to get something to eat; the girls ordered and I went straight to the corner with some of my mates to sit down.
We finished our food, but we still had about four burgers left, so we offered them to a man at the table next to us, who had only bought a small chips and small drink himself. He was over the moon; the boys shook his hand and he thanked us. He said he didn't have much money.
We all walked outside. Half of the group crossed the street on the way back to the hotel, but I stayed outside the restaurant for at least 15 minutes, signing more autographs and posing for more photographs. Everyone was in good spirits.
People were yelling things. 'The Tigers are shit.' I heard: 'Darren Lockyer shits on you.' I hear that sort of stuff all the time. We started walking off, and waited for the lights to turn green on the corner of Bridge and George Streets.
I started crossing the road when the lights changed. I heard something. I didn't think I could have heard properly. I turned around and said: 'What did you say?' I knew who said it. It was a bloke from the same group who had been yelling the same stuff earlier. He said the same thing: 'F–- off you black c---.' I said: 'You can't say that. If you want to say it, say it to my face.' He leant towards me, bringing his face closer in to mine, and said it again.
I said: 'I don't need this shit.' I pushed him away to get him out of my face. I didn't punch him. I went back to the hotel, and didn't mention what happened to anyone. I had a good night's sleep. I was satisfied with the night.
What followed after that night was an enormously difficult period. There were a lot of assumptions being made about me, which I had no control over.
It was the hardest period of my life. Trying to focus on football was enormously difficult. I pretended that everything was OK, but I'm a human being. I will make this point, though. In spite of it all, I never, ever, felt like I had somehow failed in honouring my late father, because of what happened on that night. That never crossed my mind. He would have been proud of everything I did that night. Everything. If he was here today, he would have told me that. That, I am sure of.
