On 22 July, 2012, at about 9.30pm, Sammy-Jo Johnson dropped her father Robert home from a Lismore pub. At 8.30 the following morning she got the phone call – he had taken his own life. “That was it,” she says, “that was the last time I saw him.”
The pair had shared the evening with Sammy-Jo’s partner Brian and some friends. By that point, at 19 years old, the Sydney Thunder all-rounder had a more complete understanding of the bipolar disorder, schizophrenia and attention deficit disorder that had steadily picked apart a family man until he could no longer leave the house.
Johnson, now 28, was older than sisters Rikky-Leigh and Montana and “grew up a little bit quick”. “He was coming in and out of work as I hit high school,” she says. “He would sleep a lot, be quite down. Mum had to do a lot of things for him.
“I was watching a man that was really proud of his manhood, and the provider for his family, slowly declining. Someone that would take us kids out and do stuff, that slowly slipped away. You go, ‘well, hang on, dad’s not coming to special events, dad didn’t come to my graduation, dad didn’t see me play first game for Queensland’. All these little things that never happened, that’s when someone’s at a point where they really, really need some help.”
The eight years since have been awash with similar unwitnessed moments – her near-decade playing for the Queensland Fire and five years for the Brisbane Heat; a long-awaited move to the New South Wales Breakers, having come through the NSW underage pathway as a teenager but fallen short of making the senior squad; and, most immediately, Thursday night’s Women’s Big Bash League semi-final against the Heat.
Long before a 16-year-old Johnson bowled out Michael Bevan at a charity match, and before the Fire up-and-comer took the wickets of Breakers and international stars Alex Blackwell, Alyssa Healy and Lisa Sthalekar, she spent school holidays ensconced in the passenger seat next to Robert, an interstate truck driver and the source of her passion for “tinkering with cars”. She has post-cricket ambitions to become a mechanic.
Her mum Teena was into cars too, and Johnson passed the tools and held the torch while her parents performed countless surgeries. Then she got her licence and became “a bit of a hoon”. “Dad would come out with myself and my mates and we’d all go out doing burnouts, mucking around in cars. He was 40 at the time and we’re all 17, 18, and everyone’s like, ‘Oh, what, your old man’s here?’ Then he was showing us all up.”
There was rehab, electric shock treatment and even three months in prison after “a really, really, really bad day” when he got into an altercation with an undercover police officer while attempting to stop using marijuana. In 2012, the stress associated with caring for Robert became too much for Teena, especially while looking after Johnson’s younger sisters, and the couple separated.
Robert was 44 when he died. Johnson turned to sport, and to Brian. The next 12 months were, as she describes them, “irresponsible, made the wrong decisions, hung around the wrong people”. Her sisters found their own destructive ways to cope.
During that period Brian was there for support “through the shit times”. Eventually, after effectively a two-year break, cricket was too. “I’ll never let myself get to that particular point,” she says. “I’ve seen what it does to people, and even when I was at my lowest point, I still knew that I could get out of it, and I did.”
Johnson’s frankness about such personal subject matter is rooted in a desire to further intensify the growing conversation about mental health issues at a time, she points out, when the need for services is urgent.
“You’ve got to look at the way 2020 is going, with Covid and everyone losing jobs and houses and relationships breaking down,” she says. “You’ve got to think suicide is still probably up there with one of the highest killers in our country. So it’s still a big thing, and it still needs to be brought up.
“I suppose me being the age that I am now and understanding things a little bit more, trying to be willing to share what I know as a person that’s lived with someone that had severe mental health issues and knowing what the signs are and what you can and can’t do. Because I think the only way we’re going to move forward is by people speaking up, not only for themselves, but on behalf of people that have had it or got it.
“I kind of wish that nine years ago there were more things that could have been done because someone like him [Robert], all he probably needed was a mate to talk to or a support group that could help a little bit more. There probably wasn’t access to that back then, but now I feel like there’s a lot more going on.”
Johnson doesn’t do airs and graces. Her life, as it is told, is how it is. She had a “tough upbringing” in housing commission, materially poor but rich with happy memories. Sport was always on the TV. With a father who had played representative rugby, a mother who dabbled in netball and a daughter who turned her hand to anything involving a ball, it didn’t matter which.
Brett Lee was Johnson’s first idol. It made sense, she thought, because she was “a skinny little scrawny young female with blonde hair” and he was “tall, skinny, fast and blond-haired” He bowled at 150kph, and she wanted to. She was picked on at school for being a tomboy, but joined an under-12 boys’ side in Albury nonetheless.
As soon as she was 14 and nine months – the legal working age – she got a job at a local bakery. Her wage of $60 a week went towards hockey registration and petrol so her mother could drive her to extra basketball and touch football training sessions. From 16, she worked at Hungry Jack’s most afternoons after school to pay for her weekend trips to Sydney to play grade cricket for Northern Districts. Now she works at Rebel Sport and would not give it up unless she is selected for the Australian team.
Her main game had been hockey – she still carries a stick in her kit bag – and it wasn’t until a charity match in late 2009 that she officially prioritised cricket. She bowled Bevan “a nice, full ball and he hit it straight to mid-off on the circle”. Watching her were Adam Gilchrist’s parents, Stan and June, who offered her a scholarship to play in England. Through fundraising, her mum “scrounged up” $5,000. Her dad, while struggling, helped with one of the barbecues.
In Cumbria she stayed with a cricket-mad host family who made her welcome for free. Last year, when she toured England with the Australia A squad, they travelled to watch her games.
In late 2012, after Robert’s death, the family moved to Brisbane. Johnson and partner Brian, who had already moved out together, had no rental history in Queensland so spent three months living in two caravan parks, the second of which was also transition housing for prisoners on parole.
“A caravan is not very big, let’s just say that, and you’re living in the same space as people who have had serious drug addictions, sex offenders, you’ve got lots of different things and backgrounds,” she says. “But we’re all struggling, to be honest, and you meet some new people and listen in on their perspective, and some people weren’t as bad as they were made out to be. So it was an interesting experience and probably one of that I’m grateful to have lived through.”
The pair this year moved to Sydney. Brian had a work opportunity and the Breakers were finally calling for Johnson. When she signed, Lee – a NSW Blues alumnus – welcomed her on Twitter.
Her new Twenty20 side the Thunder, led by Rachael Haynes and speckled with young talent, head to North Sydney Oval looking for a grand final spot against the Melbourne Stars and a first title since season one in 2015-16. The Heat, though, are on a seven-win streak and with a competition three-peat in their sights.
Johnson is not thrilled with her batting form this season but cannot convincingly discount her exploits with the ball – she leads the competition with 18 wickets at an average of 16.72. Two rounds ago she was player of the match.
“I’ve enjoyed the new playing group that I’ve been around, the new coaches I’ve had access to,” she says. “It’s just like a little fresh start … a different group, different environment and continue to develop my skills.
“I loved every minute playing for the Heat … and it’s nice to be in a hub because I still got to catch up with my best mates all the time and have a coffee with them. You know, 2020 has been a funny year … but in the cricketing world it’s a big family so it’s really nice.”
In Australia, the crisis support service Lifeline is 13 11 14. In the UK and Ireland, Samaritans can be contacted on 116 123 or email jo@samaritans.org or jo@samaritans.ie. In the US, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is at 800-273-8255 or chat for support. Other international helplines can be found at www.befrienders.org
Gotcha4Life is a not-for-profit Foundation that funds sustainable educational workshops, training programmes and products building this mental fitness in communities across Australia, to enable strong, open and binding relationships
