40 years on - Chapter 1

adam casey: my journey through football and life.

THE HIGHS. THE LOWS. THE LOSSES. THE LESSONS.

Chapter 1 – Where It All Began

It was 1986 in Western Sydney.

Crocodile Dundee had just hit the big screen. Diego Maradona had inspired Argentina to World Cup glory. The Parramatta Eels were the kings of rugby league. And a curly-haired Aussie named Craig Johnston had just scored in the FA Cup Final, helping Liverpool complete an incredible League and FA Cup double.

It was into that world that I was born.

I arrived as the first child of two young parents. Dad was serving in the Australian Army, and Mum was a registered nurse. Like many young families starting out, they were working hard to build a life and raise a family.

Although I didn't know it then, football was already woven into the fabric of both sides of my family.

Dad had played throughout his youth and represented the Australian Defence Force football team. Around Canberra football circles, he was known as "the fastest man in boots." My Grandma still tells the story of the only time she went to watch him play. Sitting amongst a group of passionate Eastern European supporters, she suddenly heard someone yell in a thick Yugoslav accent:

"Dat Casey... he have legs like SCISSOR!"

Forty years later, it still makes me laugh.

The truth is, I inherited more from Dad than just a surname. I inherited his running style too. Anyone who watched me play would probably agree, although I'd like to think I was just a little quicker.

The Casey side of the family was filled with musicians, writers and high achievers. As far as I know, Dad was the first footballer in the family. Like many Australian soccer fans during the 1980s, he was a Liverpool F.C supporter, inspired by players like Craig Johnston, Ian Rush and the great Liverpool teams of that era.

If football was present on Dad's side of the family, it was an obsession on Mum's.

Mum was the first-born child of Maltese migrant parents—my much-loved Nunna and Nannu. Like so many migrant families, they came to Australia in search of a better life, bringing with them little more than hope, determination, a relentless work ethic, and a deep love of family. They also brought something else with them.

Football.

The Maltese community has always lived and breathed the game, and some of my earliest memories involve listening to my Nannu proudly talking about clubs like Melita Eagles, Canberra City and Canberra Arrows. These weren't just football clubs to him; they were part of our family's story and the community that had welcomed them.

My Nunna was no different. She could name players, coaches and matches from decades earlier. From the legendary Johnny Warren to Tom Sermanni—who also happened to be Mum's and my uncle's schoolteacher—football conversations were simply part of everyday life.

Naturally, my uncles played too. One was regarded as one of Canberra's brightest young football talents, something later confirmed by his childhood friend, future Socceroo Andy Bernal. Years later, Andy would become my player agent before going on to play a significant role in David Beckham's famous move to Real Madrid.

Another uncle, Steve, was a well-known figure in Canberra football circles. He loved the clubs and they passion wasn't just for the game itself, but for the people in it. Whether he was managing clubs, helping organise tournaments, or simply being around players, coaches and supporters, he was in his element. He loved his teams, and they loved him in return.

Football seemed to follow our family everywhere.

Then there was Mum.

Long before women's football received the recognition it enjoys today, Mum represented the ACT at the Women's National Championships in Perth. Yet if you ever asked her about her football career, she rarely mentioned representing her state.

Mum is a character. A bit of a wild child. Always ready with a joke.

Whenever I asked how they went at the championships, she'd grin and say, "Great!"

Then she'd launch into her favourite story.

Apparently, after conceding their fifth goal in one match, all eleven girls decided to celebrate anyway. They threw themselves onto their backs and waved their arms and legs in the air like a group of dying ants. Mum would laugh uncontrollably as she described the scene. Her team thought it was hilarious. The opposition certainly didn't. They simply stood there staring in complete bewilderment.

Of all her football memories, that's the one she remembers most vividly.

Well... that and the time she scored from inside her own half. A desperate clearance that somehow turned into a wonder goal.

Looking back now, I realise football wasn't something I discovered. It wasn't simply a sport I happened to fall in love with.

It was already part of my family's DNA.

On one side I inherited the Casey competitiveness, athleticism and drive. On the other, the resilience and sacrifice of Maltese migrants who built a new life in Australia, along with a football culture that ran through almost every conversation, gathering and memory.

Between the two, I inherited ambition, determination, creativity and an obsession with the game long before I ever understood what any of those things meant.

At the time, I was simply a child growing up with the people who cared for me.

Looking back now, I can see that the foundations of who I would become—both the strengths and the struggles—were already being laid.