The other side of Nathan Cleary – the introvert at home in front of millions

Nathan Cleary could have the time of his life, “just the most enjoyable day” he says, without even thinking about leaving the house.

Trackies optional. No need to talk to another human soul. Maybe the dog. Maybe not a word. But probably picking up any one of several footballs that are left lying around the place, because Cleary “just feels normal being able to hold a footy”.

Which for anyone wired a similar way makes a whole lot of sense. Until you consider the other times of his life. That “most enjoyable day” that falls on the last day of the NRL season.

Penrith’s prize-winning halfback is like the husband who celebrates his wedding anniversary by booking the same restaurant every year.

Cleary’s venue of choice is Accor Stadium. With 80,000 souls in the stands. Another 3.5 million or so watching around the country.

It’s a hell of a stage for a man who – if not for an incredible competitive streak and a rugby league obsession from the moment he was born into the game – would happily never take it.

“I think it does help,” Cleary says of his natural introversion, the kind that has him happily roaming the house all day with a Steeden never too far away.

“I don’t like going out to seek the attention. I think it actually helps, just being able to be in my own little world … I do feel like sometimes, especially when you’re out on the field, it can feel like there’s not even a crowd there, to be honest.

“It just feels like it’s us versus them. I know, it’s pretty nice.”

Cleary goes into Sunday’s grand final after a season dominated by injuries and introspection and, at the same time, more external focus than ever.

He has found another introvert in 21-year-old Matildas megastar Mary Fowler, the second-most Googled Australian of 2023 after a breakout World Cup campaign on home soil.

Cleary offers a rueful grin at how “naive” he was last October when paparazzi, papers and public piled into the start of a relationship that traverses half the globe, given Fowler is playing at Manchester City.

Initially, the attention rattled both of them, particularly last summer.

Cleary found being pursued in his car by one photographer “mind-blowing”. His mum Bec “lost it” at another for taking shots of Cleary’s teenage sister at their family home.

The clamour over the couple has died down somewhat since, and Cleary and Fowler are naturally now more comfortable discussing their relationship given it’s actually had a chance to develop.

Fowler is a self-described “old soul”, too, telling this masthead last year how she revelled in the anonymity of catching public transport around Manchester because “I’m no different from the girl next to me on the tram”.

Cleary marvels at how she has handled both her seemingly instant stardom and then, the rapid shift of public scrutiny from paddock to private life.

“It’s something that we talk about quite often,” Cleary says.

“I felt a bit sorry for Mary as well, just with her personal life being in the spotlight too and all the added attention. For her, it’s all blown up so quickly, just after the World Cup last year, then us two and all that.

“I’m always checking in on her, but she handles it well. It’s been a meteoric rise. But she’s very humble and has got a very good head on her shoulders.”

Ask Cleary whether the two ever talk shop, comparing sideline conversions and penalty shoot-outs, and his interest in picking up pointers from another code is clear.

“But sometimes it’s just good to have someone there to talk to.”

When his coach and father was asked last week about Cleary’s sublime return from a dislocated shoulder over the finals series, Ivan Cleary began blinking rapidly and acknowledged he was getting a little bit emotional.

“I’m so proud of him, just what he’s been through this year and the work he’s done behind the scenes, no one will ever know,” Cleary snr said.

The similarities between father and son stretch well beyond the jaw structures fit for Mount Rushmore and their unflappable, understated natures.

Just watch a side-by-side comparison of Ivan’s goalkicking from the 1990s and Nathan.

For a hint of the composure and competitiveness the youngest Cleary has inherited along with Ivan’s own natural introversion, a last-second, 1997 conversion in Newcastle rain is also worth a look.

The cameras don’t show Matty Johns leading a stream of abuse from Knights players standing behind the tryline as a mud-covered Cleary lines up a shot to make it 14-all.

He nails it. Then calmly tells Johns and co to “f— off”.

Nathan has heard the tale plenty of times. But as the eldest Cleary child, he can only recall his father’s last game – the Warriors’ 2002 grand final loss to the Roosters, when he was four years old.

He thinks a life around rugby league has conditioned him somewhat to the attention and expectation that came with being “Ivan’s son”.

“Now he reckons he’s Nathan’s dad,” Cleary laughs.

Immortal Andrew Johns has described being a halfback as a lifelong addiction, and for Cleary the inflatable safety blanket he still carries to this day might be proof.

“There’s constantly footies at home,” Cleary explains. “I walk around the house with them and it just feels normal just being able to hold a footy.

“I’ll pick it up and throw it around. It does make you feel like a little kid, but I do think it helps with mental rehearsal, just having a footy in your hand and picturing things that might happen in the game.”

Along with an enduring infatuation for the game, Cleary’s younger days included wrestling with one of human nature’s oldest problems, no matter the personality type.

He’s now 26 and preparing for his fifth grand final in a row.

But before he and the Panthers began their incredible dynastic run, Cleary could find himself “paralysed” by fear in his first few seasons of NRL. Scared of what might go wrong in a game, and worst of all, what other people would think of him.

He’s learned how to catch those thoughts and navigate a rugby league world where, win, lose or draw, everyone will be talking about him regardless.

But come Sunday afternoon, when he walks out the front door and then steps out in front of 80,000 people watching his every move, will there still be the same enjoyment as those formative years, when he really was just a kid holding a footy?

“It’s definitely different with more pressure involved,” he says.

“It’s certainly more about winning. But I always, constantly remind myself to smile and enjoy it. This is what I’ve grown up loving to do. Once that joy is out of the game, it’s like, ‘What’s the point?’ You want to be enjoying it.

“Game day should be the funnest day of the week. There’s been periods through my career where putting too much pressure on myself hasn’t made it enjoyable [when] I’m dreading the nerves.

“But now I get to game day and I think, ‘This is the fun part’. It’s human nature to feel nerves and pressure, to feel a bit anxious. But once I get out on the field, it feels like home.”

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