Army on the Rise: A recap of Daniher's Drive 2015

It’s three days since Neale Daniher officially closed the inaugural – and mightily successful – Daniher’s Drive for MND, and although the body remains in recuperation mode, it hums with the magic of the experience. 
Inside or out of the Statesman, it was an event I’ll never forget. 
Mirrored sentiments are being felt by the rest of 'Lorna’s Crew' – and, no doubt, the other 200-odd people across 55 vehicles that participated in the million-dollar-yielding fundraising drive.
The weather was, on the whole, glorious; the cars, hotted up; the beers, cold; the donations, generous and flowing; the collective goal, unflinching. It’s as if Neale, his always-smiling face belying any grimaces, has taken Victoria under his wing. 
I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that the four-day road trip, which traversed the west, central and northern parts of the Garden State, stirred something inside all involved. Those fortunate to take part were all good people in the first place (otherwise they wouldn’t be involved); now they’re all that bit better. Same for every person who opened their wallets.

This was road-tripping in every sense of the word. There were the winding roads and scenic views of Great Ocean Road; the bushy mountain air of the Grampians; Bendigo and the goldfields region; the Murray River. Familiar terrain for many of us, and yet, all now bathed in a renewed light.  
There were community events – it seemed the entire community of Penhurst had shut up shop for the duration of our morning-tea stay – and two-beer stops at country pubs, where the folk of Port Campbell, Dunkeld, Moonambel, Cobram, Mulwala and elsewhere latched on to the spirit of the event, almost always handing over dosh. (A highlight was the Bundalong Tavern, where a hen’s party netted more than $200!) 
Big nights were enjoyed in each of our three stopovers: sportsman’s nights at Warrnambool and Bendigo; and a party-like-it’s-1999 ‘Touch of Ungarie’-themed night in Albury. Glassy eyes and croaky voices presented at breakfast briefings each morning; breathalysers became a necessity rather than useful accessory.  
But although our livers might say otherwise, this was much more than an exercise in self-demolition; it was the way in which a few hundred strangers – footballing greats, businessmen, average Joes; all shapes, sizes and characteristics – melded so beautifully for three days that backboned the event’s success. Rising against the spectre of death was a swell of friendship and, as evidenced by the strength in numbers of the Daniher clan, family. The two Fs – what is more important? 
The Danihers may collectively be zeroing in on 800 AFL games but their humility is nothing short of extraordinary. Never rushed, always friendly, they make great hosts. Their Christmases in Ungarie must be something to behold. It’s no surprise that an auction prize of a barbeque hosted by the four brothers fetched five grand. 
There are the major sponsors – CPA, Kia, Ray White, CUB and Croc Media – from whom vital funding set the wheels in motion.
And the committee: a selfless, dedicated group of volunteers led by drive coordinator Penny Collins, whose endless hours in the lead-up proved vital in the event proceeding smoothly. She barely sat still during the three days, either, glued to her phone to ensure all crews were accounted for and administrative tasks were met.
Also notable was our auctioneer Will Fowles, whose highly entertaining (and somehow coherent!) calls gleaned the MND coffers thousands.
Then there are those afflicted by the Beast; the superheroes baring their souls in their final stretch in a desperate bid to raise awareness and research funding.  
On our first night in Warrnambool, a sprightly fifty-something with a wife in the advanced stages of MND took to the microphone to thank Neale for taking the time to ring the woman that he clearly loved. His voice boomed gustily through the speakers: “I know I shouldn’t swear in the public arena, but that was something fucking special.” 
There’s Ian Davis, a former doctor at the Peter MacCallum Cancer Centre and co-founder of the Cure for MND Foundation. Just 37 years of age, wheelchair-bound and in his fourth year with MND, his mesmerising speech on the first night in Warrnambool brought a sombre touch to a night dominated by hilariously laddish footballing memoirs.  Our crew made a beeline for his table the following night, where his philosophical attitude and upbeat nature continued to confound.  In discussing the disease’s alarming prominence and indiscriminate path, he stated evenly: “I don’t go around thinking ‘why me?’ It’s more like, ‘why not’?”

Finally, there’s Neale. The man is an inspiration. The trip must have taken an immense toll on him, but he presented strongly throughout; no extra cracks for the Beast to invade here. 
I must confess, tears brought on by the event’s emotional underlay smudged my vision a few times across the journey.
For Neale: an Australian of the Year in waiting.
For Ian: a beautiful, brave soul who, for as long as he can, will surely be one of the great dads to his one-year-old son.
For the special lady who mothered my best mate who, in turn, seldom goes a day without thinking of her.
For every poor bastard blighted by the beast. 
At Tullamarine on the Sunday we discovered that our final fundraising figure – around $26,000 at the time of writing – ranked us fourth overall. Not that it’s a competition – every team easily surpassed their initial $4000 targets and should be immensely proud of their efforts – but I confess to a feeling of pride as we, along with the other teams that made up the top five, were called to the stage.   
The Daniher’s Drive for MND was a four-day symphony of human spirit. If our collaborative gusto didn’t kill the Beast this time around we’ll double our efforts next year. Neale, Ian and many, many others, including our fifth passenger and vehicle namesake, demand it.
  

'Lorna's Crew' with a major sponsor, Terry Bell (Solid Lock Locksmith)

                            
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Remembering Lorna

This Thursday I’ll be embarking on a road trip that shapes as being somewhat less self-indulgent – and, possibly, less self-damaging – than the many previous I’ve enjoyed with my old mate, Warren Hicks.
This one’s a fundraising drive in a literal sense – the Daniher Drive for MND – and over three days Waz and I, along with his brother Simon, and another good mate from our hometown of Cobram, Jarrod Lukies, will take in some of Victoria’s most scenic attractions, with stopovers in Warrnambool, Bendigo and Albury.
Around 1400 kilometres in all. Four great mates. Yes, it’s going to be fun.
But even as the warmth of mateship and laughter eddies around our stickered vehicle, the bigger picture, and the deeper message, won’t be far away.
Motor Neurone Disease is a body-cruelling affliction that has, in recent years, set up home in the public sphere. This newfound prominence is largely due to AFL legend Neale Daniher, who, in the 12-plus months since being diagnosed, has nobly used his profile to educate Australians about the disease. He’s linked up with the Cure for MND Foundation, and driven such events as the Big Freeze at the G.
Each time we’ve seen Neale on television or at organised events he’s pushed through the strain of the disease to deliver impassioned messages about finding a way to rid society of ‘the Beast’, all the while retaining the larrikin persona that embodied his peak years.
His stoical, selfless attitude takes me back to my first encounter with MND. In 2002 Lorna Hicks – wife to Brian and mother of Warren and Simon, as well as Naomi and the late Leigh – was taken from us far too early, at the age of 51. 

Lorna was a young 51 – an upbeat, vibrant and, most of all, kind person. She brightened those around her with her warm smile and energetic nature. 

I had the privilege of playing under her in mixed indoor cricket, and the strong batting pairing we forged was due in no small part to Lorna’s calming influence. I’d play a risky shot and be caught off the net and Lorna would almost pre-empt my next move (most likely a dropped head, or thrown bat), moving my focus back to the task at hand, and the next ball.
She was a particularly skillful cricketer, a smart bat and nippy bowler who would hold her own against many of the men. She also excelled in tennis and, as she discovered at the age of 46, netball, when she won the league best-and-fairest in her debut season.
As Waz recalls, it was the high standard she set herself in these sports that led her to realise something was amiss in 1998, when aged 47. “She couldn’t quite get the same grip on the cricket bat and tennis racquet, and could not hold on to those catches she would normally always take,” he says.
When several visits to GPs and specialists failed to turn up answers, Lorna undertook research and practically diagnosed herself, prompting the specialists to test for MND. Lorna’s suspicious were on the money, and the family was heartbroken. “Our family had never heard of MND before, and nor had Mum, but unfortunately, like the Daniher family, we had a crash course, real quick, on what MND is and the debilitating effect it has on people,” Waz says. “And as we have learnt, it does not discriminate who it takes in its path.  As Neale says, it really is a beast.”
But Brian and Lorna refused to give in, trying many treatments throughout her three-year battle, including a trip to the Philippines for a miracle cure, electrode treatment and all manner of self-healing.
All, sadly, to no avail. The beast is as brisk as it is brutal. When I departed Australia in April 2000 to live in Dublin with my then Irish girlfriend, Lorna’s downward slide had begun. Eighteen months later, when I returned, she was wheelchair-bound, communicating through a computer aid. But her trademark inner glow remained. She didn’t wallow in anger or self-pity, as would be completely understandable given the unfair hand she’d been dealt (not only with the disease but also losing a 19-year-old son in a truck accident, something she never reconciled with), instead expending precious energy in finding out how I was settling back into Australia after the best part of a four-year absence. This was how she rolled.
Lorna has left quite the legacy; her three wonderful adult children are a credit to her and Brian, and her standing in the Cobram community – so evident at her funeral on that hot March day in 2002 – will forever be enshrined in the hearts of those who knew her… and in the annual trophy awarded to the local tennis club’s champion player, the Lorna Hicks Memorial Award.
“Mum was an inspiration to all around her – and no more so than her children,” Waz proudly recollects. “She had such a positive, happy approach to life, people just loved being around her. I remember my Auntie Ilma – Mum’s sister – saying at the funeral: ‘wow, I didn’t realise Lorna was a celebrity until now’.”
For the Daniher Drive we were given an initial fundraising goal of $4000. We blew that out of the water within 48 hours. This was upped to $10,000; we smashed that, too. Our final goal, which we’re closing in on rapidly, is $15,000. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve seen Waz or Simon send thank-you emails to donors with the words ‘we’ve been blown away by people’s generosity’.
Most pertinently, we’ve hit this goal without chasing the corporate dollar. It’s the constant feed of $20, $50 and $100 donations – from friends of friends, distant relatives, mums and dads of friends – that has seen us to our targets.
The human spirit is, indeed, alive and well. With all the wrongs of the world that splash across our TVs and newspapers on a daily basis, it’s nice to be reminded of that.   

Waz and I with our mums, October 1997

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