WITH the Matildas currently in Australia with a global array of stars, and the Socceroos just finishing an international tour of the USA, it was a timely reminder for me on the brutal reality of international breaks, particularly when you represent Australia.<\/p>\n
While nothing quite compares to representing Australia, what a lot of people don’t understand is the hidden grind that comes with international breaks, particularly when you’re based in Europe.<\/p>\n
Fans see the highlights, the anthem, the badge, the goals, the moments that go global. What they don’t see is the part that happens between the matches: the airports, the jet lag, the cramped seats, the recovery sessions you try to squeeze in at 35,000 feet, and the toll all of it takes on your body and your club form. For me, it was never the immediate fatigue, it was the weeks later when your body is telling you to slow down.<\/p>\n
For players based in Europe, the international break usually means a long-haul commute. When I was at Fulham, playing for the Australia U\/23s and qualifying for the Olympic Games, this reality hit me hard. The final phase of our qualification process was 14 games in eight months. I’d finish a match in England on a Saturday, grab a quick bite, pack a bag, and be on a flight to Australia not long after. Twenty-plus hours in the air across time zones that hit you hard. You land, your legs feel like concrete, your back’s locked up, and you’re meant to train or play almost immediately.<\/p>\n
Our Olympic qualifiers often took us to places that were completely foreign to anything I’d ever experienced as a young player. We travelled and played in places like Jordan, North Korea, Iran, Saudi Arabia, China and Lebanon. Countries where the stadiums, the crowds, the conditions, even the food and the air felt worlds apart from what we call normal life. Countries where your laptops and phones were taken off you, you’re told by your own government that your rooms are bugged and when you’re out of your room your bags would be searched! Then there’s the actual football and you’re eating powdered milk on cornflakes for your pre-match meal!<\/p>\n
We were either stepping into 44-degree heat or we were arriving at the ground and they’re clearing the snow off the pitch. You’re dealing with altitude, dust, or atmospheres that turned hostile the moment the bus doors opened. Soldiers making up the crowd, army tanks on the side of the road, high-level security surrounding you the whole time and you’re unable to step foot out of your hotel. Those trips were mentally exhausting. You’d be navigating different cultures, security protocols, unfamiliar training pitches, unfamiliar foods, all while trying to stay focused enough to perform in matches that determined whether you’d reach an Olympic Games.<\/p>\n
Looking back, those qualifiers didn’t just test your football. They tested your adaptability, your maturity, and your ability to handle environments most players will never come close to experiencing. Experiencing this as a 21 year old is something I will never forget, I thought I was pretty resilient heading into this campaign, but this took it to a whole new level.<\/p>\n
I was with Fulham in the English Premier League during this period and flying back for the Olympic qualifiers; I said yes to everything. You don’t think twice as the opportunity means too much, but the physical toll was real. Often you are cooked before you even step onto the pitch.<\/p>\n
Just when you start to adjust to Australian time, you’re back on another flight to London. And then the return leg! You land, unload the suitcase, and that day you’re back trying to prove to your club manager that you’re sharp, fresh, and ready to compete for a spot.<\/p>\n
Except you’re not. You’re exhausted. And you can’t really complain, because unless they’ve done that flight six times in a year, they don’t understand. Most people from England are lucky have made the trip to Australia once in their lives.<\/p>\n
Everyone sees international duty as a privilege, which it is, but clubs see it as a distraction. There is a constant pull. You want to give absolutely everything for your country, while your club is your day-to-day livelihood. You have coaches on both sides telling you to tell them you’re injured, both with their own interests at heart. You’re often stuck between a rock and a hard place.<\/p>\n
I remember arriving back in London asking to miss a pre-match meal two days after making my Socceroos debut in Singapore, to get some extra sleep and recover. They let me do it but it was clear to me that they weren’t happy. Every international break almost became a mini-preseason for me because I was constantly trying to claw my way back into rhythm.<\/p>\n
By the end of that qualification process, the toll on my body had caught up with me. The constant London-Australia-Asia travel, the matches stacked on top of club commitments, and the lack of proper recovery eventually pushed me past breaking point. I ended up with a knee tendinopathy injury that needed surgery, brutal timing with the Olympics on the horizon. It was one of those moments where everything you’ve been pushing for suddenly collides with the reality of what your body can and can’t handle. After years of throwing myself into every qualifier, every camp, every flight, it was a harsh reminder that even when your ambition is sky-high, your body sometimes forces you to slow down.<\/p>\n
Here’s the funny thing: despite everything, you’d still say yes every single time. There’s something about playing for Australia that just hits differently. Wearing that kit, being around the national team environment, knowing you’re representing your family, your hometown, your country, seeing your family and friends, it outweighs everything. It makes others proud, probably prouder than I ever was.<\/p>\n
The international break shapes you. It toughens you. And it becomes one of those chapters in your career you look back on and think: I actually did that. I grew from that. Those trips between London and Australia\u2026 they took a toll, no doubt. But they also taught me resilience, professionalism, and how blessed I was to play a global game.<\/p>\n
So next time you’re analysing our national teams, the performance, the lineup, the intensity, remember there’s a whole world behind those 90 minutes. Sacrifice, fatigue, travel, pressure. The unseen part of representing Australia.<\/p>\n
See you on the pitch,
\nAdrian Leijer<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
WITH the Matildas currently in Australia with a global array of stars, and the Socceroos just finishing an international tour of the USA, it was a timely reminder for me on the brutal reality of international breaks, particularly when you represent Australia. While nothing quite compares to representing Australia, what a lot of people don’t […]<\/p>\n