by Draw a square. That’s all Dominic Matteo had to do. But when pen met paper to do the simple task, Matteo created a circle.
His therapists repeated the instructions. His wife, Jess, had a loving desire. He drew another round shape. “I couldn’t do it,” says Matteo. “I was embarrassed. I was so frustrated. I was really, really struggling at that point. It was so weird.”
Faced with that ordeal, and having to relearn how to read, write and speak, Matteo drew on the “self-discipline” and “structure” that earned him 276 Premier League appearances for Liverpool, Leeds and Blackburn .
“You really have to focus on what’s in front of you: ‘Doncha, what can I do to improve my way of life?’ And that was to do the hard rods again. It was just like being a young footballer – learn this, relearn that. It was horrible, it was difficult, and it was frustrating. But I think my sport – and I’m lucky to have my sport – got me through.”
Matteo is sitting with Jess reflecting on his recovery from November 2019 brain cancer surgery. The day that changed her life forever began quietly. Matteo had a headache here, a bout of sickness there, but it was easily attributable to other sources.
His GP had referred him for an MRI scan. It was scheduled after a trip to Singapore with Liverpool Legends, but a cancellation opened up a pre-flight slot. He drove himself to the hospital. Jess went to the dance school she runs.
Matteo the footballer had many scans. “Usually, they take a while, but I had a minute,” he says. “They must have seen something immediately.” He was not allowed to leave the hospital that Monday night. By Wednesday, he was in a wheelchair, his vision blurred and his face distorted.
Jess picks up the story here – Matteo doesn’t remember much of it. With surgery scheduled for Friday, she brought her parents home. But Matteo had a seizure, and Jess vividly remembers the hospital call: “They said: ‘We’re doing everything we can, but you need to get here as quickly as possible.'” Jess’s voice breaks. Matteo takes her hand gently. They dated briefly during their Leeds days, separated, married other partners, before reuniting after a chance meeting. “My only thought was: ‘Make sure he knows you’re there before he goes.'”
Fortunately, Matteo stabilized and went for surgery. Jess rejected a full prognosis: “I didn’t want to put my husband on a sell-by date.” After 10 agonizing hours the surgeon, Ryan Matthews, came forward to give her “the most wonderful news” – he had removed between 90 and 95% of Matteo’s tumor; a tumor that had been sitting dormant in Matteo’s skull since childhood, partially calcifying and morphing into an anaplastic ependymoma. “Basically, I played my whole career with a brain tumor – I might have been a good player without it!” Matteo makes jokes. Jess rolls her eyes and wiggles her leg playfully.
Surgery, followed by radiotherapy, were the first steps in Matteo’s recovery. The therapy was twice a day, and Matteo was wrapped in a warm football suit. Liverpool banned the publication of a tabloid story about his condition, and former teammates and former managers created a revolving door of visitors. Eddie Gray, David O’Leary, Steve McManaman. FaceTime regulars were Robbie Fowler and Neil Ruddock.
Matteo is visibly overwhelmed by the love he’s been shown – by the football community, by Jess, by his best friends Jason and Shorty who sneak fast food into his neurology ward at night. Matteo believes those interactions created the electricity that got his brain dancing again.
On day trips home, Jess would film him doing simple household tasks like making tea. “Get the cup. Get the spoon. Things we do without thinking were huge for him,” she says.
Therapists would take him to supermarkets to deal with buying a meal. “I still don’t get that right,” Matteo says, laughing. “A food market now costs me around £50! It’s that kind of thing – I’m thinking: ‘Why can’t I do this?’
Eventually, the hospital deemed his discharge safe. That day, according to Jess, Matteo – who scored for Leeds at the notoriously hostile San Siro – looked very scared. That worried me a lot – I didn’t want Dom to be afraid in real life.”
Matteo admits that he was “not used to asking people for help” but now he strongly recommends it. The “confidence I get from doing small tasks” has allayed his initial worries.
And now? “The difference is night and day. I always know – I don’t want to get ahead of myself. I can’t be complacent. But yes, I live in the moment, and I have good days.”
Family life – their son Luca lives with them, and Matteo’s daughters from a previous marriage nearby – will always be different. He can never drive again. Every day starts with at least a dozen tablets. When he reads even a few sentences, it turns him off.
Scans – and the “scanxiety” that goes with it – are done every six months. “A stable scan result is the best we can ask for,” says Jess. “That means the remaining tumor is carrying itself.”
Despite this, the Matteos are pressing on. He has returned to the punditry, regularly holding court as a matchday speaker at Leeds. And together they give motivational talks. It happened by accident, when Jess had to do part of Matteo’s explanation to him first. But receiving positive feedback on their honest accounts of life events encouraged them to continue.
As well as Matteo’s cancer, the couple talk about the dark days years before when he would pass out after all-night drinking sessions. “Suddenly it’s four in the morning the next day,” he begins.
Jess says: “It’s Tuesday now – let’s not sugar coat it, Dom.” Matteo agrees. Was it loneliness? “You’re lonely,” he says. “But you don’t know you’re lonely at the time. There are many sides to that. You don’t know how much of an addiction you have.”
After an injury curtailed his career when he was at Stoke, Matteo went to “rock bottom” for forced betting.
“It’s an epidemic in football,” he says of gambling. “I believe. I don’t know that – I can only say; I can smell it. I know it’s happening. You might have lost 100 grand, 50 grand, but you can to hide that. In your head you’re thinking: ‘Shit, what have I done?’ But you can still screw it up. The money adds up and before you know it, you’re in the hunt. And the chase, in a way, is what we all loved.”
Matteo takes a breath. “I didn’t realize the destruction I was creating. You are pushing self-destruct, but you are destroying everyone else. I understand that now. They are mistakes. Jess had to live with it. My friends and family had to live with it. But as a person you are very good at covering things like that.”
Jess has opened up about how close they came to divorce. Her professional dance career, she says, has given her some insight into the addictive tendencies of high-achieving athletes. That’s what saved them: “I think I had some sense of it – not much,” she says. “Not much, because he pushed it to the absolute extremes. But I heard it. I heard it. Although the husband can not listen to many marriages. They think it is outrageous. There is no understanding of it.”
The square comes easier for Matteo now. However, the shape of life cannot be predicted.
