In 2019, Andrew Redmayne made me a coffee. I was at the training base of his team, Sydney FC, waiting to conduct some pre-season interviews when the goalkeeper caught me attempting to use the club’s machine and intervened. He had completed a barista course about three years prior, he said, because he’d been fed up with football and ready to retire at 27 to work at a friend’s cafe.
Back then he was playing for crosstown rivals the Western Sydney Wanderers and was on a wretched run of form. He was certainly not wiggling, and the very thought of being selected for the national team was borderline absurd – never mind saving a penalty to send his country to a World Cup. Dropped to the bench and maligned by many fans for no reason in particular, the daily grind had taken its toll.
