Jonathan Brown’s book ‘Life And Football’ is a revealing, humorous and interesting insight into his great career.

You can’t help but admire Brown for his courage – both on and off the field – as he bravely threw himself into packs and kept coming back for more despite several horrific injuries.

But one injury had nothing to do with football, was self-inflicted and could have resulted in his death.

The forward picks up the story in early 2003…

I was on top of the world when I headed home for the Christmas break with my family and friends. I was confident that everything was in place for a big 2003.

However, my preparations for the Lions’ campaign to win a third straight premiership soon ran off the rails.

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In early January each year, a group of my mates, of all different ages, get together for a gathering that we call ‘Slab Day’. This tradition is still going, despite the story I’m about to tell you.

Each bloke who attends has to try and drink a slab of beer during the day. We kept an eye on each other – especially ‘Mugsy’ – to make sure no one was tipping their drinks on the pot plants.

The early Slab Days were held at one of the campgrounds not far from the Warrnambool foreshore.

But that area is very popular with holidaying families, so by the time this particular Slab Day – 2 January 2003 – rolled around, we had relocated to a two-storey house where a mate of ours lived.

We watched the Sydney cricket Test on TV, which is a big part of the tradition. It was an Ashes series that year, so there was plenty of interest in the cricket.

Our gathering exploded when Australian captain Steve Waugh brought up a remarkable century by hitting the last ball of the day straight through the covers for four.

We were running on adrenaline after that. We declared Steve Waugh to be the patron saint of Slab Day, and we started referring to him as ‘Slab Day Steve’.

The sun had set and I was onto my 23rd stubby of Crown Lager when Mugsy and I started wrestling out on the balcony.

We were crashing each other into the balcony rail, using the rail like the ropes around a boxing ring. A couple of the older blokes starting telling us to settle down.

Our old coach from South Warrnambool, Leigh McLuskey, tried to put a stop to our carry-on, as did Shane Lewis, the father of Hawthorn star Jordan Lewis. ‘Shut up,’ we said to them. Mugsy and I thought we were WWE wrestlers.

We both had our arrogant heads on, as we like to say, and we thought we were putting on a great show for the boys.

Neither of us wanted to back down and let the other one claim that he was the winner. We started crashing into the balcony rail harder and harder.

Suddenly, after three or four decent hits, there was an almighty crack and the rail gave way. Mugsy and I tumbled into the darkness.

We fell a couple of metres, then hit a garden shed and fell a couple more before hitting the ground in the middle of a garden bed.

Brown’s trademark celebration after kicking a goal. Photo: Getty

I hit the ground first, then Mugsy landed on top of me. We were both knocked out cold. Not far from where we landed was a sandstone block.

If one of us had hit his head on the block, that person would have been killed.

Mugsy came to first. He had cut his ear on the shed and blood was pouring out of the wound. He started spitting dirt and bits of bark out of his mouth.

But I lay there motionless. Mugsy’s brother, who we know as ‘Shooter’, realised the gravity of the situation. He feared that both of us had been seriously injured.

As others were coming down the stairs, he jumped off the balcony onto the shed, then jumped off the shed and landed beside us. Mugsy climbed to his feet, but I had not moved.

Blokes started crying. They thought I was dead.

One of the boys rang an ambulance. I was out cold for two or three minutes, which must have seemed like an eternity for everyone who was there.

When I came to I could hear people saying that the ambulance was on its way. Alarm bells went off straight away.

If I was picked up by an ambulance I would end up on the news. There would be headlines like, ‘Two-time premiership player facing the sack after drunken fall off balcony.’

My cousin Marcus was there and he agreed to help me get the hell out of there.

He drove me to Mugsy’s parents’ place and I climbed into a bed there. My ribs were killing me and I had scratches all over my face. Mugsy lay down on the couch in the lounge room. His parents were in bed, none the wiser.

A couple of minutes later, the sliding door that opened out onto the backyard flew open. My old man stormed in.

Someone had rung him and told him what happened.

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Copies of ‘Life And Football’ can be purchased here.

Jonathan Brown will also be signing books across the country. Full details are here.