IT'S there in the smile that appears when the stunning play has come off, the centimetre-perfect pass or kick has found its target or the dummy has been sold in the stands.

It's there in the grimace that follows the conversion attempt from the sideline that skews off the laces and he curses himself in contempt. It's there in the break in play when nothing's left in the tank and he's sucking them in, trying to fill that exhausted little frame with oxygen … so he can go again.

It's a silent and simple message that says rugby league's leading player is a 24-year-old indigenous kid who's proud of who he is, where he's come from and why none of us should underestimate where he is headed.

Johnathan Thurston's true colours are there for all to see, in the most basic tool of his football kit.

His mouthguard. Red. Yellow. Black. The colours of his people.

"It's like a trademark," Thurston says unassumingly. "I didn't have a proper mouthguard when I was playing in the junior ranks. It was only until I went to the Bulldogs that I got one. They asked me what colour I wanted. Everyone else said blue and white …

"I don't know why I got the colours I did, eh? At the time, I was just pretty proud. Now I'm glad that I've done it because I see myself as a role model - to the indigenous community, especially."

A skinny kid from the tough suburb of Sunnybank in Brisbane's south, Thurston was born to an indigenous mother, Debbie, and Kiwi father, Graeme.

But while some proudly shout where they are from to the heavens (think Anthony Mundine), and others simply recycle cliches (think Greg Inglis), Thurston would rather play the game and quietly be on his way.

"Nobody's questioned me about it, really," he says of his Aboriginal background. "My dad's a Kiwi. That gets mentioned a bit. Blokes like 'Choc' are out there a bit. I'm not as outspoken as him. But, you know, I'm just proud of my family and where I come from."

Thurston's understated manner is in contrast to his form - and the cold fact that the destiny of this year's Origin series lies in the palms of his hands.

In game one, when the game needed a player to grab it by the throat, Thurston put those hands in the air. And while he will sit there and ramble about Locky's presence and Pricey and Petero doing the hard yards, make no mistake: game one belonged to him.

Let's keep a lid on the emotions but it's becoming clearer that in the season in which we lost our most gifted talent in Andrew Johns, another has strolled through the door and calmly asked, "What's crackin'?".

Thurston cringes at the adulation. "It's hard not to listen to it but really it goes through one ear and out the other," he says.

Sometimes.

When The Daily Telegraph ran a story with the headline "I'M THE NEXT JOEY" days after Johns retired from a serious neck injury, Thurston erupted.

He was so incensed he phoned the Cowboys management demanding to speak to the newspaper's sports editor. He was so embarrassed he even called Johns.

"That story pissed me off because I was misquoted," he fumes. "I felt the need to call Joey about it. The way it came across - it's not who I am. Joey was supportive. He said they did the same to him with 'Alfie' [Allan Langer] and 'Sticky' [Ricky Stuart]. That sorta helped."

Then he pauses for a moment. "And I want to make a name for myself."

To fully appreciate where Thurston is now is to be reminded that he almost didn't make it here.

When he was 16, and other prodigies were being snapped up by the sharpest recruitment men around, he was doing his best for the Toowoomba All-Whites and stacking shelves at Coles at night.

"Growing up as a kid, everyone says they want to play for Queensland. But I didn't expect to do it," he grins. "I couldn't find a club. I had a couple of clubs that were interested, but they brushed me. I do laugh about it a bit now. I've always been grateful that the Bulldogs gave me an opportunity."

Yet the Bulldogs are regularly reminded they let him slip away to the Cowboys in 2004 - and the following year he claimed the Dally M.

The club says salary cap restraints meant it was impossible to retain him, while some players report Thurston wanted to stay so much that he was in tears upon leaving.

"I just couldn't get a crack in first grade," Thurston says. "I'd play a game and then go back to reserve grade for a few weeks. I knew I could play first grade week in and week out."

Thurston admits escaping "the Sydney lifestyle" was also a factor in departing.

What he cannot cop are suggestions he left because of the controversy that dogged the club over a young Coffs Harbour woman's rape allegations in 2004.

"It had nothing to do with my decision, whatsoever," Thurston says. "There were reports … Malcolm Noad has kept me in touch with the investigation that happened, with the ex-copper that come out in the paper. He sent me a few documents and that it was all a load of sh--t. All politics and stuff."

Translation: Bulldogs chief executive Noad sent Thurston copies of all newspaper clippings and transcripts of radio and television reports in which former detective senior sergeant Gary McEvoy - the investigative manager of Strike Force McGuigon - said "there was no woman raped in the pool area of the Pacific Bay Resort".

Maybe it's another indication of Thurston's elevation. Like Johns, rumour readily attaches itself to him like lightweight defenders. Last year, when sex rumours involving Thurston and the partners of teammates were widespread, the Cowboys published a denial in a Townsville newspaper.

"It doesn't really bother me, really," Thurston says. "I've come to deal with it. It's there. It's always there. It happens. I've said before that I don't really give a sh--t what anyone else thought. I had the full support of my teammates and that's all that really matters to me."

What also matters to Thurston is family. And if you are looking for a reason why his game has transcended that of others this season, look no further than his parents, who moved from Brisbane into his three-bedroom house in Townsville earlier this season.

"If I had a choice between family and footy, I'd take my family - without a question," he says. "We are very tight. Mum and Dad have been my biggest influence. Without them, I wouldn't be where I'm at. They always found a way for me and my brother to be happy and give us what we want."

If the opening game of the Origin series belonged to Thurston, he owned the match against the Bulldogs at Suncorp Stadium three days later. That game was billed as the Reconciliation Cup to celebrate the contribution of the indigenous community to rugby league. As the camera panned along the Cowboys line-up, and indigenous artist and actor Leah Purcell belted out the national anthem, it came to Thurston. He pulled out his mouthguard.

Johnathan Thurston knows who he is, where he's come from and where he's headed. It's there with every smile, every grimace, every break in play. And every match.

For all to see.

The morning after the fight the night before

"Is Johnathan there?"

"Who is this?"

"It's The Sydney Morning Herald. We're supposed to meet him in an hour."

"I can't do it today, mate. I have family problems."

"Mate, you have to. We've come all this way to speak to you."

"OK. I'll be there soon."

It was little wonder Thurston was reluctant to speak to a journalist at 10am last Sunday.

Six hours earlier, he'd been involved in a fracas while walking two women home - one his former girlfriend, Nikki Suey.

North Queensland officials have said it is "highly unlikely" he will be charged over the incident but Thurston has refused to speak about it this week.

That he fronted for his interview with the Herald was surprising. When he did, he was as fresh as a daisy - although he explained the five stitches in his swollen right hand were the result of a stray boot in the previous night's victory over Cronulla.

Thurston also spoke about his relationship with his former girlfriend, with whom he spilt last year.

"We were in a long-term relationship," he says. "We were together for five years. But we're still very close friends. We just drifted apart. She has certainly helped me get to where I am today and she's still a big part of my life and my career."

"Flying solo" is how Thurston describes his current relationship status.

That said, the events on Sunday did not harm his "party boy" reputation.

"I wouldn't say I'm a loose cannon. But the boys know I don't mind a drink," he says. "Last year I went out on a couple of mid-weekers, but that's stopped now I'm captain.

"My teammates addressed it, and said now I'm the leader, it's not acceptable. That was pretty daunting."

Andrew Webster