This opinion piece by The Age’s late columnist Robert Walls was first published on July 27, 2007.
My old adversary Kevin Sheedy’s exit from Essendon at the end of this season is both a sad and exciting scenario. Most people don’t like change, but the Bombers have made the correct call and as the veteran coach said himself, this is a decision that will energise both parties. And it will.
Twenty-seven years is a long time. Sheedy will make a success of his third phase in football, just as he did as a player and coach.
In fact, he will enter, I dare suggest, into the happiest time of his life, where alongside loyal and supportive wife Geraldine, he will be able to spend more time sharing life with, and encouraging, family and friends.
And perhaps after 40 years, the two of us might learn to get along. Our competitiveness stemmed from being in teams that didn’t like each other.
The rivalry in the late 1960s and early ’70s between Richmond and Carlton was intense. Sheedy liked to portray himself as the battling back-pocket plumber who had done it hard on the back streets of Prahran. Carlton was the despised blueblood, the rich toff that bought success. Tiger Tom Hafey, Sheedy‘s coach, loved to push that line.
And his Tigers, as Tom liked to point out, were strictly blue-collar battlers who had to scrap and fight every inch of the way. As Carlton’s centre half-forward and college graduate, Richmond’s grunters saw me as the privileged academic. But I wasn’t.
Former Essendon coach Kevin Sheedy stops to smell the roses at the Kilmore Rose Cafe.Credit: John Donegan
And when they saw me fight fire with fire and “snipe”, as Kevin says, a few on the way through, they didn’t like it. “Big Nick” John Nicholls had been the Blues’ enforcer, but when his days were numbered, I was expected to assume the role.
What the Tigers didn’t know was that my background was similar to Sheedy’s. I grew up in the back lanes of Brunswick. I lost my father at an early age, pinched fruit, sold papers on street corners, went to the local high school and worked hard for everything I got.
So when it came to kicking, scratching, spitting, abusing and coat hanging, Kevin and I were happy to accommodate each other. Out of that keen rivalry, a begrudging respect grew. Later in our careers, Kevin would actually play on me, even though I was much taller. It was a good move as I wasn’t much good overhead and Sheeds would beat me at ground level.
We both started coaching at the same time. It was 1981 and two young coaches were keen to outdo each other. When Fitzroy knocked the Dons out of the ’81 finals, Kevin couldn’t wait for revenge. He rang me over summer to organise a practice match. He was keen to get even.
The Roys had invented the huddle strategy for kick-ins and Bomber spies often were sighted at our training sessions. Sheedy always wanted to be on top of the latest trends, and was prepared to copy ideas if need be.
His early Essendon teams were big and aggressive. He would be unorthodox and play five tall forwards. More moves off the bench and from one end of the field to the other occurred at Windy Hill than ever before. Sheedy kept you guessing.
He took his club from the suburbs to the entire country, even the world. He saw the bigger picture and had the confidence to think years ahead. He would recruit for five years down the track when most coaches recruited for the now and their own survival.
He is the main reason that more than 70 Indigenous footballers now play in the AFL. He saw their worth and pushed for their nurturing. And the game is the better for that.
For years, we lived close by in the suburb of Park Orchards. Yes, we have been in each other’s homes and shared a drink, but not often.
Ten years ago, when I was sacked as coach of Richmond, a teenage schoolgirl came up to me at the local shops and wished me well for the future. It was Kevin’s daughter. I was touched and impressed.
Old habits die hard, and over recent years we have sparred at each other through the media. We’d disappoint a lot of people if we didn’t do that. When our paths cross, we look each other in the eye and shake hands. That’s good, but deep down we both wish we could turn back time and belt the crap out of each other. Now that was fun.
