As a first time father, I’ve noticed the older generation’s fondness for imparting old-fashioned advice on how to care for a newborn.
When told such moves are out of date, they usually reply: “You turned out alright, didn’t you?”
Since becoming a dad, the more paternal aspects of a football coach’s job have become a little more apparent to me. Football coaches — in any code — are fond of talking about having a ‘philosophy’ to guide their young charges to glory and using such parent-y terms as ‘nurturing’, ‘disciplining’ and ‘communicating’.
Bury your head in the plethora of books on parenting out there, or visit your favourite parenting website, and the same sort of terms will pop up. It’s as if the coaching fraternity has swallowed the collective works of Dr Benjamin Spock before heading out to the training ground.
In fact, in the midst of sleep-deprived parenthood, watching a footy game on TV while trying to get a six-month-old down for an afternoon nap, the temptation is there to take command of the situation and give your errant infant muck-rover a stern halftime address, preferably in classic Barassi-style.
In the world of AFL, Carlton’s sexagenarian coach Mick Malthouse could be excused for feeling not so much like a dad but like a grandad, admonished for being too “old school”. There’s certainly no way Mick could ever be mistaken for being a “groovy dad”.
Earlier this year Carlton chief executive Greg Swann admitted as much, albeit in a more endearing way. (Swann is now ex-Carlton chief executive – Malthouse does not take criticism well!)
Mick’s old school dad methods have been successful in the past. But has the future caught up with him? What if his old-fashioned remedies – such as letting a player “cry it out” instead of using modern positive reinforcement methods – are the cause of Carlton’s poor season?
And if this is the case, how do the other coaches fare in the coach/parent stakes?
Brenton Sanderson took over as the Adelaide Crows coach a couple of seasons back – or should I say became a proud parent of the club – and his players were pretty much like a bunch of newborns: helpless, looking for direction and on a steep learning curve.
As a first-time parent – oops, coach – Sanderson had every excuse to take a season or two (or a month or two in baby terms) to get his head around this whole coaching (parenting) caper. He took to it like baby’s poo to a nappy – swaddling his babies to within one kick of an AFL grand final in his first season.
But things aren’t as rosy now. Maybe, for a while there, his players got too cocky, injured or money hungry (hit a growth spurt, became colicky, or just crying for the hell of it). Things went downhill quickly for Sanderson; the brakes on the pram failed and the baby was last seen barrelling down a steep hill into the path of a busy, peak hour main road.
Quick, someone call Human Services!
In Sanderson’s case, it seems to have been a cabal of uncles (club legend Mark Ricciuto, chairman Rob Chapman, head of football David Noble and board member Andrew Payze) who decided Sanderson was doing wrong by the young ‘uns.
Former Brisbane coach Michael Voss went through a similar scenario to Sanderson. Some say Voss was dealt a harsh hand with child services (the board) taking the child off the parent just because there was a better foster carer on the market.
The move backfired as the star foster parent (Paul Roos) decided on another child (team).
Current Brisbane coach, Justin Leppitsch, might want to read a little Dr Phil and take a few pointers on how to raise an emotionally troubled child. He better do well, otherwise his kid might end up in the juvenile clink.
Ever met someone who you just knew would be a good parent one day? Well, this is exactly what Collingwood president Eddie McGuire thought of Nathan Buckley, one of the club’s greats on the field.
McGuire was so convinced he pushed aside a coach who took the team to two consecutive grand finals, the equivalent of having your baby consistently sleeping through the night.
Some say McGuire was justified in offering Mick a head nanny (director of coaching) position as it took Malthouse 11 or so years to get the side to this point, and most babies are sleeping well when close to their first birthday, aren’t they?
Anyhow, Buckley threw Malthouse’s “old school” parenting book out the window, and – until a succession of colds, colic, rashes, and a dose of Ebola came on the scene halfway through the year – looked to be on the right track.
Buckley, who was looking as smug about his coaching skills as any cigarette smoking 1950s TV dad, has now started to resemble a member of the Daddy Day Care cast — covered in poop and looking a little sheepish. He’s almost admitted as much, saying recently that his pre-season training regime might have had something to do with the Pies’ extensive injury list as the season wore on.
Buckley said the Collingwood coaching staff “worked our players hard, potentially our injury profile suggests we pushed them to the edge and potentially over the top but that will hold us in good stead going forward”.
Sounds a little like an overzealous dad who’s got a burnout teen on their hands. Buckley might be giving his one-time Brisbane teammate Leppitsch a call about that Dr Phil troubled teens book he’s been reading.
What about Essendon, the AFL’s most dysfunctional family on the block at the moment?
Where do we begin? The situation in the Windy Hill nursery reads like a plot in The Bold and The Beautiful.
The club’s golden boy, James Hird, does what he seems destined to do and coaches the club he led with great poise on the field. He seems to have worked wonders within a couple of years – in parenting terms he has his baby sleeping, feeding, and seemingly almost ready to start potty training at two-and-a-half months.
Then, as quick as it takes a baby’s poo to seep through a wondersuit, the team’s form goes from premiership contending to season ending. Half a year later, accusations surface that the team has taken more than just Baby Panadol – and there are grave fears over how Hird’s overseen his team. Especially his choice in local chemist.
This scandal went above child services (the board), who stood by Hird, and the real, actual nanny state stepped in and banned Hird from seeing his baby for a year.
Enter foster dad Mark Thompson, who previously raised one of the most accomplished children (virtuous, talented, intelligent, athletic Geelong) of the modern era.
With the Essendon kids seemingly about to do time for the crime of the father, Hird’s return to daddy duties at the old family compound now look more unlikely by the day.
