The fine line between AFL instruction and chastisement
Professional sporting clubs delight in the notion of honest feedback. And so they might. One’s ability to administer, and receive, liberal doses of uncomfortable truth forms the cornerstone of any organisation wishing to become the best version of itself. “Feedback is the breakfast of champions,” American motivational speaker Ken Blanchard once opined.
In the AFL, frank self-assessment is like the elixir of life, a barometer of health and aspiration. When done well the fruits are worn as badges of honour: Gary Ablett Jnr’s transformation from a good player to arguably the finest of the modern era is credited to a brutal feedback session ahead of Geelong’s allconquering 2007 season.
To do constructive criticism poorly, however, is to invite all manner of unwanted labels: soft, false, fearful of one’s own reflection. It was to Nick Riewoldt’s chagrin that his final seasons at St Kilda were sullied by a culture
of closed communication and honesty avoidance. “That was probably something that really frustrated me over my last few years at the club,” Riewoldt said in 2018. “I’ve got a different view on what brutal looks like compared to the current group.”
Even with the best of intentions players and coaches don’t always get it right, however. One of the most colourful exhibitions of recent times was on display at Marvel Stadium on Saturday when Chad Wingard berated his younger Hawthorn teammate Jacob Koschitzke for what Wingard considered poor play during the third quarter against Adelaide.
It was quite the performance by Wingard, who went on, and on, and on, marching back and forth like a petulant child, fingers pointing and arms flapping in the night air, Koschitzke watching it all unfold, taken aback and utterly incapable of getting a word in edgeways.
To Koschitzke’s credit, a young man of lesser tolerance might have returned Wingard’s histrionics in kind. And then we really would have had a scene. As it was Wingard’s prolonged outburst was embarrassing enough for Hawthorn and Wingard himself. “I feel like this is too much,” said Fox Footy analyst David King. “I just don’t know that’s what you need your senior players doing.”
Not that the former Port Adelaide star should be in line for sanctimonious censure: his heart, after all, was in the right place. Wingard is a passionate man who wants the best for Hawthorn. But though his commitment to the cause is above reproach, his methods in this instance most certainly are. Kane Cornes, a former teammate of Wingard’s, was right when he said Wingard carried on “like a pork chop”. To be fair Cornes could have gone for a deeper dive across the nutritional spectrum: Wingard hammed up his beef with Koschitzke to the point he ended up looking a bit of a spud.
Hawthorn coach Alastair Clarkson, like most coaches, will privately revel in parts of what he saw. Clarkson wants his players to care and would likely be more disturbed by a collective shrugging of the shoulders as the Hawks lurch to possibly their first wooden spoon since 1965. Perhaps some of Wingard’s teammates are already in that mode. “I’ll speak to the lads to try to understand the context of what was discussed,” Clarkson said after the game, having not yet reviewed the incident. “It’s a game of footy, we’re trying to win a game. We have no drama with that sort of stuff usually.”
But Clarkson will know that feedback is not a dish best served this cold. Not during a televised game and not when it can have the opposite effect on an impressionable young player trying his best. In the heat of the moment, Wingard went too far. Away from prying cameras, expect the coach to have had a quiet word with Wingard reminding him of his obligations as a senior player. Expect Wingard, too, to have had a one-on-one session of honest feedback with the mirror. If he has looked back at footage of his outburst, it is hard to imagine he wouldn’t have done so without a cringe or two. But once a line has been drawn under this episode, all and sundry will move on.
Because worse, far worse, has gone on between teammates at training and on the field of play. Just last year Adelaide teammates Billy Frampton and Kyle Hartigan came to blows in a practice match. And who can forget Setanta O’hAilpin mistaking Cameron Cloke for a punching bag during a 2009 Carlton intra-club trial. Similar has happened before and similar will happen again. For better or worse, friendly fire is part and parcel of team sport. Cloke took his blows on the chin, both literally and figuratively: “We’re sweet, we’re fine. We’re teammates. I’m just letting it roll.” And Koschitzke, despite how belittled he might have felt by Wingard’s public dressing down, will do the same.
So while there will be no lynch mob visiting Wingard’s house, he will have learned a lesson in the fine line between instruction and chastisement. The optics of a code that demands a fair go for all means he needs to be better than what he showed on Saturday night.