He has never finished higher than fourth in his club’s best and fairest, never been an All Australian and never won a premiership. He has been labelled “unrecruitable” and “the dumbest footballer of his generation”. And yet Jordan De Goey looms larger than perhaps any other figure heading into Saturday’s grand final – larger than Nick Daicos, who may well win tonight’s Brownlow medal, larger than his captain and polar opposite, Darcy Moore, larger than the crack Brisbane midfielders he will go head to head with on Saturday.
Several years ago, American sportswriter Charles P Pierce explored the way we build up and tear down young athletes. “Vicarious adoration and vicarious contempt draw their strength from the same deep well of the human psyche,” he wrote. Some of the criticism of De Goey has been entirely warranted, and some of it has been hysterical. He was arrested in his dressing gown in New York, pleaded guilty to a harassment charge, attended therapy sessions, but avoided a conviction. There were open letters urging him to ditch his mates, to give up the grog, to drop the kilos, and to fulfil his talent. If he bothered with such things, he would have found himself reading a different advice column every day, often from people who could do with a little straightening up themselves. It was hard to keep up with the narrative. One minute he was feeding homeless people. The next he was apparently a stain on society.
It all came to a head during the bye round last year. Rest and relaxation mean different things to different footballers. Scott Pendlebury and his wife went hiking on Hamilton Island. Brody Mihocek went to a winery. De Goey booked a flight to Bali, and all hell broke loose.
Looking back, a lot of the commentary surrounding his holiday was embarrassing. One of the favourite phrases in the football media is: “it’s not a good look.” That seemed to be his major transgression in this instance. He had considerable history, and had probably forfeited the right to the benefit of the doubt. But it was hard to land on what he had actually done wrong, apart from acting like a bit of a prat.
It came on the heels of Bailey Smith’s pitch perfect apology after he was photographed with an illicit substance. It was the antithesis of the Wayne Carey “if anyone took offence” school of apologies. These days, you “own it”. Whether you’re racially vilifying someone, whacking a teammate, or have your head buried in a bag of cocaine, you own it. “It might have enhanced his brand,” Craig Hutchison said on Footy Classified.
But De Goey didn’t play the game. He never really has. He issued a statement positing himself as the voice of a generation of aggrieved and harassed athletes. It was “liked” by dozens of AFL footballers. But it was a stretch. When he finally emerged, his public statement barely broke the 60-second mark. It consisted of three, grudging 25-second answers. By then, the whole thing had degenerated into a slanging match between Neil Mitchell and Eddie McGuire. Reading the transcript sucked my will to live. “He’s on parole at Collingwood,” McGuire said. “Football is all about redemption.”
Mick Malthouse, who gave his wayward players (the talented ones, anyway) a bit more leeway than most, said something similar. “He is clearly no genius, but work with him, and he will work out OK,” Malthouse said. “Treat him as an adult and he may surprise you by being an adult.” Craig McRae echoed those thoughts on Friday night. “Some take a little longer to find out who they are,” he said. “What you’re seeing is a guy who’s growing up.”
Jordan De Goey is 27 years old. Football has been kind to him. His club has given him a lot of rope and a lot of support. He headlined a dream trade/draft period in 2014 that netted Moore, Brayden Maynard and Jack Crisp. “I’ll never let you down,” he told his new coach, sounding like Rick Astley. But he has hardly been a model of rectitude. He has never been cut out for the grind, or for the fishbowl.
Paradoxically, he seems most comfortable in the middle of the MCG. He has always excelled on the big stage. He had one of the games of his career on Friday night in the preliminary final. GWS couldn’t lay a tackle on him all night. He swivelled his hips and exploded out of 15 stoppages. By the time the Giants finally got hold of him, the umpires had swallowed their whistles. He was marooned on the bench for the last eight minutes – pacing, screaming at the runner, being counselled by the coach and the club psychologist. De Goey has been a coiled, scowling presence for nine years now. As he hurtled across the MCG on the siren, it was a rare outbreak of joy, a reminder that there’s plenty still left in his tank, and perhaps a harbinger of things to come this Saturday.
