Announcing your plans, Al Swearengen says in Deadwood, is a good way to hear God laugh. Jack Ginnivan revealed his in a very modern way last week. It was very much on brand – for Jack, for his young teammates, and for the now trademarked “Hokball”. It did precisely what he intended. It provoked a reaction. His entire persona invites that. He knows it and he feeds off it.
Jason Horne-Francis said on radio on Saturday, after Port Adelaide had edged Hawthorn in a thriller, that he and his teammates, most of whom use and understand social media, saw it as a bit of a joke. But his coach, who’s no Instagrammer and who’s very much from Swearengen’s “give a little back” school, took umbrage to it.
Power coach Ken Hinkley seems conscious of opposition lip readers and often communicates on the bench with his mouth covered, like a racegoer with the late mail. But we all got the gist of what he said to Ginnivan. There was nothing particularly aggressive about it. He wasn’t in his face. He didn’t intimidate him physically. “You’re not flying anywhere, Jack,” was pretty much the extent of it.
It came at the end of a knockout final played at a frightening intensity, a game stacked with controversy, with villains and with meaning. Hinkley had been under more pressure than any other coach. If they’d lost, there’s every chance it would have been his last game at Port.
Hinkley had been booed off the Adelaide Oval by his own fans. He’d had board members going rogue. He’d had placards calling for his removal. His team played like busted arses the week before. And he watched some 21-year-old professional provocateur, and much of the commentariat, say the Power would be pushovers.
If he erred, and if he had his time again, it would be not to mouth off while a 300-gamer was being chaired from the field. The whole incident soured that moment. But he apologised. It wasn’t some mealy mouthed “if I have offended anybody” abomination from the Wayne Carey school of atonement. It was how an adult should apologise – immediately and unequivocally.
Hinkley gets a good run from many prominent media figures. If Western Bulldogs coach Luke Beveridge had lashed out in a similar manner, they would have had him up before The Hague. But from what I could glean, opinion was split on Hinkley. I understand the passion and partisan nature of social media. What’s harder to conjure with, and what was hilarious at times, was the reaction of many commentators and former Hawthorn players.
It never ceases to amaze me how censorious people can be with these incidents, whilst shrugging their shoulders at the elements of the game that are genuinely toxic. There were calls not to let this sort of behaviour (coaches waving their arms like aeroplanes) filter down to the junior levels. People said it was “un-statesmanlike”, as though the coach of a football club is the governor-general. And all weekend, from former state premiers, from scarf-wearing commentors and from legends of the game who would have snapped Ginnivan in half like a goalpost, there were concerns that it “wasn’t a good look”.
There are lots of things in footy that aren’t “a good look.” Shaquille O’Neill dropping his towel on the massage table during an ad break isn’t a good look. The AFL CEO cosying up to Lachlan Murdoch at the grand final isn’t a good look. Most of us, through gritted teeth, accept the commercial realities of these “looks” without asking a few “please explains” of our own.
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But to name just a couple, it’s a bit rich for Luke Hodge, who’s flogging debt consolidation and personal loans during the ad breaks, to lecture us on what is and what isn’t “a good look”. It’s just as ridiculous for Dermott Brereton to play moral arbiter on what is and isn’t acceptable on the football field.
It’s equally bewildering that the AFL saw fit to issue Hinkley with a “please explain’ and a $20,000 fine for “conduct unbecoming”. After three apologies, what more needed to be explained? And what rule was broken? Besides, the AFL usually trades off these kinds of incidents. Their entire business model is built on unscripted moments, on fierce rivalries, on passion spilling over.
Ultimately, it was a young smart alec stirring the pot. It was a team that has been pushing their luck all season – cocky, provocative and expressive. And it was a combative coach, under extreme pressure and fiercely loyal to his players, giving a little bit back. It was great. It was theatre. We shouldn’t let the “please explainers” and the hall monitors sanction it out of the sport.
