“Kindness is all around us, in the values of those who put our welfare before their own,” writes ANTONIO DI DIO, as he continues his short history of kindness. 

BOOF, also known as Macca, Nanga, Rang and Oz, was a starting full back for the mighty North Sydney Bears in the mid 2000s, just after their most recent tilt at NRL glory. 

This year marks an even century since their Premiership win in 1922, the year my dad was born and the last time the Moreton Bay Fig at North Sydney oval jumped up by its long subterranean roots and danced a celebratory quadrille on Falcon Street for the mighty men all covered, like the Stendhal novel from which they derive their constant tragedy, in the red and the black. 

The coach was one Gary “Whiz” Freeman, the first and only character to have captained four NRL sides, in between leading the mighty NZ teams of the late 20th century, and knew everything there was ever to be known about footy. I learned little tactical nous, but a lot about decency and generosity from him.

In recent years, AFL and NRL and sporting coaches in general are often given a bizarre and counterproductive ultimatum to succeed in the first 6-10 weeks of a season or be sacked from their jobs. The story goes that they will change their training methods, and even resort to picking injured players too soon, just to achieve that KPI, and once their job is safe, just sit back and watch their teams fall off a cliff by the time finals approach. Secure coaches such as the Bennett, Bellamy, Sticky and Robbo carefully pace their teams to have a post-origin slump and be fit for finals. “Whiz” Freeman was a Bears coach and by definition his career was on the edge from half an hour before it started, yet I recall so clearly almost every week our conversations would go thus:

Whiz: Doc, can Boof play? He’s our best player. 

Me: Gary I’m not sure. Here’s a three-page dissertation of the pros and cons.

Whiz: Mate. No need for a pre-purchase building report full of your arse covering. Is there the slightest risk of long-term harm to the kid?

Me: Very small risk, but yeah.

Whiz : Thanks Doc, he doesn’t play. We are responsible for his life and that of the girl he hasn’t met yet.

Boof, a little 80kg full back consisted of 43 per cent spit and vinegar, plus 4 per cent stitches and bandages, with a Gasnier sidestep and the self preservation of Evel Knievel was indeed our best player. And in his doctor-provoked absences we lost. 

This was at a time when a couple of English rugby coaches famously pressured physiotherapists and team doctors to cheat and let players play. “Whiz” Freeman eventually lost his job, as 90 per cent of all sports coaches do anyway, but maintained the admiration of everyone he knew. Their welfare came before his career. We could all learn much from people like him.

He was also the beneficiary of some dressing room love, too. The injured Boof and I would follow him around as he gave breathtakingly profane and detailed treatises to what used to be called prop forwards minutes before a game about where, who, why, what and how they would do what they had to. “Gosh”, I once said mid-season to a simple front-row automaton after the delivered instructions, more detailed than anything the Apollo 13 boys got before they had to suit up for the moon. “How do you understand and remember all that?” said I. 

“Doc”, the uncomplicated young blokes would reply, “I fair dinkum do not understand a word the coach says to me after hello. But it would be mean to tell him, so I just nod and do my best and hope it’s what he wants of me”. 

Sounds like several successful marriages I know of, and it was good.

In those days I would fret about concussions and “Whiz” would never pressure a player to return too soon, unlike some of his peers. 

I once brought some Kiwi sailors I was looking after at the Naval Hospital to the Bears’ dressing room. Their countrymen in the room greeted them like brothers and they stayed with us on the sidelines and at the post-match afterwards, and I have no doubt “Whiz” gave them the cash to escape my lift back home to the hospital. They eventually returned, hungover and smiling, well fed and hydrated by the most decent of people.

Kindness is all around us, in the values of those who put our welfare before their own. Best wishes to all.

Antonio Di Dio is a local GP, medical leader, and nerd. There’s more of his “Kindness” on citynews.com.au

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