Mike Sheahan: The final morning that summed up remarkable man I knew as Wallsy

‘I’ll get ‘em next time,’ a smiling Robert Walls said after we had coffee on Saturday, MIKE SHEAHAN writes. He knew there would be no next time, but that morning was as uplifting as his remarkable life.

I watched Robert Walls in the various chapters of his football life from his debut at Carlton as a raw 16-year-old from Coburg way back in 1967.

He was to play 259 games for two clubs at AFL level, including 41 at Fitzroy. There were three premierships with the Blues. He later coached four clubs, then forged a career as a forthright commentator in radio and television and as a newspaper columnist.

Wallsy was football’s ultimate utility player.

More recently, I have watched him from close range in a brave and dignified fight against blood cancer that finally claimed him.

In his own words, he “checked out” in the company of his family and a couple of dear friends at his home in East Melbourne.

It was his call. He wasn’t going to die an invalid.

Gerard Healy, Robert Walls and Mike Sheahan in March last year. Picture: Michael Klein

Yes, his physical health was failing, but his faculties were intact. I was one of four friends who had coffee with him last Saturday morning.

It was sad, particularly when we parted company, but it was uplifting, too.

Wallsy had set his timetable – “I’m checking out Thursday” – and was happy with his date with his maker.

That was him. Organised, pragmatic, resolute, stubborn… and remarkably thankful for what life had given him for 70-odd years.

You might be “elderly” at 74, but you’re a long way from obsolete … in good health.

He had watched his wife Erin die in her mid-50s from cancer; he wasn’t going to wait until the insidious disease sent him to palliative care.

Oddly. He didn’t seem too bad on Saturday.

Yes, he was continually tired, yes, he couldn’t sleep, yes, his ears and eyes were starting to fail him, and his hair was starting to fall out, but he LOOKED well, if a little thin.

He had been saying goodbye to friends for several weeks, all of them agreeably surprised by his appearance.

He was extraordinarily measured in his final weeks. In truth, he was matter of fact from the time his oncologist told him 18 months ago he had no more than three months left if he didn’t undergo full-blown treatment.

Which takes me all the way back to the original diagnosis.

Sheahan, Healy and Walls were the original On The Couch trio. Picture: Michael Klein

Rod Law, Fox Sports former head of television, and I visited Wallsy in the Alfred Hospital late in 2023 while he was pondering his future.

He told us of the bleak prognosis then said he wasn’t going to fight. Nature would take its course.

“We’ve had a good innings, Mike,” he said to me. To which I hastily replied, “I’m not ready to take the bails off just yet.”

He had seen enough from Erin’s battle with lung cancer to know his fate.

Mercifully, his confidantes convinced him to have a crack. Chemo, radiation, lumbar punctures, the works followed.

There was a period of remission, but cancer is the world’s greatest tagger; in so many cases it just doesn’t let go.

He got sick again during summer … and he was sick of the fight.

I am one of many who will miss him.

We didn’t always get on. In fact, we often locked horns during his coaching days and our time as panellists on Fox Footy’s On the Couch.

He was combative, blunt and rigid.

Like most coaches, he didn’t rate journos highly, but it wasn’t just the fourth estate… and I might have been a little precious at times!

He had famous stoushes with Kevin Sheedy and Fremantle’s then coach Mark Harvey on camera and he said West Coast’s premiership of 2006 was tainted.

I thought the observation churlish at the time; I now agree with him.

He was a man of principle and principles were worth the fight, regardless of the fallout.

Our relationship grew so much in retirement.

Coffee, golf, a mutual interest in racing – a late revelation in his life, plus footy and grandkids conspire to bring men together.

Walls playing golf with Malcolm Blight in 1995.

Rod Law and I enjoyed coffee dozens of times with him and various guests, always with his much loved dog Lily at his feet.

My enduring memories of Wallsy will be his extraordinary pragmatism about death and the mutual respect and affection for the players he coached at Fitzroy, Carlton and the Brisbane Bears.

The Royboys loved him. They played finals in three of his five years as coach.

He had great players – Bernie Quinlan, Garry Wilson, Paul Roos and Gary Pert, Matt Rendell, Richard Osborne and the coach’s pet, Scott Clayton among them – and they gave their all for him.

He allowed them to express themselves on the field, he was innovative – remember the huddle? – and he went to war with them and for them.

1981. Fitzroy coach Robert Walls at training. Mick Conlan. Michael Conlan. Neg: 810306/64

Robert Walls, coach of the Brisbane Bears. p/. Undated. Mar 1996. headshot sport afl

I suspect Fitzroy became his first love, despite four flags with the Blues (one as coach).

The old Lions’ unending fight for respect and success appealed to him after his time with the rich and arrogant Carlton.

His public persona is misleading.

While he could be grumpy and he seemed dour, privately he was warm, a brilliant storyteller – often at his own expense – and genuinely funny.

My favourite story came the day he ko’d St Kilda’s Jimmy O’Dea early in a game against the Saints. Then St Kilda coach Allan Jeans told his players at quarter-time Walls wasn’t to leave the ground on his feet.

He didn’t.

One of “Cowboy” Neale, Barry Lawrence and Russell Reynolds extracted retribution … which surprised no one.

Details of just who did what to whom are sketchy, but Wallsy later vouched for the cause and effect.

The unconscious Walls was carted from the ground on a stretcher, arms folded across his chest.

As the trainers trundled off with their precious cargo, one Walls arm then the other would spill free.

The crowd, including Wallsy’s mother, thought him dead.

His dry humour was still on show last Saturday.

As he thanked me for his coffee, he said: “I’ll get ‘em next time” and smiled.

A life well lived has come to a premature end.

Originally published as Mike Sheahan: The final morning that summed up remarkable man I knew as Wallsy