Matthew Lloyd opens up about his experiences with Kevin Sheedy and what the legendary coach means to him

WORKING side-by-side, they went on to become one of the most feared player-coach combinations in the history of football. But when Kevin Sheedy first met Matthew Lloyd, it didn’t take long for the first spray to come out.

IT was a cold, wet and windy night and, because it was my first training session with Essendon, I was petrified at the thought of shanking a kick and putting it into the Windy Hill Bowls Club.

Mark Thompson, Gary O’Donnell, Michael Long, Paul Salmon, Gavin Wanganeen and James Hird were just some of the champions with whom I found myself training at the tender age of 16.

As I took a chest mark and was about to take my first kick, Kevin Sheedy blew his whistle and said: “Lloyd, go and run some 400s.”

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After I did three laps, he called me over and asked: “Why do you think I just made you run those 400s?”

Totally overwhelmed, I just shrugged my shoulders before he said: “Never, ever, let me see you mark a ball on your chest again, when you could have marked that ball in your hands and out in front of your eyes, at full stretch.”

He added: “Train for the rest of your career like Mick Martyn is right behind you with every mark you take.”

That message stayed with me until the day I retired.

At the Australian Football Hall of Fame dinner on Tuesday night, Greater Western Sydney defender Zac Williams spoke of the impact Sheeds had on him as a footballer and a person.

Williams copped the nickname “Zac Sheedy” because of the time Sheeds invested in him to ensure he made a career for himself after being overlooked in countless drafts before the Giants’ inception.

Sheeds saw qualities in Williams that he would have seen in Michael Long decades earlier, when he wouldn’t let Michael walk away from an AFL career, which he so desperately wanted to do.

Sheeds not only saw the talent and excitement that indigenous players would bring to his teams, but the opportunities football would give them.

“Make sure you have paid off your house by the end of your career and, if you are fortunate enough, maybe two,” Sheeds would say.

That message would ring in the ears of any player he coached, well before any football message. I have lost count of the players at Essendon for whom Sheeds went above and beyond his responsibilities as a coach to ensure they were at peace with themselves as footballers and people.

It would take a lot for him to give up on someone, much to the frustration of those around him.

When others’ patience had been tested once too often, Sheeds would always look deeper than just the problem that had surfaced at the time.

It was his greatest strength but also a weakness, because it did test relationships, mine included.

Building genuine relationships with players and gaining their trust and respect is the greatest challenge for any coach. Sheeds had this amazing ability to hit you between the eyes with what you needed to be told, but still have you believing you could be best on the ground the following week.

His ability to understand, accept and relate to the different personalities of his players was brilliant. Tactics will always be secondary to relationships when it comes to separating the great coaches from the rest.

Bulldog Steve Kretiuk absolutely terrorised me one day in 1998 at Princes Park, so much so that Sheeds sent man mountain Ryan O’Connor down to the goalsquare to try to get between us and give me some help.

I had an absolute shocker, didn’t handle the close attention at all and was fighting back tears in the rooms after the game. As I was slumped against a wall, I saw Sheeds go over to Dean Wallis and Mark Harvey.

A minute later, Harvey and Wallis told me to follow them to an empty room. I thought I was going to get an assurance that all would be OK, and told they had gone through the same thing as young players, but that’s not what happened.

“If you continue to handle the close attention like you did today, you will not survive in this game for long,” I was told.

“The time has come to toughen up. It’s as simple as that and it’s time to start fighting fire with fire. Never let yourself get treated like that on a football field again.”

I knew exactly where that directive had come from — the back-pocket plumber from Prahran and Punt Rd.

Kevin Sheedy speaking at the AFL Hall of Fame dinner. Picture: Getty Images

Sheeds knew that he couldn’t fire every bullet and he had Harvey and Wallis fire one straight between my eyes that day.

It was another moment that will stay with me forever.

In the aftermath, I went about it the wrong way at times and lost some games to suspension in the ensuing years, but Sheeds didn’t care.

He knew that I might cross the line occasionally to go about changing the competition’s perceptions about me and, at the same time, build my self-esteem.

What a journey it has been for Kevin Sheedy, and it hasn’t finished yet.

No man has left a legacy on this game quite like he has.

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