Australian Football - a conversation with glen jakovich

A conversation with Glen Jakovich

by Ben Collins

There were few more imposing sights in the 1990s than West Coast centre half-back Glen Jakovich breaking tackles and steaming out of defence. The ever-exuberant defender was a man-mountain with a Herculean physique. His mobility and agility for his size was freakish, perhaps unprecedented, in Australian Football. Four best and fairests in a perennial finals side and a host of sterling performances against Wayne Carey spoke volumes for his importance to the Eagles’ success.

Dad wanted his sons to play soccer. Dad (Darko) migrated from the former Yugoslavia, now Croatia, with only the clothes on his back and became a market gardener in the South Fremantle district. My older brothers, Gary and Allen (who kicked 201 goals in 47 games for Melbourne from 1991-94), and I had to beg the old man to let us play footy because, if we played soccer at school, the Aussie kids would throw rocks at us. It was easy to make our sporting choices.

A burning desire, a will to succeed, whatever you want to call it – I had it. My biggest failure as a kid was I didn’t have anything to fall back on because I didn’t complete my education. It was either play footy or go back to the market garden. Dad pushed us hard so that we wouldn’t end up there like him. He wanted us to get a trade, get a job and be somebody. Sometimes that got me in trouble because some people perceived it to be cockiness or arrogance, when the truth was I was frightened of failing.

I started weights at 14. My coaches got a bit worried about it at one point, so they got me out of the gym. But one thing I did was make them notice me. That wasn’t the reason 
I started so early though. I did it because I was playing against some big boys and I didn’t want to be thrown around like a rag doll. I was lucky, considering one of my peers, 
Lee Walker, who shared my appetite for hard training, didn’t have the body to cope with it and kept breaking down at West Coast and Collingwood. I was blessed with a body that grew naturally without any major spurts, and I didn’t get osteitis pubis or stress fractures like a lot of kids. I attribute it to my upbringing, living off the land, eating home-grown vegies, lifting a lot of boxes and walking in deep sand on the market garden.

Distinguish yourself from the pack. When I was 15, I played for the South Fremantle colts (under-19s). The next year, I was disappointed I wasn’t invited to train with the seniors, so I thought: ‘Stuff it, I’ll just turn up’. They said I could train with them but only that night. There were 80 players there and I knew I had to make my presence felt to get a look in. The first thing we did was a 4km time trial. I’m sure they expected me to either give up after a few laps or be shown to be completely out of my depth, but there was no way that was going to happen. My attitude was: ‘I’m going to run my arse off here to make them notice me’. I led all the way, but was overtaken and finished second, which I was really annoyed about. It was a pivotal moment. (Coach) Stan Magro said: “Come along Wednesday night”. I didn’t look back. I played my first League (WAFL) game in round one that year after I’d just turned 16. It was a proud moment because I was going through some emotional turmoil at the time.

Dad’s death from cancer (in 1988) when I was 15 meant I quickly matured into a man. Gary was away working and Allen was playing footy in Darwin, so I had to be there for Mum and take on a lot of the responsibility for the market garden for us to survive. It was a terrible thing but being thrown into the deep end set a fantastic base for me. I’ve always felt my old man is looking down. Dad instilled in me discipline, manners, patience, honesty and respect. I knew that if I did anything outside those things, he’d disapprove. His memory motivated me to succeed at football and be a good person.

I never lost my passion for footy through that trying period. Footy was my outlet and I was in my first pre-season with South Fremantle. Instead of going out with mates, my entertainment was pre-season training in 38-degree heat. I wasn’t great at school; my ambition was to play footy.

Playing footy non-stop as a teenager fast-tracked my development. There was no such thing as ‘too much footy’ where I was concerned. Including club matches, Teal Cup (national under-17 championships), trial matches and school footy, 
I played about 70 games two years in a row. If I’d gone about it like most other players my age, I wouldn’t have been as well developed by 18 or 19 – 
it might not have been until I was 22 or 23. I was lucky to have been born with a big-boned European body that was very resilient. I was playing on blokes like Stephen Kernahan, Stewie Loewe, Barry Stoneham and Wayne Carey at the age of 19 or 20. Except for Carey, they were all a lot older than me, but I held my own. I couldn’t have done that so early without the volume of footy I’d played, and without my natural physique.

I played for WA at three different levels in the same season (1990). The year before, I’d played in the Teal Cup and a losing WAFL Grand Final. But 1990 was pretty unique, and I received a fair bit of recognition for it, but it was simply a case of being in the right place at the right time. The biggest of the three was obviously playing State of Origin. 
The WA side was ravaged by injury and I thought: ‘I’m lucky to get into the 40’, so I was in a daze. 
At one point, I had to go to centre half-back and the Vics’ forward line was Jason Dunstall, Gary Ablett, Dermott Brereton, Timmy Watson and Shane Morwood, and I was on Stewie Loewe! I thought: ‘I should have brought my autograph book out with me. What the hell am I doing out here?’ That was one of only a couple of times in my career when 
I star-gazed on the footy field. But then I thought: ‘I’d better stop this, otherwise I’ll embarrass myself in front of 40,000 people’. I still did OK – I think 
I had about 12 touches – but I realised then that for me to go to the next level, my concentration and focus had to be sky-high. I knew I had that because I’d always been a single-minded kid.

I was no certainty to be drafted by the Eagles. 
The Eagles had two zone picks of WA players aged between 16 and 19. They were definitely taking Mitchell White (who played 151 games for the Eagles, 23 for Geelong), but they agonised over their other pick. They were looking at me and a few others. Mick Malthouse had just finished his first season as coach and the two men who convinced him to draft me were (football manager) Trevor Nisbett and (recruiting manager) Mick Moylan, who knew my brothers and had known me since I was in primary school. Mick (Moylan) said: “He’s got a few rough edges, but we’ll smooth them over”.

Mick Malthouse didn’t like the way I played. I was more of an individual when I started. That’s why Mick needed so much convincing to draft me in the first place. I’d dominated junior footy when everything had been built around me and he doubted I’d be able to adapt my game to a team structure. Years later, Mick mentioned to me: 
“You get into bad habits playing junior footy”. But once I saw how focused Mick was on everyone working together, I changed my attitude and matured a bit. I realised: ‘I’m not playing for South Coogee under-16s any more; I’m playing for the West Coast Eagles in the AFL. I can’t play the same way or I’ll be left behind’. It didn’t take long to adapt, but it was a change that had to be made if 
I was to carve out a career for myself.

“If you can’t play finals footy, you’re not worth a cold pie to me.” That was Mick’s introduction to me in my first player-coach meeting. I don’t think many, 
if any, coaches would say that to young players today. But I’m glad he said it because, one, he must have known that I could take that type of statement, and two, it put me on notice and made me realise: ‘That’s what it’s all about’. He really made me earn my spot in the team, too.

I thought my AFL career was over when Mick gave me a fearful spray during my first final, the 1991 qualifying final against Hawthorn at Subiaco. 
We’d finished (three games clear) on top and earned the right to host the first final outside Victoria. Just before half-time, I marked at half-back and saw Andrew Lockyer running off Jason Dunstall. All I had to do was put the ball in front of Andrew because he had so much space in front of him. 
But instead of pushing back quickly off the mark and kicking a proper drop-punt, I tried to kick across my body and, because it was a bit muddy and wet, I slipped, scrubbed it off the inside of my boot, and Ben Allan picked it up and kicked a goal. 
I got dragged, then the siren went. I should have ensured I was the last player into the rooms and 
hid myself among my teammates. But being young and naive, I knew I was going to cop a spray, so 
I thought: ‘I’ll confront him head-on’. That was 
my second mistake. As soon as I got in the rooms, Mick grabbed me, pinned me to the wall and gave me a jumper-punch – Mick still disputes that, but 
I certainly felt contact to the chin. He eyeballed me and said: “If you’re not going to play my way, you can pack your bags because you won’t get a game in this side!” I thought: ‘I’ll never play with the Eagles again’. Mick kept me on the bench for the whole second half, which really annoyed me. I knew I’d stuffed up, but I felt I deserved another chance. 
The thing that annoyed me most was that Mick still had a question mark against my name and that mistake probably justified his doubts about me. 
But I wasn’t the only player who let himself down because Hawthorn beat us (by 23 points).

The Perth media probably saved my career. We had to play Melbourne at Waverley the next week (in the first semi-final) and all the media hype was about who was going to play on (ruckman) Jimmy Stynes? Jimmy won the Brownlow that year and the concern was we didn’t have anyone who could run with him. A few experts speculated that: “Jakovich could probably go with Stynes”. I thought: ‘That’s my lifeline. If I can do that, I’ll get back in the good books with the coach’. On the Monday, we had a big team meeting and then we trained. Mick would sometimes do his player assessments out on the ground. I waited throughout training while Mick went through all the players individually. He left 
me until last. He said: “Are you switched on?” 
I said: “Bloody oath”. He said: “Do you want the job (on Stynes)?” “Bloody oath”. He said: “OK, you’ve got it”. There was no way I was going to let Mick down. I also thought: ‘Jimmy’s probably not going to show me much respect because he doesn’t know me. When we get the ball, I’ll run hard to space and try to hurt him going the other way’. It was one of my better finals performances. Jimmy taught me a few things with his athleticism, but I got a bit of the ball and even snuck down to kick a goal. I probably won Mick’s respect that day. One of the great things about Mick is he’s the first one to acknowledge you when you’ve gone through a trying process like that.

“Man on the ground, 18 versus 17 – you’re a liability to the side.” That was one of Mick’s catch-cries. He was big on his players never going to ground because, if you’re on all fours, you’re no good to the side. I was very conscious of that. If I went into a contest and went to ground, I’d be up on my feet as quick as a flash. On Mondays, in front of the whole squad of 52, Mick would show video footage of blokes staying on the ground for three or four seconds. He hated that. Just get to your feet, like 
a cat, he’d say. I first learned about keeping my feet and making second and third efforts when I played state schoolboys footy against Victoria. The Vics were the powerhouse side and, to beat them, you had to make more efforts than them, make more contests, more commitment, more of everything.

I set a lot of individual goals because I knew that if 
I achieved them, it would benefit the team. I learned about goal-setting from Grant Dorrington, one of WA’s successful Teal Cup coaches and now the general manager of the WAFL. He challenged blokes. He’d say: “What do you want to achieve? Write your goals down and bring them to me”. I wrote that 
I wanted to win the championships, captain the 
All-Australian side, etc. Only a few players went to Mick with their goals. I’d write about 400 things on 
a piece of paper. It snowballed because I wanted to 
do it all. I didn’t want to limit anything. Mick would say: “Let’s just worry about four things”. I really valued that. He warmed to my preparation – I was 
a bit rough around the edges, but he knew my effort was there. In the end, Mick said: “You’re the best prepared every time we go into battle”.

I didn’t make any sacrifices when it came to football; I saw them as pre-requisites. I was against doing anything that jeopardised my footy. I never ate junk food, never smoked, and I knew that drinking gallons of alcohol wasn’t the way to go, even though plenty of footballers did. I wanted to become 
a professional footballer, and those things could have no place in my life if I was to get there and succeed. I’d do anything, no questions asked, 
if I thought it would help me play better.

I made a rule not to drink between New Year’s Eve and the end of the footy season. I broke that rule only a couple of times in 14 years. One of them actually helped me. It was in ’95 when we had a premiership hangover and I was caving in due to the pressure. Geelong had just belted us in the Grand Final rematch (in round 13) at Kardinia Park (Skilled Stadium), and Mick gave me a spray in front of all the boys, which I didn’t react to very well. I caught up with a mate during the week and had quite a few drinks. It was the first time I’d ever drank mid-week during a footy season. Then we played Hawthorn at Waverley and I had a ball-tearer. It was good to get that negative stuff out 
of my system.

Make a commitment to your football, your teammates and your club. The first day I walked into Subiaco as an Eagles player, I decided: ‘I’m a professional athlete. Apart from my family, this is my No. 1 priority’. The blokes who tend to struggle are those who don’t make that kind of commitment; they treat their football like just any other thing in their life.

I’m loose-jointed. I was amazed when I heard that in my first medical assessment with the Eagles. Initially I thought: ‘That doesn’t sound good. 
If I don’t pass this medical, I’ll be shattered’. But the doc said: “That’s actually a good thing. If you get yourself in uncompromising positions, the joints will give a bit, whereas if they’re stiff, they’ll just snap”. I’m sure it was the reason a fairly big bloke like myself (193cm/100kg) had a reasonably small turning circle and could twist and turn suddenly at speed. But it’s nothing I can be proud of because it was a gift my parents gave to me in my genes.

I lacked pace, but I worked hard on gaining an extra yard. I found that the more sprints I did, the quicker and sharper I got. But there’s a limit to that; you eventually reach a stabilisation point where you 
can’t get faster. There were seasons where 
I was comfortable with my pace – that was usually after I’d done full pre-seasons and had no injuries. But there were times where I’d done modified or limited pre-seasons and only had a limited base and I really struggled on the quicker players. I had to work the angles a bit more to try to deprive them 
of their space, but I was shown up occasionally. 
It’s a physical thing that can affect you mentally. People said: “He’s too old, too slow; he’s lost his agility.” But I thought that: ‘With a full pre-season under my belt, I’ll prove you wrong next year and show you that I haven’t lost anything’.

Wayne Carey was my barometer. He drove me to levels that other players couldn’t. Mick got the best out of me, but Wayne got the super-best out of me. There’s no bigger compliment than someone saying: “You beat the best when they were at their best”, but the truth is, I had to play that well to beat Wayne. He dragged it out of me. It was either that or be swallowed up like most of his other opponents. It was a big game pretty much whenever we played on each other because we dominated the early ’90s and the Kangaroos dominated the late ’90s and both sides played finals throughout the whole decade. Wayne gave me a few sleepless nights during the week, but I loved playing against him. I loved that edge, that confrontation. He beat me a few times and each 
time I decided: ‘That’s not going to happen again’. 
I worked on myself more than I worked on him.

North Melbourne’s structure and game plan suited me. ‘Pagan’s Paddock’ revolved around one player, Wayne Carey, so I thought: ‘If I just sit on his shoulder, he’s going to take me to 20 more contests than I would normally get’. I saw the opportunity to get more of the ball. But I hoped we’d put midfield pressure on them too, because 
if the ball was delivered well it wouldn’t matter if 
I was (Australian sprinter) Patrick Johnson, 
I wouldn’t be able to stop it.

Two finals against Carey really stand out because both times he’d been in great form leading into those games. The first was in ’93 (the second elimination final at Waverley when Jakovich had 26 possessions and kept Carey scoreless and to just six touches in a 51-point win), and the other was in ’97 (the first semi-final when Jakovich had 23 disposals and conceded only two goals to Carey, who had kicked seven of his side’s 11 in a qualifying final win over Geelong the previous week). After the 1997 game, Mick came up with one of his famous quotes, 
(“He who doesn’t fear death by a thousand cuts dares to unhorse the emperor”) but it was all to no avail because the Kangaroos knocked us out of the finals.

It doesn’t get any better than winning a best and fairest in a premiership year. I won four B&Fs (1993, when he tied with Don Pyke, 1994, 1995 and 2000), but ’94 was my most cherished one because we won the premiership. To win the B&F in a side like that, and in a season like that, was overwhelming.

We saw brute fear in opposition eyes. When I saw that, I thought: ‘We’re in for a good day today’. 
I felt almost invincible for a few years in the 
mid-’90s, as I’m sure some of my teammates did. 
I also had (John) Worsfold and (Guy) McKenna on either side of me, and Michael Brennan and Ashley McIntosh behind me – we had the best backline in the competition in the early ’90s.

We had what I’d call competitive arrogance. I was at my best in the 1994 finals series, but when you play in a side like we had, where everyone was playing so well at the same time, with no passengers, you get dragged along for the ride. You can also afford to roll the dice a bit, back your teammates, run off and attack. More often than not, it paid off. We rarely got caught out. Several things combined to allow me to play well in each of our three finals: attention to detail, a good season both as a team and an individual, and I was a hungry, self-assured 21-year-old who was willing to take on any challenge in order to win a premiership. You had so much confidence flying for the ball, charging through packs and taking the ball with one grab, one-hand even, and we trained accordingly.

We competed with each other at training. We played this game where we’d pick a spot – a goalpost, a sponsor’s sign, the boundary line, a corner of the square – and you’d try to bounce the ball there and the closest kick won. We’d do it before or after training. One day, Scotty Watters, Peter Sumich, Stevan Jackson and myself played it and the top two had won 41 and 38 games. We’d found more than 100 targets!

I was given some great nicknames like ‘Robocop’ 
and ‘The Rock of Gibraltar’. It’s much better to be called those names than what some opposition supporters called me. It’s harmless as long as you don’t let it influence the way you play.

Doing my knee in ’96 actually gave me a fresh 
angle on life. I’d missed only one game in eight years and played almost 100 consecutive (AFL) games. I felt almost indestructible, but then I did my right knee (against St Kilda at Subiaco in round 12, 1996). When the surgeon said: “You’re going to miss 12 months”, it was like someone had ripped my heart out. Initially, I had a huge chip on my shoulder. I thought: ‘Why me? I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I don’t take drugs; I’ve always done everything to the letter. Why didn’t you just give me a six-week injury instead of a 12-monther?’ 
I wallowed in self-pity.

Back then, we did our rehab at a public facility, and I lost the chip off my shoulder within three minutes of being there. There were car-crash victims and people with all manner of debilitating injuries, and lot of their goals centred on just regaining some quality of life. I thought: 
‘What I’m going through is nothing’. It was a reality check I needed. An important part of the process is to realise there are people worse off 
than you. It was only the second time in my life 
that I’d really been challenged. The first was 
when my father passed away, but then I was young and all I could really do was get on with life, whereas this was a career-threatening injury. 
That’s where the attention to detail came in. 
My rehab was so precise. I did an extra 30 to 40 minutes after each session. I got myself well 
ahead of schedule and was back playing in 10-
and-a-half months.

There’s no rule saying you can’t play your best 
footy straight after a serious knee injury. It took 
two years to fully regain my agility and the ability to twist and turn, but I still played two or three of my top 10 games when I came back in ’97.

Every player has critics. I went backwards in 1998. 
I blame that on a change in my pre-season training that made me too heavy. I was just hoping my 
knees would hold up. Self-doubt and thoughts 
of self-preservation started playing on my mind, which affected my form. Then ‘the Duck’ (Carey) touched me up big time (kicking 5.1 from 18 kicks and 11 marks). People wrote me off, but I knew 
I was better than that. I played well in ’99, particularly in the second half of the year, and silenced the doubters. Most players cop that at 
least once in their careers, and that’s where 
self-belief is important.

GLEN JAKOVICH - CAREER

Born: March 24, 1973.
West Coast 1991-2004: 
276 games, 60 goals.
Honours: Member, Australian Football Hall of Fame; best and fairest 1993 (equal), 
1994, 1995, 2000; 3rd best and fairest 1992; All-Australian 1994, 1995; Ross Glendinning Medallist 2001; International Rules Series 2003; player of the finals 1995, 1997; premiership sides 1992, 1994.