Tiger's earned legend status
10 August 2005 Herald Sun
Mark Robinson
FIRST saw Wayne Campbell play football as a 17-year-old.
It was for Golden Square against South Bendigo in the Bendigo Football League grand final in 1989.
This audacious kid displayed traits that would stay with him for the next 16 years. He looked robotic, but confident, and he oozed balance.
By quarter-time that day, he had kicked four of his team's eight goals on the way to winning the Bill Nalder medal for best on ground.
His opponent -- I think it was a country football star named Peter Hinck -- was stunned. He was about 30 and Campbell was a tick over half his age.
At 17, and with an AFL career beckoning, Campbell had won his first senior premiership. Yesterday, a month shy of his 33rd birthday, he still has one flag to his name.
He says it doesn't grate on him, that he wouldn't change a thing, but Campbell's pedigree as a combative, professional footballer probably won't fully allow him to be satisfied with what is a wonderful career.
"Over 15 years, we've been spectacularly unsuccessful, and I've tried to find meaning in that lack of success," he said. "I haven't yet found it, but I wouldn't change a thing. It's been absolutely brilliant."
Contrary to some belief, Campbell is a Tigers legend.
His record demands the accolade. Four best-and-fairests, eight times in the top three, 294 games, All-Australian, captain, leader, example setter.
The last two are the intangibles, something former teammate and great mate Nick Daffy touched on yesterday.
"The best thing I ever did was latch on to him because it helped me. That's the thing about hanging out with the right people," Daffy said.
Campbell is unique in many ways, from the way he relaxes on the field, standing with both feet together, to the way he talks, with a quick wit and, when footy allows, a cold beer.
His teammates say he's funny. Others say he's a deep thinker, passionate and, sometimes, intense.
They talk about James Hird's brain and Lance Whitnall's, and Aker's, but Campbell deserves equal billing.
He will not be remembered as a great mark, or kick, nor did he portray an obvious hatred for the opposition, a la Michael Voss or Glenn Archer. He wasn't a tearaway speedster, nor the type to rove from the middle, bounce, bounce and goal from 55m.
What Campbell had was the ability to find the ball. He could link, he could find it in packs, and could find it wide. His hands were quick, his mind quicker. He averaged 23 possessions a game from 1993, which makes him elite.
His coaches would have loved his consistency. He had seven and there wouldn't be too many games in which he let any of them down.
At times, he played as though the sport was about yards gained. He'd dribble the ball forward from congestion, just rush it out of the area, and for that Tigers supporters loved and hated him.
One week, they'd bemoan that he didn't hurt the opposition. A week later, when he'd accumulated 29 touches against Collingwood in pouring rain and they won by eight points, they'd give him three cheers. It's the Tigers' way.
Strangely, you wonder if Campbell ever won the fans over. "I'm constantly told they don't like me, but I went to a function last night and there was about 1000 people there and I was extremely humbled by the words they said," he said.
"(But) popularity is not high on my agenda. The players I played with I think respect me and like me, and I will take that out of everything I've done."
Campbell is a traditional football person. He barracked for the Tigers as a kid, and on the day of his retirement, admitted he couldn't fathom that after Round 22 he will sit behind only Kevin Bartlett, Jack Dyer and Francis Bourke in games played.
Just once, he tried to leave the club, but it fell through, and thankfully so, he says.
"Kevin Sheedy told me three or four years after that that he thought it was the first time Richmond had taken a good look at themselves for about 15 years, so I took that as vote of confidence," he said.
Campbell's journey, like all of them, is a terrific one.
He grew up in Ouyen before moving to Bendigo as an early teen when his parents, John and Margaret, divorced.
His two bothers, Peter and David, were footballers and when they left home it was mum who kicked the footy back. Mum saw most of her son's 294 games, and her pre-match ritual was a phone call on the eve of the game.
"She's been awesome, she rings me every night before the game. I know the phone call's coming and sometimes I let it go, which is probably pretty rude, but anyhow," Campbell said, laughing.
"I spoke to her and she said, 'Thank God, I've had enough'. I think the Carlton game tore her apart as well."
In two weeks, Campbell will pass into footy folklore. One of 10,000 former players, as he put it.
He probably will be remembered as being a good player in a bad team, when really he was better than that.
Is there a word a fraction shy of great?
http://www.heraldsun.news.com.au/footy/common/story_page/0,8033,16209748%255E19742,00.html
