Will Schofield: How Simpson’s sprays, support and strategy shaped Eagles’ 2018 premiership

Brutal feedback – about beards, bad games, my best fit, our back line and a headbutt - coupled with the fact he was such an influential mentor as I navigated births, deaths and footy.

It was a hell of a journey.

I played under Adam Simpson for roughly half of my AFL career.

I respect him enormously. Simmo is my premiership coach, he took a mentally tough and disciplined group in 2014 and added strategy and connection to it, culminating in a flag in 2018.

I was also the most dropped player in West Coast history, so got plenty of feedback … and I wasn’t always backwards in coming forwards in those conversations around team selection.

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We could always have the hard conversations though and he’d never shirk the issue, it’s one of many things I respect about Simmo.

He came to the footy club at the back end of 2013 and managed to leave an impression before I’d even met him. John Worsfold stepped down and Simmo, Alastair Clarkson’s right-hand man at Hawthorn, was appointed our new coach.

At the time I had a meticulously grown, well-crafted beard, as did my fellow teammates Chris Masten and Josh Kennedy. About a week before we were due back to begin the pre-season, we got word from some of the senior players that Simmo had brought our names up with the leadership group.

He wasn’t a fan of the beards.

In fact, the message we received was along the lines of, ‘if you rock up for your one-on-one meeting with a beard, don’t bother rocking up at all’.

So there I was, 9am Monday morning, with a cut-throat shaved baby face, keen to make a good first impression.

Simmo welcomed me and looked up with a smirk.

“What happened to the beard? I thought it suited you,” he quipped.

It was of course a test, that I still don’t know if I passed or not.

I couldn’t believe it. It had taken me years to grow, now it was gone, for what!? We moved onto footy matters, Simmo told me that I was one of the players he’d used as examples of changes he’d make to the team in his interview process.

Apparently I helped him get the job.

He wanted to play me higher and on the wing. I needed to get fitter, he said. I thought I was already fit.

In a way, it summarised the relationship we would have. Me trying to please and impress him … Simmo pissing me off with his reaction. Lots of our chats about selection went that way.

My first game playing under Simmo was as a green vested sub. Not an ideal beginning.

In fact, my entire first season under Adam Simpson was underwhelming. I played 17 games, but it was far from my best year.

It was decided in that off-season that I would try to transition from running and attacking half-back flanker to a bigger, stronger key-position player. Simmo wanted me to put on some weight and so I did: 10kgs in three months.

And then he didn’t pick me in round one. I was pissed off. I’d completely transformed my body in one off-season and then I wasn’t picked. I let him know about it as well.

Fate however – which plays a decent role in our intertwining paths – would play a part. Eric Mackenzie and Mitch Brown did ACLs within two weeks of each other. By round two, we had no tried and tested key-position backs on our list.

So Simmo had to turn to Will Schofield, who used to be able to run but was now heavier and slower, and a very young and inexperienced Jeremy McGovern.

That season, 2015, proved my best year of footy. My most enjoyable too. We played a system externally known as the ‘Weagles Web’, internally known as not really playing on anybody but also playing on everybody at exactly the same time.

In short, it was a team defence where we prioritised helping teammates above anything else. We made the grand final on the back of it.

Simmo handed the reins completely over to the back line that season. He had no choice. It was the first time I felt really backed in by him as a player.

Fast forward to 2018. The biggest rollercoaster year of my life and Adam Simpson was there, every bit of the way.

I was picked for round one, one of only two times under Simmo, it was the first game ever at Optus Stadium. We’d built the game up all pre-season, we wanted to make the ground our fortress.

We played Sydney. Buddy kicked eight, some of them on me, we lost.

During my game review on Monday morning, I received a phone call I’ll never forget. One of my best mates had been killed in a cycling accident in Sydney. I was absolutely shattered.

I wanted to play the following week in Andy’s honour, but instead I was dropped. That was a difficult phone call – Simmo had rung me as I was heading to the airport, flying ahead for the funeral.

Mum was in the car and heard the whole conversation. There were some hard truths told and direct feedback given.

It was a brutal one, but I’d grown used to tough love over my time as an AFL player. You learn to be resilient and can handle adversity no matter the form.

To mum it was very raw. It made her feel very sad to see me so distraught.

I was back in the side from midway through that year, after the birth of my first son, and was playing consistent footy.

I played in the last round of the year against Brisbane, a win, and felt my spot in the team was safe for the upcoming home qualifying final against Collingwood.

At that time of my career and life, I felt very much defined as a person by my football. And selection in that team felt as important as life itself. It was my chance to play in a premiership – a chance I knew I might never get again.

Thursday night selection phone calls between Simmo and I were a part of any regular week. They were lively.

The phone rang.

This one was different.

I remember it clear as day. It was short and sharp. And it cut like a knife.

“Schoey we aren’t going with you on Saturday mate,” he said.

My response: “Why the fuck not?”

“It’s the decision we’ve made at match committee mate and I’m not going to be able to give you the clarity you need over the phone,” he explained.

He finished the phone call by telling me that he didn’t know how, but somehow I’d be back in the side by grand final day.

I certainly couldn’t see that pathway. It felt like my football career was over. I fell onto the bed and completely lost control. Cried, sobbed, it was traumatic.

Fate crossed our paths again. He was right. An injury to Brad Sheppard opened a spot in the team for the preliminary final.

After years of back and forth on selection all week, sometimes literally bashing his door down to find out what was going on, I’ve always been thankful for what Simmo did Monday morning after that qualifying final.

Remember, this is a full 13 days out from a home prelim.

Simmo took me into the race of Subiaco Oval, where we were still training in 2018, and said “you’ll be playing in the prelim mate, straight in for Shep”.

It was big for me as I felt the weight of selection worry lifted in the most important week of my career to date.

He did it again Grand Final week.

This time Tuesday morning, before the team meeting.

“You’ve got (Jordan) De Goey this week, ok?”

I just nodded and said I had it handled.

Although tough at times, and strained at others, Simmo and I had an understanding. Especially towards the end of my career.

He knew what he was going to get with me in the side. I wouldn’t let him down.

Hopefully that trust took the same weight off a big decision for him in grand final week too. I didn’t lose a contest against Collingwood, he’d backed me in to play on the most dangerous forward and that confidence was reflected in how I played.

The player-coach relationship, especially for those of us on the fringe, is always a volatile one.

Things happen on the field in the heat of the moment, as the coach it’s their job to pull you back into line. A stinging spray off the back of a “bullshit” headbutt in my final season probably highlighted that relationship.

You need to have brutal conversations, share tough moments, give direct feedback and often happiness isn’t always the priority, winning is.

But I look back on my time under Adam Simpson with great memories. Things weren’t always easy, but life’s not easy.

I now feel relief for Simmo. I know him and his family well. What he has been through over the past few years has been brutal to watch. Both privately and publicly.

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The pressure has been immense. Some of the performances would have sat terribly with him.

I wouldn’t wish the scrutiny he’s been under on my worst enemy.

But he’s handled it with grace, taken no prisoners and will walk out the door as a premiership coach and much-respected mentor.