Bailey Smith hits the right note at Geelong but he is no showstopper

The Guardian

13 hours ago

Bailey Smith could easily have coasted along against Essendon on the weekend. He could have racked up a few dozen disposals for Geelong and saved his hamstrings for the far more onerous challenge of Brisbane this Friday. But that's not how he's wired. Everything is at full throttle. There is not a lot of craft or guile to how he plays. He simply runs the opposition into the ground. With apologies to Shane Crawford and Robert Harvey, he runs harder than any footballer I can remember.
Prior to his knee injury at Western Bulldogs, Smith had been gradually squeezed out of favour. The coach Luke Beveridge didn't quite know what to do with him. The fanbase was increasingly frustrated with him. He was a hard footballer to place. He was a subdued, resentful figure.
The ACL in many ways clarified things. Smith was barely at the club during rehab. 'A lonely, shitty period,' he called it. He was training on his own. He led an interesting social life. Relationships with teammates and the coach were fractured, perhaps forever. The Dogs were in an early season rut and he was swanning about with his shirt off in the European summer. Understandably, it rubbed a few of them up the wrong way. They'd protected him and tolerated him. Now he was singing off with a very strange Instagram post; 'To those praying for my downfall, thank you.'
It was probably best for everyone that he left. The Bulldogs and Cats are two very different midfields, and Smith and his coach ultimately struggled to find his right fit. Beveridge was overloaded with midfielders, and the Cats were crying out for one. His personality and his game wasn't suited to being a fourth or fifth stringer.
Since changing clubs, so many ridiculous things have been said and written about Smith. Here's Steve Crawley, the managing director of Fox Sports, speaking to The Age recently; 'Big-time sports need show-stoppers like Bailey Smith. Think [David] Beckham. Think Pat Cash at 18 with the bandana, Tiger Woods, think David Warner. Mortals are OK, but superheroes are better. He is Shane Warne-like.'
I mean, just settle yourself down! Smith isn't really a showstopper at all. He's a grinder. He's an accumulator. He's a death-by-a-thousand-cuts footballer. And clearly, if a recent podcast is any indication, he's caught between being Crawley's 'superhero' and the frankly pretty boring life of a professional footballer – eat, sleep, train, sauna, cold plunge, rack up 41 touches, repeat.
Some of the language Smith used on the Real Stuff podcast would be familiar to anyone who suffers extreme anxiety – 'obsessive', 'perfectionist', and so on. As early as year 10 at school, he had injuries from overtraining and even a bout of pneumonia he says was caused by stress. In every article I read about Smith, the word 'complex' bobs up. We write about him like he's Hamlet. But in this interview, I simply heard a young man who's still figuring out who he is, who needs to be well managed, who's still learning how to manage himself. To his credit, he called out a lot of the analysis of the game, calling it 'toxic'.
It can only help that he got out of Melbourne. If ever someone needed a bit of peace and quiet, it's him. It would be ever better if he got off his phone. But of course, that's the great paradox of his life. He has built his brand on that phone. Other influencers or fitness models of a similar social media reach would encounter all sorts of negativity and trolling. But there are many different layers when it comes to what Smith would cop – 17 supporter bases willing him to fail, a governing body that will fine him without hesitation, imbeciles screaming at him from over the fence, taggers, his former club, and an entire industry of analysis shows designed to pick apart, scold and rein him in.
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With Bailey Smith, it has always been about something else other than football. It has always been about the brand, the monkey mind, the fireside chats, the abs, the smartassery, the sculptural miracle of the hair, the petty offences. However, he has been an outstanding footballer at Geelong. He resembles Fabio and still occasionally kicks like him, but given the frantic, full pelt way his new team seeks to play, the odd stray kick isn't necessarily a bad thing.
Watching someone like Scott Pendlebury play footy is like settling into a pair of old slippers. Watching Smith is very different. The hyperactivity of his game can make it seem as though he is constantly on the verge of blowing up, of running out of batteries. You worry about him but there he is, moving like a shovel snouted lizard, notching up his 41st possession, and moving into Brownlow medal favouritism.