'The Weapon' was let loose in a striking interview but it was the AFL's standing that took the heaviest blows
*1) "James Hird drove everything"*
It didn't take long for us to learn that Robinson was laying the blame for Essendon's plight solely at the feet of the Bombers coach James Hird. "Whatever it takes; that was James Hird's attitude," claimed Robinson on the overlapping of the club's marketing slogan with its coach's attitude towards success. Robinson would go on to paint a picture of Hird as the instigator, agitator and driving force behind the club's supplements program.
Many of Robinson's answers had Hird as the dictatorial head of a "boys club".
"Who challenges James Hird at Essendon? I tried a couple of times but I soon learned that that was something you don't do.
"Whatever James Hird wanted James Hird got."
"What I observed, what I saw, his actions, the way he handles himself, I've got no respect for the guy."
Robinson would also depict Hird receiving regular injections from sports scientist Stephen Dank at the club, prompting former Asada CEO Richard Ings to call for the introduction of regulations to prevent the use by elite coaches of supplements, which only players are currently prohibited from using.
If Hird was the subject of Robinson's most sustained personal attacks, the Dons general manager of football, Danny Corcoran, was also claimed to be a key player in the fitness coach's demise. "I was threatened that I'd be ruined by Danny Corcoran," said Robinson. In the wake of Essendon's well-publicised spate of soft-tissue injuries in 2012, Robinson said Corcoran gave him the ultimatum: "You resign or we'll destroy you."
"I think the management of the club is a disaster," added Robinson.
The club were unequivocal in their response, acknowledging that: "Robinson appears to be under an extreme amount of pressure," before concluding that his allegations were "totally without foundation".
"They're coming from a disgruntled, disaffected and discredited ex-employee. They are outrageous in nature and the club is seeking appropriate legal advice."
*2) The personal toll*
"There's nothing to really worry about when you're speaking the truth," claimed Robinson as the interview began. But to be perfectly honest he looked quite worried and that statement itself was delivered with a quivering lip as he sat, eyes bulging and awaiting the opening questions from Channel Seven's Luke Darcy. As an opening gambit, it was also at odds with Robinson's later claim that: "There's a lot on the line for me to do this." It wouldn't be the night's only contradictory moment.
"The Weapon" is the kind of nickname that has always planted a certain seed of expectation within the football world but in reality, Robinson seemed neither fearsome nor threatening. If Wednesday night's interview achieved anything it was to illustrate the enormous personal burden that he now carries. Unemployed and beset by a professional crisis that looks likely to end his career within AFL ranks, Robinson claimed there were "numerous days" in which he considered taking his own life. "It makes me depressed at times. And there were times, yeah, where it made me suicidal and the only thing that pulled me up was seeing my little girl, looking at her. I'd chosen the knife, I knew what I was going to do. The impact on my family has been the worst."
Whichever of Robinson's claims are confirmed or denied, the immense personal strain that the episode has placed him under was plain to see.
*3) What was left unsaid?*
In the aftermath of the interview, Seven were clear in stating that the program had been pieced together from five hours of interview recordings with Robinson. It rather begged the question as to what was omitted and how heavily edited Robinson's responses were. We jumped from one salacious topic to another and back again, each seemingly counter-weighted by a liberal sprinkling of emotion and Robinson's personal plight where it suited. This isn't to suggest that Robinson wasn't party to the narrative arc taken, but the production seemed to be telling a story all of its own.
On a more literal level, meaningful discussion relating to Robinson's co-worker, the sports scientist Stephen Dank, was notable in its absence. "I would have called us mates," claimed Robinson having earlier paused and consternated over his being "unsure" about Dank. It was not a topic on which he would be pressed any further by Darcy.
Glaringly, we were merely left to ponder Robinson's summary of the impact of the supplements program at Essendon, "If you really asked me if they worked, I don't think they did." To Robinson's eyes the players had not gotten any bigger or stronger but if Darcy asked Robinson whether this rendered the continuation of the program moot anyway, we never got to hear the answer. The sports science industry has suffered a severe credibility battering throughout the Essendon case, being portrayed as lawless and shadowy, but were the fruits of Robinson's lucrative labour really so minimal? Discussion of the measurable impact of this controversial scientific insurgency into our games seems maddeningly thin on the ground.
*4) The Production*
For all the promise of titillation and scandal, there was a genuine danger of Seven's melodramatic production of 'The Inside Man' being the story itself. A solid few days of teasers and forward-promotion would have set cynics to high alert but much like Oprah Winfrey and Lance Armstrong before them, much interest centred around Seven's choice of Luke Darcy to interview Robinson. In the end it was the mournful angst within the interviewee's face that both filled the screen and carried the program. The Weapon's lack of argumentative ammunition spared Darcy any blushes.
Hours before the broadcast had even started, parodies of Darcy's incredulous response to Robinson's "black ops" claims were already bouncing around social media channels. The production called to mind a 60 Minutes expose, which in itself is probably damning Seven with faint praise. At times it was trashy. A panel discussion that followed only briefly threatened to add anything of interest but Leigh Matthews's forthright opinions were immediately shut out by an ongoing barrage of garbled attacks and counter-claims against Robinson from McVeigh.
The studio show would not have displeased the Bombers coach or his supporters with both Bruce McAvaney and Seven's chief football reporter Mark Stevens referring to him as "Hirdy", with something close to affection. McVeigh would also dismiss the allegations of Hird's own injections merely on the basis that he hadn't witnessed them himself; it was a microcosm of the way our eyes had been diverted so far from the ball.
In the end, Cameron Ling probably put it most poignantly of all of them when he lamented, "Football shouldn't lead to someone thinking about suicide." For all the talk of "body blows" to Hird's image, it was a tawdry night on which the game itself took the heaviest punches. Reported by guardian.co.uk 1 hour ago.
*1) "James Hird drove everything"*
It didn't take long for us to learn that Robinson was laying the blame for Essendon's plight solely at the feet of the Bombers coach James Hird. "Whatever it takes; that was James Hird's attitude," claimed Robinson on the overlapping of the club's marketing slogan with its coach's attitude towards success. Robinson would go on to paint a picture of Hird as the instigator, agitator and driving force behind the club's supplements program.
Many of Robinson's answers had Hird as the dictatorial head of a "boys club".
"Who challenges James Hird at Essendon? I tried a couple of times but I soon learned that that was something you don't do.
"Whatever James Hird wanted James Hird got."
"What I observed, what I saw, his actions, the way he handles himself, I've got no respect for the guy."
Robinson would also depict Hird receiving regular injections from sports scientist Stephen Dank at the club, prompting former Asada CEO Richard Ings to call for the introduction of regulations to prevent the use by elite coaches of supplements, which only players are currently prohibited from using.
If Hird was the subject of Robinson's most sustained personal attacks, the Dons general manager of football, Danny Corcoran, was also claimed to be a key player in the fitness coach's demise. "I was threatened that I'd be ruined by Danny Corcoran," said Robinson. In the wake of Essendon's well-publicised spate of soft-tissue injuries in 2012, Robinson said Corcoran gave him the ultimatum: "You resign or we'll destroy you."
"I think the management of the club is a disaster," added Robinson.
The club were unequivocal in their response, acknowledging that: "Robinson appears to be under an extreme amount of pressure," before concluding that his allegations were "totally without foundation".
"They're coming from a disgruntled, disaffected and discredited ex-employee. They are outrageous in nature and the club is seeking appropriate legal advice."
*2) The personal toll*
"There's nothing to really worry about when you're speaking the truth," claimed Robinson as the interview began. But to be perfectly honest he looked quite worried and that statement itself was delivered with a quivering lip as he sat, eyes bulging and awaiting the opening questions from Channel Seven's Luke Darcy. As an opening gambit, it was also at odds with Robinson's later claim that: "There's a lot on the line for me to do this." It wouldn't be the night's only contradictory moment.
"The Weapon" is the kind of nickname that has always planted a certain seed of expectation within the football world but in reality, Robinson seemed neither fearsome nor threatening. If Wednesday night's interview achieved anything it was to illustrate the enormous personal burden that he now carries. Unemployed and beset by a professional crisis that looks likely to end his career within AFL ranks, Robinson claimed there were "numerous days" in which he considered taking his own life. "It makes me depressed at times. And there were times, yeah, where it made me suicidal and the only thing that pulled me up was seeing my little girl, looking at her. I'd chosen the knife, I knew what I was going to do. The impact on my family has been the worst."
Whichever of Robinson's claims are confirmed or denied, the immense personal strain that the episode has placed him under was plain to see.
*3) What was left unsaid?*
In the aftermath of the interview, Seven were clear in stating that the program had been pieced together from five hours of interview recordings with Robinson. It rather begged the question as to what was omitted and how heavily edited Robinson's responses were. We jumped from one salacious topic to another and back again, each seemingly counter-weighted by a liberal sprinkling of emotion and Robinson's personal plight where it suited. This isn't to suggest that Robinson wasn't party to the narrative arc taken, but the production seemed to be telling a story all of its own.
On a more literal level, meaningful discussion relating to Robinson's co-worker, the sports scientist Stephen Dank, was notable in its absence. "I would have called us mates," claimed Robinson having earlier paused and consternated over his being "unsure" about Dank. It was not a topic on which he would be pressed any further by Darcy.
Glaringly, we were merely left to ponder Robinson's summary of the impact of the supplements program at Essendon, "If you really asked me if they worked, I don't think they did." To Robinson's eyes the players had not gotten any bigger or stronger but if Darcy asked Robinson whether this rendered the continuation of the program moot anyway, we never got to hear the answer. The sports science industry has suffered a severe credibility battering throughout the Essendon case, being portrayed as lawless and shadowy, but were the fruits of Robinson's lucrative labour really so minimal? Discussion of the measurable impact of this controversial scientific insurgency into our games seems maddeningly thin on the ground.
*4) The Production*
For all the promise of titillation and scandal, there was a genuine danger of Seven's melodramatic production of 'The Inside Man' being the story itself. A solid few days of teasers and forward-promotion would have set cynics to high alert but much like Oprah Winfrey and Lance Armstrong before them, much interest centred around Seven's choice of Luke Darcy to interview Robinson. In the end it was the mournful angst within the interviewee's face that both filled the screen and carried the program. The Weapon's lack of argumentative ammunition spared Darcy any blushes.
Hours before the broadcast had even started, parodies of Darcy's incredulous response to Robinson's "black ops" claims were already bouncing around social media channels. The production called to mind a 60 Minutes expose, which in itself is probably damning Seven with faint praise. At times it was trashy. A panel discussion that followed only briefly threatened to add anything of interest but Leigh Matthews's forthright opinions were immediately shut out by an ongoing barrage of garbled attacks and counter-claims against Robinson from McVeigh.
The studio show would not have displeased the Bombers coach or his supporters with both Bruce McAvaney and Seven's chief football reporter Mark Stevens referring to him as "Hirdy", with something close to affection. McVeigh would also dismiss the allegations of Hird's own injections merely on the basis that he hadn't witnessed them himself; it was a microcosm of the way our eyes had been diverted so far from the ball.
In the end, Cameron Ling probably put it most poignantly of all of them when he lamented, "Football shouldn't lead to someone thinking about suicide." For all the talk of "body blows" to Hird's image, it was a tawdry night on which the game itself took the heaviest punches. Reported by guardian.co.uk 1 hour ago.