Week #02 - Loyalty
Watching Nasiah Wanganeen-Milera glide across Marvel Stadium on Saturday night, I'm reminded of those rare footballers whose physical presence seems to contradict the more celebrated demands of our game.
Lean, tall, almost delicate, belying a toughness and competitiveness within. Our sport mostly celebrates power and pace, but there's something captivating about players who appear almost too light for what the game seems to ask of them.
Less celebrated, yes, but no less obvious as it is mesmerising. The poise with ball in hand, the shift of gears, the balance when changing direction, and most sublimely, his decision-making and kicking. Each disposal is a measured statement, an expression of tranquillity amidst the chaos.
Watching him, my mind drifts back to two players who carried this same contradictory grace – Robert Flower and Bob Murphy.
For the Melbourne supporters of this era, Robert Flower was more than just their best player – he was their reason to believe. "At least we've got Robbie Flower" became the consolation as they left the MCG after suffering another loss during the club's most forlorn period. For the best part of 15 years, he was almost the only reason Melbourne supporters would go to the football.
I know Bob Murphy gets embarrassed by the comparison with Robbie Flower, but it was certainly there. It was more than their respective builds, slight frames never limiting impact, both with the capacity to change the natural order of the game with playmaking and a poet's sensibility.
The superpowers of the great players are generally apparent, but with Flower, Murphy, and now Wanganeen-Milera, it is subtle, almost inferred. They make subtlety their competitive advantage. Micro movements, both instinctive and studied, bewilder opposition players, somehow finding themselves in space, not just small spaces; it is like they have their own football and the ground to themselves.
Now in his third year at St Kilda, the South Australian product has emerged as the heartbeat of a rebuilding side. His sublime kicking an anchor point for coach Ross Lyon's blueprint. But as contract discussions inevitably intensify, the whispers grow louder about eight-year deals being prepared back in his home state.
The modern conversation around loyalty in football can often become binary and brutal. Stay, and you're a hero; leave, and you're a villain. But I've learned the reality is far more nuanced.
In high-performance environments, there exists what Sport Performance Psychologist Dr. Michael Gervais describes as the "invisible handshake." When you're in a team environment with high standards, high pressure, and high stress, there must exist strong relationships, a sense of identity, a feeling of belonging, clarity of purpose, and positive systems for collective outcomes.
Loyalty can also be weaponised by clubs – a form of guilt-tripping someone to stay, potentially making a choice that is not in their best interests. While the game seems to be growing beyond this approach at the administrative level, with more sophisticated list management strategies, the remnants still linger in supporter culture. The booing of ex-players, even those who left at the behest of the club, bears witness to this reality.
When I asked Robbie Flower years ago why he never left Melbourne during their darkest period, his answer was disarmingly simple: "I always believed that one day we would get it right, and I couldn't live with myself if I wasn't a part of it."
Despite winning only 30% of his games across fifteen seasons, his belief in what could be possible never wavered. The Melbourne Football Club wasn't just where he worked – it was where he belonged.
For Wanganeen-Milera, this crossroad approaches far earlier in his journey. At just 22, with his potential still largely untapped, the decision carries a different weight. His relationship with St Kilda is still being written, still finding its shape.
For Saints supporters, the anxiety is palpable. Having watched this elegant youngster emerge from draft prospect to potential generational talent, they've already invested their hearts. Each sublime kick, each moment of composure under pressure, becomes both a joy and a worry – the better he plays, the more they fear losing him. Supporters understand the business of football, but their connection to players transcends contracts and negotiations. It's personal, emotional, and impossible to quantify.
Bob Murphy once wrote, "Loyalty in sport isn't dead, just a little misrepresented. It's not blind loyalty. Too much is at stake. The loyalty I've known in footy is a relationship – there must be an exchange of effort and goodwill."
This is what often gets lost in the conversation. Loyalty isn't simply staying put – it's the ongoing commitment to what's possible when people believe in each other.
Within a team environment, loyalty manifests through mutual growth, shared struggles, and collective development. The strongest teams understand that each player's evolution contributes to the whole, creating a culture where individual decisions are respected when made authentically.
Sometimes, the highest form of loyalty is to your own growth path, to becoming the player and person you're capable of being, knowing that your development – wherever it occurs – ultimately serves the game and the teammates who've shaped your journey.
For the young Saint with the silken skills, the road ahead should offer few wrong turns – only different possibilities.
In a game that celebrates both tradition and evolution, perhaps this is loyalty's truest expression – the honest pursuit of potential, wherever that journey leads.
Play on!
Cameron Schwab
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