Competitive Fire Burned Deep In Leppa

The Sunday Age

Sunday June 11, 2006

MICHAEL VOSS

My old mate Justin Leppitsch was versatile, loyal, inspirational . . . but he wasn't funny

THERE was an incident late in the first quarter of the 2003 Brisbane-Collingwood grand final that I'll never forget.

From a centre bounce, Justin Leppitsch charged off the back of the centre square and beat two Collingwood opponents to tap a loose ball forward. Still on the rampage, he crashed into Nathan Buckley, grabbed a bobbling ball and fired a quick handball forward. We were into attack again.

It was a great piece of play, with a fierce attack on the footy, and that's what most people would have seen.

What they might not have seen was the look of absolute determination on his face, the aggression and the fire in his eyes, the simple refusal to be beaten. It told me we were never going to lose. It's crazy to say that so early in a grand final but Leppa was on a mission.

His incredible competitiveness encapsulated what made him one of the all-time greats and was the single most powerful image I retain of the now retired 227-game triple premiership player, three-times All-Australian, club champion, Victorian state-of-origin representative, team leader and all-round star.

Leppa is a wonderfully talented athlete who brought his own flair to the game and had a profound influence on the culture of our group and everyone in it. He was a versatile defender who could run with the best of them. He could spoil or stand his ground in a one-on-one contest because, despite his chicken legs, he was actually very strong. And he didn't mind taking the odd fly - only when in front, of course.

He read the play exceptionally well, which allowed him to rebound so effectively. He was loyal, inspirational and balanced, with a good footy brain. And funny. Or so he thought. He's renowned for ridiculous jokes. They're so bad you feel compelled to laugh, but that's been the worst thing we've done because now he thinks they're actually humorous.

But above all else, he is one competitive animal. And whether it is coaching, media or his property development interests in North Queensland that captures his long-term attention, you just know he'll be successful.

The Lions won't be quite the same after his retirement on Monday. It was a bombshell that rocked the place, although I knew something was up when he asked me to lunch last Wednesday week. I'd known for a while he was struggling, but hadn't wanted to burden him by asking.

We made small talk until finally he got around to it. His body was shot. He couldn't do what he needed to do to play at the level he expected of himself. And he wasn't going to sit around for 18 months riding an exercise bike while his contract expired.

He told a few longtime teammates on Sunday night at a barbecue at the home of assistant coach Craig Lambert. He told the rest of the players on Monday. And then he told the footy world. He got a bit emotional each time and really struggled with the "r" word. But deep down I sense he's satisfied there was no alternative. He's content he got the most out of his career and is ready for the next challenge.

Every footballer yearns to retire on their own terms - giving their all, playing at their best, feeling great. But if that's happening, retirement isn't on the radar.

So, it's the end of a playing relationship I'll treasure. We met as teenagers and grew up together, sharing premierships and wooden spoons on a roller-coaster ride through footy heaven. We went to each other's wedding and now share the joy of parenthood.

Fourteen years we've been mates and, in one of those obscure statistics they throw up occasionally, I played in 198 of his 227 games. No wonder I learnt to trust him so implicitly. After all, he got the job done time after time after time.

Not bad for a bloke I "met" in a photocopy of a picture I got from coach Robert Walls. It was a couple of days after the 1992 draft when the then Brisbane Bears had drafted the curly-topped redhead from Berwick. Wallsy gave the players a copy of newspaper stories about our draftees and somehow the image of Leppa standing in a field with a footy under his arm stuck in my memory.

They said the boy taken at No. 4 in the draft behind Drew Banfield, Nathan Chapman and Michael Prior was going to be the next Dermott Brereton. It seems he aspired to be that, too, because he wore No. 23.

He also learnt the harshness of the Queensland sun very early. On his first pre-season camp at Noosa Wilderness Camp, where we slept in shocking camp stretchers surrounded by snakes and spiders and trained on the beach, he got badly sunburnt. He let the redheads down.

A couple of months later, in round one, 1993, doing year 12 at school and boarding with a local family, he was a league player. But four weeks on he injured his knee in a way the surgeon likened to a traffic accident victim. He had a reconstruction before they came fashionable, and it was 15 months before he played at AFL level again.

It was one tough time and he was one tough nut. There was no going home and no walking out on his mates, not even when the megabucks were dangled in front of him. He was in for the long journey; one of the all-time greats in the making.

That's Leppa. He's also got an alter ego called "Frank the Tank". Frank is a character in a movie called Old School, who has a drastic change in personality after a few beers. He's lots of fun, and is an icon in his own way.

He's one of three life members of the Lions Footy Trip Family, alongside perennial end-of-season prankster Craig McRae, now retired, and player development manager Shane Johnson, who is dragged all over the globe looking after the boys.

To qualify for this prestigious honour you have to spend 50 nights on end-of-season trips.

I can't tell you a lot about Frank's exploits because you know the rule - what happens on tour, stays on tour.

But I can tell you it wasn't all fun and games. Frank met his wife, Christie Dupuis, now mother to his two daughters, on a footy trip. She was a Canadian backpacker in Cairns who caught his eye at a foam party. And the rest is history.

So, while Leppa has retired, Frank's still going. We reckon his time will come on Mad Monday. Don't be late - you know the rules!

© 2006 The Sunday Age

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