Justin Langer: Was it all worth it? Gold medallist Nina Kennedy’s answer made me think twice

Michael ‘Sonny’ Walters shimmies, twists, gathers, kicks.

Not for the first time, the crowd — having just witnessed Sonny’s magic — goes wild; roaring with delight and adulation. His smile lights up Optus Stadium. A smile commemorating a moment in time, each miracle moment cumulatively etch him as a champion of the AFL game.

Jeremy McGovern, like a ghost, drifts into another hole within his team’s defensive unit. His opponents are left scratching their heads — how does he defy us like that? Arriving from the shadows, he grabs another uncontested overhead mark.

For a decade he made us marvel. It’s no wonder he will be remembered as the best back man of his generation. Five All-Australian selections in 10 years are a testament to this view.

Dom Sheed, forever known as the man who broke the hearts of every Collingwood supporter on earth with ‘that kick’ in the 2018 Grand Final. Precision at its best. As the Sherrin spun perfectly through the posts, hearts sunk, hearts rose. West Coast supporters danced in the street; Collingwood fans are still distraught.

The highs and lows of sport. That’s why it is the best reality-TV on the planet.

Over the last two weeks these three men have all retired from the sport they love. They all walk away with their shoulders back, chests pushed out, rightly proud of their achievements. Sadly, as is the case with so many athletes, the curse of injury marked the end of their times as professional footballers.

At their press conferences they all talked about how much they would miss the game, their club, their mates. The emotion was tangible. It always is. Letting go is often one of the hardest things you can do.

After years of being smashed physically, their bodies gave them little choice but to let go. The physical toil is simply one of the sacrifices made by anyone choosing sport as their profession. Their bodies often cry for a lifetime, others are luckier.

Sportspeople, like anyone in the work force, retire every day. In the past I have written about the concept of retirement, but earlier this week I was asked a question that made me think about the players who have most recently — and publicly — left the building.

On Monday I was invited to talk with the Perth RedStar Women’s football team in the National Premier League here in WA. Coach Chris Atturo asked me a number of questions, and one of them stopped me in my tracks.

He prefaced it by saying he had asked Olympic gold medallist Nina Kennedy the same question when she had visited the team a few months earlier.

Simply put, he asked: “Was it all worth it?”

In Nina’s case he meant the gold medal, in mine he meant the time and sacrifice of my career as a player and a coach.

Good question I thought. But it wasn’t the question so much, but rather Nina’s answer that floored me.

From all accounts she said: “I am not sure yet.”

Profound.

I’ll let coach Atturo tell the story.

“The context of Nina’s candid answer, revolved around the trials and tribulations of life as an individual athlete,” he said.

“She described the journey as deeply isolating — one that demanded unwavering self-motivation and a relentless internal drive. At times, she admitted, it felt like a selfish existence; everything revolved around her own needs, goals, and performance. The pursuit of excellence required her to consistently prioritise herself above all else, often at the expense of connection and balance.

“I asked the question many might assume has an obvious answer: Was it all worth it? Her response was striking in its honesty: “I’m not sure yet.”

“Despite everything she had accomplished, Nina revealed there was still so much more she aspired to achieve. But with greater ambition comes greater pressure — and she recognised that every new accolade would demand more sacrifice, more expectation, and, inevitably, more isolation. The cost of greatness, she suggested, is ongoing — and not always easy to reconcile.

“She also spoke to the reality that life as an athlete is inherently finite. Injuries, she said, were a constant reminder of that fact — physical setbacks that not only disrupted progress but underscored just how narrow the window for peak performance truly is. The body, she reflected, doesn’t always cooperate with ambition — no matter how strong the will.”

Profound alright.

Ask any athlete and they will tell a similar tale.

For most athletes there are more bad days than good ones. Wins aren’t easy to come by. Success isn’t a given. The average workday hurts in one way or another — lungs screaming, muscles aching.

Mentally there are the times of isolation, the relentless drive, the laser-focused pursuit of excellence, the pain of losing, suffocating expectation, demons of self-doubt and failed dreams and ambitions. These can act as drivers, but also as anchors. The constant arm-wrestle within the mind can be exhausting.

The year after I retired from playing, I was asked to speak to the England under-19 cricket team who were touring Australia. Just like Monday night, those eager young athletes asked a few questions that got me thinking. The first of those was simply: “What was the highlight of your career?”

Instinctively, and like a torrent running though my veins, I wanted to answer: “The day I retired.”

I didn’t, of course, as I didn’t want to break their hearts and pour cold water over their young optimistic minds. But at that moment, drained of every ounce of energy for the game as my profession, that’s honestly how I felt. I guess that’s why I walked away.

If you were to ask Walters, McGovern and Sheed, the same question right now — “Was it worth it?” — I wonder what they would say?

Admittedly their emotions may still be raw as the dust settles and the bright lights of the cameras dim — for the time being anyway — but I can’t help but remain curious as to how they really feel. Maybe they would reply “I am not sure yet.”

When I finished coaching the Australian cricket team I felt similar to when I finished playing. After 15 years of coaching, I was spent. It was time to walk away.

Was it worth it?

Back then, I would have probably said, “I am not sure yet”.

Ask me now though, and you will get the same answer I gave the RedStar women on Monday night.

Worth it? You better believe it was worth it. Not just the moments of shimmying, twisting, hitting; the wins, triumphs, adrenaline and adulation.

But all of it.

The head knocks taught me to keep my eye on the ball. A great lesson on and off the field.

The disappointments were mentors in bouncing back and staying courageous and focused. The critics were teachers in humility, guidance and forgiveness. My opponents helped test my skills and encourage me to get better. They reminded me that competition is healthy.

The sacrifices made the rewards more satisfying.

What sport taught me is that pressure is a privilege. And it is through that privilege that we grow as people.

There are times when the game can be scary, and you want the earth to open up and swallow you whole. But there are also moments when the game makes you feel like a smiling giant, arms raised high, drinking in the addictive elixir of success.

That’s not just sport, but life. I wouldn’t change a single second of it all. The passing of time confirms this.

Regardless of your profession, moments of pressure don’t elude us and there are times when we want to crawl into a cave and stay there until we have built up enough energy to re-emerge.

But it’s also in these moments that we grow, making the next chapter marginally easier to deal with.

Retiring, surrendering, letting go can feel like a sea breeze through our souls when we succumb to the decision. But that is never the end of the story. At the end of it all, we are left with a career’s worth of wisdom and experience.

A wise friend once said: “Don’t be afraid to start over again. This time, you’re not starting from scratch. You’re starting from experience.”

In sport, you have no choice other than to start over, because relatively speaking, a career in sport is a lot shorter than most other chosen professions.

As they ride off into the sunset from this career, I wonder what happens next for the three recent AFL retirees.

They might answer, “I am not sure yet”. But what I do know, is that they will all be better for the experience. Even if they don’t know it yet.