IT WAS 1994. Brisbane Bears coach Robert Walls was none-too-happy after a particularly poor showing in a pre-season game and delivered some typically brutal feedback to his players. Everyone copped it.

To newcomer Nigel Lappin, as shy as they came but a No. 2 draft pick with enormous talent, Walls was short and sharp. "Playing with your shirt out and your socks down, you look like a bushy".

Throughout a decorated AFL career, he went by many other nicknames but to me, he was "Bushy" from that moment on. Shirt out, socks down, unshaven with a heavy 48-hour growth. That's the boy from Chiltern all over. He has never changed.

And I reckon if Wallsy knew back then what he knows now he might have been happy for him to play with his shirt out and his socks down as much as he liked. Because if you play like the four-time All-Australian midfielder, it doesn't matter.

This week, as Lappin's stellar 279-game, 15-year AFL career came to an end, I have only one regret — that a lot of people outside Brisbane didn't fully appreciate how good he was.

To me, at his best, he was as good as Chris Judd. He was certainly as courageous as anyone. And not just in the normal physical sense. He was courageous in his ability to run and to keep running. And to overcome adversity.

In the 2002 grand final, Brisbane Lions v Collingwood, it was tight in the closing seconds. The ball spilled out of a contest and the Pies moved forward quickly. I yelled "run" but as I looked to my left I realised that, for Lappin, it was an unnecessary instruction. He was already powering back.

It was just something he did. When the stakes were high, and when it was just another game.

Fatigued or otherwise, carrying the hurt of any game, he was always the guy who would break into open space when nobody else could. And push back harder into defence than anyone else would.

His effort to play in the 2003 grand final with broken ribs and what we learned later was a punctured lung was something to behold. A chapter in football folklore that will survive the test of time.

I remember the scene in the rooms before the game as if it was yesterday. Tense? You've got no idea.

Nigel had been to hospital a couple of hours earlier for a delicate anaesthetic procedure to numb the area of his ribs, although he had survived a torrid fitness test the day before decision time was approaching. Team sheets were almost due and there was still much consternation as to whether he could possibly take his place.

His best mate, Chris Scott, only missing from the side through injury, was dressed, strapped and ready to play. He had even had the obligatory pain-killing needles he would need to get out there. It would have been easy for the man in No. 44 to opt out. Nobody would have thought any less of him.

After all, while many can play on with broken bones suffered during a game, few can resist the self-talk and mind games and overcome the distractions and obstacles to take such a serious ailment into a game of such importance.

He was as white as a ghost but still he had the courage to put it all on the line and perform at the highest level.

Lappin's grand final heroics of 2003 were a very public demonstration by a very private man. He preferred the background while letting others enjoy the spotlight and the public notoriety.

People who know him from arm's length use words like polite, considerate, honest and well-spoken to describe him. They note how he's forever talking himself down and talking others up. All admirable qualities and all true.

Yet as a teammate, the Lappin I saw was a confident, determined, competitive, self-driven perfectionist.

He didn't need much to reach game tempo, even after time on the sideline, but he worked as hard as anyone. He was super-fit and would often undertake secret private training sessions to keep his edge.

Nigel was a really smart footballer who considered his thoughts before offering them to his team. I loved bouncing things off him. His knowledge and his ability to listen was first-class. He had an exceptional "feel" for the group and when he spoke, people listened with enormous respect. Mornings were never his strong point and teammates were always at risk of a spray if it wasn't a good day. It was more his humour than a personal attack. Just a way to get himself going.

It would have torn him up not to have been able to get that last competitive hit-out this year due to an Achilles tendon injury, but in retirement he should reflect on a career that has been up with the best of them.

It's the end of an era at the Gabba, with the last of the Walls-coached Brisbane players moving on, and the start of a new era for Lappin. Popular opinion says he will take wife Claire and the family back to the country for a while. I suspect he would be as happy being assistant coach in country footy as he would at AFL level, and I'm sure he'll be involved somehow somewhere.

Whatever, there's a pact which the father of four girls under four will be expected to honour. When the daughters of Justin Leppitsch, Craig McRae, Chris Johnson, Lappin and Voss turn 18, we will do battle again. We'll be security guards, armed with a spotlight and a photo, and on a mission to seek and destroy any man who comes near them.