THAT renowned environmentalist, Michael Malthouse, once described the AFL ecosystem as "carnivorous". The coach added: "It preys on the weak."
Many words have been used to describe Mick by the fourth estate, and vice-versa. "Weak" is one adjective that has never been attached to Malthouse. If he had ever become extinct as a coach, the cause of his demise would have not have been weakness, at least not in the way we understand the word.
A matter of two years and three years ago, Malthouse appeared to be on the brink of being devoured by the speed of the game's evolution, and headed down the same road that would soon into a dead-end for his rivals, multi-premiership coaches Denis Pagan and Kevin Sheedy.
Collingwood had risen up the ladder, with a moderately talented list, only to fall back to the valley after consecutive grand final defeats — one honorable, the other not. The Magpies were 13th in 2004 and 15th in 2005, albeit the 2005 result was made worse — and better, come the draft — by the club's pragmatic decision to fold the tent and put players in for surgery mid-season.
Malthouse had great admiration for the brave, doomed grand final team of 2002. He initially kept faith with that group, and he seemed reluctant to cut some of those warriors adrift.
Maybe the bond between players and coach — which must have an emotional component — partly explained how he managed to drag an average bunch into grand finals.
Given what we know about Malthouse — and the man has retained some mystery, despite his public visibility — one would think that his strength, as demonstrated in his willingness to stick to a course, could eventually prove his undoing.
For the AFL preys not only on the weak, but on those who fail to adapt. A coach without the capacity to change can be rendered a "horse and coach" very swiftly.
If opinion was divided on where Malthouse stood after 2006, when the Pies' excellent home-and-away results were undone by an inept finals performance against the slick Bulldogs, 2007 demonstrated that the coach had not merely adapted, but evolved to the point that younger coaches are following his lead.
The use of interchange is the most obvious example. Up until 2007, Collingwood had been at the lower end of interchanges — lagging far behind Paul Roos' Swans and John Worsfold's Eagles for rotations.
Inspired by the success of a high rotation policy against Sydney in round 21, the Magpies instantly embraced the new paradigm and became the first club to regularly surpass 100 interchanges. More than any other coach, his rotations have shaped the present debate about the interchange bench.
Like Sheedy before him, Malthouse clearly understood that an older coach — like the veteran politician — actually has to anticipate change and move faster than his youthful peers; if he does not keep up, the perception will always be that he's outdated, and that the zeitgeist has caught up with him.
A willingness to change, though, has been less critical to Malthouse's resurgence than the dramatic changing of the Collingwood list.
The team that fell five points shy of Geelong in the preliminary final had eight players who were 21 and under, seven were still 20.
Malthouse's record clearly shows that he is a better coach of younger players and youngish teams than he is of older groups. His Eagle premiership sides were beneath the premiership averages for age and games played.
The Pies of 2002 and 2003 were likewise ahead of schedule, and when they were in the premiership "zone" in 2004, they fell away dramatically.
An old coach needs to coach young to survive.
