Nice guys don’t finish last. Western Australia’s own Jaymie Graham is the latest example. The new senior coach of the North Melbourne Football Club could be the best bloke I’ve met in football.

And he’s just risen to the top of his profession. That’s worth celebrating. Because for much of my football life, being a nice guy wasn’t necessarily considered a qualification for being a good coach.

Quite the opposite. There was a time when being a football coach seemed to require three things: a whistle, some cones and the willingness to shout at people.

I even saw players physically assaulted in change rooms. I always thought that was a particularly weak form of leadership because the player couldn’t exactly fight back. The coach had the power to drop you, sack you or damage your career. I heard players told things that, thankfully, would be completely unacceptable today; comments about their partners, upbringing, nationality or courage.

Most of it was water off a duck’s back for me. But I know some players were deeply affected.

Thankfully, football has changed and Graham, at 43, is the “next big thing”, having played a significant role in developing the Fremantle football program that produced a remarkable 2026 season.

But it’s not just his CV that appeals to me. It’s the man. And that’s why his appointment is so interesting.

Football coaching, like parenting, seems to have moved from “do what I say or else” towards “let’s work out how I can help you become the best version of yourself”. Remember the old parenting philosophy that children should be seen and not heard? In football, it was pretty much the same.

Players were there to listen, obey and, preferably, not answer back. But now, just like in parenting, corporal punishment is out. Support is in. And that doesn’t mean standards have disappeared.

Quite the opposite. One of Graham’s great strengths is that he combines support with expectation. Michael Walters, who played under him at the Dockers, described him as someone who is always supportive while still expecting the right things from his players.

Josh Treacy has gone even further, describing Graham as phenomenal for his career and development, as well as “a person to have in my corner and a friend”.

That’s modern coaching. You don’t have to humiliate someone to demand excellence from them. You don’t have to frighten someone into being accountable.

In my era, a coach would say something to a player, hoping to provoke him into thinking, “I’ll show you, you old bast..d.”

Those days are gone. And Graham understands that. He played 37 games for the Eagles between 2005 and 2008 and was part of the 2006 season, only to be overlooked for the premiership.

He later became a coach at West Coast and was part of the Eagles’ 2018 premiership campaign.

He also knows what adversity feels like.

He eventually returned to football after his AFL career, but a horrific knee injury while playing for South Fremantle in 2011 effectively ended his playing career. But if you really want to understand Graham, I don’t think you start with his football career. You start with his family.

Because long before he was coaching AFL footballers, he was learning about responsibility, resilience and unconditional love in circumstances that would have tested anyone.

Graham was just five years old when he left the care of his mother, who was battling addiction, and went to live with his grandparents, Peter and Robyn, in Kalgoorlie.

His younger brother followed him. His grandparents effectively became his parents. And Graham has always spoken about them with enormous gratitude, describing them as his heroes for putting their own lives on hold to raise him and his brother.

Then, as a young man, he found himself in an extraordinary position. He had five much younger siblings, including his little sister Candy. Graham and his partner Kasey began a long battle to gain legal custody of Candy. They eventually succeeded. And Graham made one of the biggest decisions of his life.

At just 25 years of age, with an AFL career still in front of him, he walked away from the Eagles to help raise his little sister.

Think about that. Most 25-year-old footballers are worrying about their next contract, their next game or whether they are going to get a game on Saturday.

Graham was worrying about putting a roof over his little sister’s head and giving her a stable childhood. He didn’t simply talk about family values — he lived them.

That’s why I’m so happy he has risen to the top of his profession. No one deserves it more.

He and Kasey gave Candy a home alongside their own children, Hudson and Neve, and Graham spoke openly about the complicated circumstances of their family rather than hiding them.

And then there is this extraordinary little twist. Candy, the little sister Graham fought so hard to bring into his family, shares a birthday with Hudson and Neve.

All three were born on May 28. Imagine that. Sometimes life writes a better story than any of us could.

That experience clearly left a mark. Graham once spoke about how fortunate he had been to have his Nan and Pop in his life and hoped Candy would understand that, while living with them wasn’t the same as living with her own parents, it was the next best thing. I find that incredibly moving. Because when you have lived through that, you quickly learn that people don’t all arrive at the football club carrying the same load.

Perhaps that’s why Graham has such an instinct for people. His football education has been extensive, but his life education has been extraordinary. He knows what it is like to be the kid who needs somebody.

And he knows what it is like to become the somebody that another kid needs. That, to me, is a pretty powerful qualification for a senior coach.

Because coaching isn’t just about tactics and game plans.

It is about understanding human beings. And Graham has spent much of his life doing exactly that.

And perhaps that’s the greatest change in football coaching I’ve witnessed in my lifetime.

We are finally understanding that compassion and accountability can coexist. You don’t have to break people to make them better.

Sometimes, you just have to believe in them.