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If the uber-elusive Darius Boyd were to hang up the boots right now and walk away from rugby league forever, what would his career best be remembered for?
Before you launch, let’s take a moment to temporarily extinguish our torches and put down our pitchforks. We can sum this up in an even-tempered, non-Origin manner.
We are talking about a two-time premiership player, a Clive Churchill medallist and a 19-game Origin representative with more tries in the format than everyone except Greg Inglis. There’s no doubt when it comes to his work between the white lines, the kid’s a serious baller.
On the other hand, on the rare occasions that he presents himself to the public, it’s become legend that he’s hardly a sunshine advocate like your peachy-swell Brady kids or Daly Cherry-Evans.
If you’ve been living Amish for the last years and don’t know what I mean, then just ask the Brisbane-based chapter of Channel Seven about their run-in with his forked-tongue in town this week. It was brutally arctic.
Whether or not he means to, Boyd comes across as surly and unapproachable, seemingly hell-bent on keeping his inner thoughts buried under his prickly exterior at any cost. In the eyes of many of the game’s followers, he just doesn’t seem like a bloke that you would share a beer with – a quality adored by the public.
So when he’s finished in the game, will his abrupt interview techniques and lack of societal connection overshadow his outstanding achievements on the paddock?
We know that it’s blessed talent and Wayne Bennett that makes him a cutlass on any footy field, so perhaps we should take a moment to try and understand why he loathes anything holding a microphone, notepad or camera.
Some say he simply holds a grudge due to the years-old story about his shady cubicle behaviour in a Brisbane nightclub. But perhaps it is an unexplainable disdain for the way the press go about their work in general? Or is he just overcapitalising on the Bennett book of communication philosophy?
Whatever the reasons, his conduct with those covering the game – while totally within his rights – is off the richter when it comes to being slippery and gruff. In comparison to the previous precedents of moodiness set by footballers scorned by the media, Boyd’s brush-offs and stink-eyes easily take the cake for the harshest of the modern era.
So should we understand his decision to give them – and subsequently us as the fans – absolute donuts outside of footy? Or is it totally acceptable for us to give him villain status because he deals exclusively in grunts and single syllables?
While some would say we should be judging our footballers purely on their on-field exploits, and that outside of the 80 minutes of game time they owe us nothing, in reality this is simply not the case.
Whether you’re old school or new vogue, you know how it works these days – elite footy is a business and those playing it are well-paid individuals who live a blessed lifestyle. Have your SUVs, your property portfolio and our fawning, on the proviso that you give us a little insight in to what happens off the field. Just nothing caught on a smartphone from inside the latrines though, thanks.
In saying all of this, whichever way you judge Boyd, you’re most probably right. Plus if you’re philosophical about the whole thing, you’ll notice he’s still a relative spring chicken at 26 years of age, meaning there’s plenty of opportunity before he calls time to experience an epiphany – if he seeks one, of course.
I’ve seen plenty of cantankerous athletes over the journey who have softened their stance on the media and opened themselves up to the public. It usually occurs after they experience some significant life event like a long-term injury, having children, seeing a cute puppy in a tissue ad at a moment of emotional weakness, or in most cases, when they realise retirement is imminent and they’re going to need a job in broadcasting.
So what’s the odds of Boyd one day changing his approach and opening up to the public to show us how he ticks? If I were a betting man – and I’m a very bad one – I would say the odds are low. This guy would play inside a bomb shelter if he could.
So in summary?
Boyd is an absolutely smashing footballer who plays like the clappers when he’s been paid, and he would be an excellent acquisition to any team I followed – but on current form, it’s not going to be enough to help me completely forget the other stuff.
Boyd has every right to a low profile, but his refusal to fulfil his responsibilities to the game’s wider duties may cost his fantastic playing career a well-deserved lifetime of unconditional acclaim.
Roarers. What emotion does Darius stir inside you? And how will he be viewed in time?
And please, no one-word answers or grunts.