There’s something about AFL coaching that has always fascinated me from the outside looking in.

Not because I fully understand the inner workings of the game. I don’t. I’ve never coached footy, never sat in those meetings, never lived inside the pressure cooker of a football club.

But as someone who spent years in elite sport, and around professional environments, leadership groups, coaches, performance staff and public scrutiny, I’ve always looked at AFL coaching and thought one thing: that job looks brutal.

The resignation, or perhaps more accurately the forced exit, of Michael Voss from Carlton only reinforces that feeling.

What stood out to me wasn’t just the outcome itself. Coaching changes happen in professional sport. They always will. Clubs panic, boards react, fans demand answers and eventually someone takes the fall.

But when club president Rob Priestley openly admitted he wanted Voss gone last season, it immediately painted a picture of the pressure Voss must have been under long before this ultimately happened.

And that’s what intrigues me most about the AFL. The responsibility seems to land almost entirely on the head coach.

It often feels like AFL clubs place more weight on the coach than any other Australian sport. The coach becomes the face of failure. The symbol of underperformance. The one who absorbs all the criticism, frustration, and heat.

Meanwhile, I sit there wondering: where does everybody else fit into this?

What about the assistant coaches and the rest of the football department? Their roles are enormous in modern football. Strategy, stoppages, ball movement, defence, player development, mindset, analysis, sports science, the list goes on.

AFL clubs now have layers upon layers of coaching and other high-performance staff. So if the team is failing, why does the conversation so quickly become singular? Why is the head coach often the only one truly in the crosshairs?

Then there’s recruitment and list management. Those making decisions on contracts, drafting, player retention and club direction. Are they judged as heavily? Sometimes maybe internally, but publicly it rarely feels that way.

And then the biggest one of all. The players. At what point does the playing group own a significant portion of the responsibility?

These are elite athletes. Extremely well-paid athletes. Highly trained professionals with access to the best facilities, recovery, preparation, and support systems imaginable.

At some stage, performance has to sit with the people actually crossing the boundary line. That’s not me saying coaches aren’t important. They absolutely are. Leadership matters, standards matter, environment matters. Coaches help set culture and direction.

But I do wonder whether modern sport, particularly the AFL, has become so consumed by coaching systems, statistics, data and structure that sometimes the instinctive side of the sport gets lost.

Suddenly, every sport wanted analysts, more detailed game plans, specialists, sports science departments, data tracking and endless meetings. And for a long time, the AFL was viewed as the benchmark in this space. Other sports, including cricket, looked at AFL clubs as leaders in professionalism and high-performance systems.

But I’m not even sure that gap exists anymore. If anything, I think some sports have adapted better in recent years. Or at least found a better balance between structure and allowing athletes to still play with instinct, freedom and personality.

When I watch great athletes in any sport, the ones that stand out usually still have that natural edge about them. That ability to react, trust themselves, take risks and feel the game rather than constantly process it. Like seeing players run to the bench to then have a screen put in front of them to review what just happened.

And it’s interesting how often we see the same reaction after a coach departs. Teams suddenly play freer. You hear phrases like “they looked energised” or “they played with freedom” or “they wanted to do it for the old coach.”

Sometimes performances improve almost instantly, despite no major tactical overhaul happening in a matter of days. A new coach doesn’t magically change everything overnight. Systems take time. Relationships take time. Trust takes time.

Which is why I’ve always found it fascinating how quickly coaching becomes the ultimate solution or ultimate scapegoat.

Professional sport isn’t perfect and never has been. In team sports, players won’t always like the coach. Coaches won’t always agree with players. Boards won’t always agree with football departments. Fans certainly won’t agree with anybody when results aren’t coming.

But in the end, team sport is still built on pretty simple foundations. Shared purpose. Shared accountability. Wanting success together. Competing for premierships. Having each other’s backs. Entertaining fans.

That part never changes no matter how advanced sport becomes. Maybe this decision ends up being the right one for Carlton. Maybe it sparks change. Maybe a new voice is needed. Time will tell.

But it still doesn’t sit entirely right with me how often the entire burden lands at the feet of one person.