Leadership comes in many forms, particularly in sport.

Neale Daniher was a young-gun football captain who never led his team out as skipper; a coach who revived his club’s fortunes and took it to a grand final but did not win one.

But the biggest mark he made came after his football career, when he took on the disease he called “The Beast” and not only recast people’s expectations of what was possible, but became the public face of the fight for a cure.

Daniher’s resilience was tested many times in life, the first as a player for Essendon in the VFL.

A country kid from the Riverina — born in West Wyalong, playing for Ungarie — he was part of one of the great footy families.

One of 11 siblings, Daniher was one of four brothers to play AFL, and in one game in his final season, he made history, playing alongside Terry, Chris and Anthony Daniher for the Bombers.

But his playing career was cruelled by injury, with knee problems that required three reconstructions and left him with only 82 games in 12 VFL seasons before a final chapter with Werribee in the VFA.

Daniher had a knack for communicating, whether to his players and teammates, fans, or the general public.

With his playing career over, he went into coaching, and after showing his mettle as an assistant coach at Essendon and Fremantle, he took on the post of senior coach at Melbourne.

He brought a straight-shooting, no-nonsense style to the Demons, challenging established players to do things differently, work harder and never give up.

Under Daniher, Melbourne made it to the grand final in 2000 against his old side, Essendon. The fairytale finish could not happen, and they lost by 60 points.

But the coach had the respect of everyone at the club — and when the Demons came under big financial pressure a few years later, he threw the switch to vaudeville, so to speak, bringing out ‘the Reverend’.

Daniher’s persona opened up, and he turned into a football preacher, making headlines, lifting morale, driving vital membership sales, and keeping the club relevant and alive.

He coached until 2007 before leaving, then joined West Coast in 2008 in a footy executive role for another five years before resigning for personal reasons. Those reasons were made clear the following year.

When he went public with the news he had motor neurone disease in 2014, in one of his first interviews (with Fox Footy), Daniher summed up his philosophy about the disease in the most straightforward football terms he knew.

“There’s a saying in football, when it’s your time to go [for a mark or a contest], you gotta go,” he said.

“And it’s my time to go.”

In the same interview, he also described himself as “hard to kill”.

A bravura if confronting phrase, given his diagnosis. The statistics were and are stark.

The average life expectancy of people living with MND is just two to three years. There is, as yet, no cure for the condition.

Daniher lived his life with the urgency of someone who knew that time was short, and that the decision to try, to fight, to make a difference could not be put off. In the end, he would live 13 years with the disease — and he certainly made a difference.

Master marketeer creates epic event at MCG 

By force of personality, he launched FightMND, a charity to raise funds for research.

The central piece in the puzzle was the Big Freeze, marketed around the (then) Queen’s Birthday game between Melbourne and Collingwood at the MCG. The selling of beanies became big business to raise funds for assistance and research into MND, but just as important was the spectacle.

Like a master marketeer, Daniher used his platform and personality to galvanise people to donate, to support, and to take part, and feel part of it all.

No-one wanted to let him down. Sports stars, actors, celebrities and media figures all took their place at the top of the famous slide at the MCG.

Tens of thousands of footy fans roared their approval as they took the plunge and emerged gasping, soaked and freezing. Watching it all happen — with a trademark cheeky grin — was Daniher, often wearing the Big Freeze blue and grey beanie as if it was a top hat or a crown.

In the battle for the best costume, not many outdid Nick Riewoldt’s Freddie Mercury look — complete with dyed hair, fake moustache, blue jeans and cut-off microphone — in 2019. But it didn’t matter whether they looked vaguely cool or clever, outrageous or a little naff on the way to the ice-water.

What did matter was that by bringing a dose of fun to the occasion, not only did they help raise a lot of money and awareness to combat a dreadful disease, they also brought a sense that the nation was with everyone who had to live with MND, and the families, friends and carers who had to watch them go through it.

And it would not have happened without Daniher.

The Big Freeze took off, and the money flowed in the millions and tens of millions of dollars.

MND became a household word, linked in everyone’s mind with the man from the Riverina.

As the disease progressed and speaking became an increasing struggle, Daniher kept going regardless. And every year, the love and respect for him seemed to grow.

The Big Freeze spread to other clubs, as teams clamoured to show their support.

In 2016, he received a Member of the Order of Australia (AM) award in the Queen’s Birthday Honours List.

Three years later, he was named Victorian of the Year for his work in raising awareness about MND.

In 2021, he became an Officer of the Order of Australia (AO). But the biggest was yet to come.

In 2025, Neale Francis Daniher was again named Victorian of the Year and, this time, Australian of the Year, for his determination and ongoing work raising funds and awareness across Australia for MND.

By this time, he could no longer speak without special technology. But Daniher showed that he could still be a staunch advocate for the people and the cause he supported without his own voice.

Daniher lived to see a Melbourne premiership — the first in 57 years — in 2021. He did not live to see the breakthrough in MND, but his strength, resilience and dignity in the face of the fight he could not win helped bring a country with him and no doubt have inspired those who follow him.

In a football sense, he never won a premiership as a player or senior coach — although he was part of Essendon’s 1993 flag as an assistant under Kevin Sheedy.

But what he did win was far greater — as a leader, an advocate and a driving force behind a movement that will continue to exist until a cure is found.

Regardless of when that happens, Neale Daniher’s life’s work ensures his name will never be forgotten, inside or outside football.