The popular narrative after Australia’s 3–0 Ashes series win was that Nathan Cleary didn’t really turn up – that it was Cameron Munster, Harry Grant and Reece Walsh who stole the show.
And sure, they lit up the highlight reel. But if you actually watched the games – not just the flashy moments, you’d see that Cleary was at the heart of everything.
The halfback, after all, is the most influential position on the field. And when your team wins all three tests comfortably, that doesn’t happen by accident.
Cleary’s fingerprints were all over Australia’s performance – not through spectacular tries or big celebrations, but through control, precision, and poise.
He went about his work quietly: directing play, dominating the kicking game, pulling off effortless 40/20s, forcing dropouts, keeping the defence guessing, and defending strongly. He set the rhythm, built the platform, and gave players like Munster, Grant and Walsh the space to shine.
But it’s important to understand that Cleary doesn’t always play this way. In club football, he demands control – and his team needs him to. At Penrith, the game flows through him. He dictates tempo, calls the shots, and takes charge when it matters most.
But in representative footy, surrounded by stars of a different calibre, he takes a different approach. Out of respect for the players around him, he quietly steers the ship, allowing others to express themselves.
Now, I’ll be honest: I still think there are moments where he should demand control at rep level too – not out of arrogance, but out of leadership. But even so, Cleary’s willingness to respect those around him and focus on doing his job is a mark of genuine humility. He leads without needing to dominate.
And that’s where I think his example speaks powerfully to the faith. Because what Cleary does in those rep games — the quiet steering, the decision to let others shine, the commitment to doing the hard, unseen work — mirrors what the Christian life is meant to look like.
Jesus never told his followers to chase the spotlight. Rather, he told them to serve, for “whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant.” Greatness, in God’s eyes, isn’t about being seen — it’s about enabling others to flourish.
Cleary’s game shows that. He’s a playmaker in the truest sense — creating opportunities for others. He sacrifices the personal highlight reel for the good of the team. In doing so, he reminds us that real leadership doesn’t need applause — it needs conviction.
In our faith, too, there are “playmakers” everywhere — people who quietly make things happen in their families, workplaces and parishes. They might not score the tries, but without them, the team doesn’t function.
We live in a world that rewards noise and visibility. But sometimes the most Christ-like thing we can do is go about our work faithfully and let others shine.
So if Nathan Cleary really isn’t a “rep player,” maybe that says more about how we measure greatness than about him. Because the quiet ones — the servants, the playmakers, the humble leaders — are often the ones holding everything together.
And they’re the ones silently steering the team to a 3–0 sweep.
