Chris Newman called. Brett Deledio called. Trent Cotchin called. Hardwick called (and Ellis accidentally hung up on him). Within days he was at the club going through induction, and then he was at the airport, headed to Arizona for a high-altitude camp.

He grabbed a chocolate bar and Deledio appeared in front of him: “Would Gary Ablett be eating a bloody chocolate bar?”

I threw it in the bin. Shit, potted by the vice-captain on day one. But I learned a good lesson straight away. He moved in with a host family, eventually bought his own place and lived there before fixing it up and selling. He bought another place, and just completed an eight-month renovation. It is his castle. So yeah, feel free to ask me anything you want, Ellis said to the group. That’s my story.

"I can finally be who I want to be.​" Brandon Ellis makes his speech to teammates.

The conference room applauded and cheered and rose as one. Players approached and held him close. For Ellis it was the beginning not just of a training camp or a new season but of another phase of his career. Perhaps his life. “By the end, people were crying,” he says now, back at Tigerland after a midweek training session. “I felt like I became a new person. And I just felt so much closer to the group, so accepted. It was massive for me. Massive. It’s like I can finally be who I want to be.”

Ellis in year 11 at Princes Hill Secondary College.

His play this season as a running defender has been a revelation. And he attributes that form – indeed the form of all Tigers – to the Triple H sessions that have happened every other week this year. “There’s so much love for each other,” he says. “We stay positive, we stick tight, we don’t let anything in the cracks, or anyone inside our heads. And we know our best footy together is good enough to beat anyone.” Hardwick smiles when he hears such endorsements. He didn’t really know the exercise would produce such an outpouring, or be so popular, but he had an inkling the sessions could prove important. “You always bring different things to the group at different times, but this idea of ‘connection’ was something I delved into late last year,” he says. “It seemed more relevant this season.” The coach didn’t hear about it on a leadership course, or from another coach. He read about it in a book by Jon Gordon, a self-styled American leadership guru. The book was called You win in the locker room first, and it featured many of the methods used by Atlanta Falcons coach Mike Smith, who led that franchise through one of the most striking turnarounds in NFL history. The Triple H exercise has also worked with everyone from the Clemson University football team to the UCLA women’s basketball program.

Damien Hardwick with Ellis at training in 2012. Photo: Sebastian Costanzo

It worked at Richmond, according to Shane McCurry – a culture and leadership consultant to the club – because of the trust within the group. McCurry saw it immediately in that initial session with Ellis. “There was not a single head in the room that wasn’t solely focused on the person up the front, and it wasn’t in a way that made them feel isolated,” McCurry says. “It was that focus and that presence – that idea that ‘We’re right here with you, we know you’re doing it tough up there, but we’re behind you’.” Advertisement At times the program can sound like the kind of pop psychology too eagerly lapped by sporting organisations and commercial sales teams. Gordon himself is fond of canned inspirational quotes: “Humility doesn’t mean thinking less of yourself, it means thinking of yourself less.” But there is nothing hokey or semantic about the Triple H method – certainly not as practised at Richmond. “It’s pretty confronting, but it’s also like a load off their mind,” says Tim Livingstone, head of coaching at Richmond. “We’re talking about stories of sickness and broken homes. Put it this way, if you’ve got to put your arse on the line for your mate, and take a hit on the field, you’re more likely to do it if you have some care for what he’s been through.” For obvious reasons the sessions are closely guarded – players and coaches only.

Every man willing to share his story has spoken with awe about watching a teammate cry or shake – and about how it felt to lay themselves bare.