On Easter Monday, the general consensus seemed to be that football was stuffed. Halfway through the third quarter of the Hawthorn-Geelong clash, the gentleman in front of me announced to the entire bay that he was going home. Ripples of applause broke out, for he had been an insufferable twit all afternoon. Hell, if an absurd 50m penalty was the price we had to pay for ridding him from our lives, so be it.
The Easter round had been a mix of the piddling, the bewildering and the infuriating. The crackdown on dissent meant the game was suddenly bogged down in the most pettifogging details. What angle were the player’s arms at? Did his facial expression hint at belligerence? Was there a curse word? It was grade 6 stuff. The old legends on the panel shows were bursting out of their Calibre shirts. Many still believe that the field is theirs – that umpires should get out of the way, know their place, and cop the criticism. Graham Cornes said it was “un-Australian”. His son said it was like bringing a rocket launcher to a water pistol fight.
But a fortnight on, something remarkable has happened. The world hasn’t ended. The players, on the main, have adjusted. Senior umpires say their job has never been easier, or more enjoyable. The football has been excellent. The penalties for dissent have been negligible, and mostly reasonable.
When it comes to the AFL’s motives, it pays to be cynical. In a stadium sponsored by a superhero franchise, looking slightly more combative than usual, Brad Scott read from a prepared statement. “It’s incumbent upon us at the elite level to set the standards of behaviour for all levels of the game,” he said. Now that’s all well and good. But what sort of standard is the AFL itself setting? Grassroots football doesn’t seem to be at the forefront of their thinking when they’re spruiking betting odds, flogging junk food, letting Tasmanian football rot, or paying themselves obscene bonuses. Before Covid hit, they were drowning in money. Instead of splashing cash on sexy scoreboards, Super Bowl junkets and infantile pre-season competitions, they could have invested in the core fabric of the game. They could have nurtured and protected the young umpires coming through the ranks. Instead, they treated them as mere appendages to the game.
In suburban, country, and junior football, the worst offenders are often spectators and parents. Some of the most vile abuse is at the under-11 and under-12 level. You sometimes see signs: “These are kids. The Umpires are human. This is not the AFL”. Why a grown adult feels the need to belittle a teenager who’s probably being paid 20 or 30 bucks to officiate is beyond me. There are some very angry, dim-witted people out there. You see them in traffic jams and protest rallies. They vote. They post online. They procreate. They like footy. They drive umpires away. They’ve certainly spooked the AFL.
When Scott announced his crackdown, the assumption was that players were being thrown under the bus. Jacqui Lounder, a sports psychologist who has worked with several AFL clubs and dirt bike riders, said it’s impossible for the vast majority of elite sportspeople to restrain themselves. She said the part of the brain that regulates emotions, the amygdala, makes it impossible for athletes to hold back under stress. She was interviewed by Mark Robinson, an occasionally emotional man himself, who wrote an article on umpire dissent that began thus: “It is said the truth is always the first casualty of war. In footy, it seems common sense is almost always the first casualty of everything.”
But the vast majority of players have adjusted. Some of the best footballers of their generation – Martin, Pendlebury, Bontempelli and Gawn – are not the type of athletes to waste energy. They have done their bit. Now the AFL has to invest properly in its umpires. It has to pay them properly, train them properly, and not over-complicate their job. The umpires themselves have to be adults about this. The sport has evolved, and been manipulated, to the point where it’s nearly impossible to adjudicate. But they have to resist the urge to impose themselves on every contest.
The wider footballing public, including fans, pundits and parents, perhaps have the most difficult adjustment to make. A basic grasp of the rules is a good starting point. Not throwing a tantrum every time an umpire makes a mistake helps too. I’m as guilty of this as anyone. To take the most superficial of stabs, the older you are, the harder it is to come to terms with this. It is particularly hard for any fan over the age of 40, for whom mouthing off at the umpire has been part and parcel of being a supporter. It’s hard. It’s frustrating. At times, the dissent rule is a complete train-wreck. At times, it sucks every morsel of spontaneity and individuality out of the game. But in just two weeks, there’s been a correction from umpires. There’s been a total buy-in from players. There’s mounting evidence that this rule is working, and essential to the overall health of the game.
