There comes a point in every footy season where everyone involved begins to fray. It often starts just after the Anzac Day round, when Melbourne’s big wet sets in, the ladder begins to splinter, there’s debate about “the state of the game” and there’s often a public spat between two prominent media figures. For anyone trying to process it or avoid it, it’s good to consult someone from outside the footy bubble and be reminded that none of this stuff actually matters.
But it started early this year. This year’s soap opera began in the first week of March, with a 12-goal onslaught and a voice message. Sam Docherty, sounding like he was speaking from an F45 class while riding a lawnmower, unleashed an expletive filled, rather entertaining and fairly accurate depiction of his former club.
It’s very rare to hear such honest thoughts from a footballer just out of the game. Players who are forging media careers are usually low altitude flyers. But what was unusual about this wasn’t the specific criticism, but the tone. It was the tone of a man who had lived this for years – toeing the line, backing the coach, adhering to and sticking up for a flawed gameplan. These type of vents must be common at every club, and in every playing group. But all we hear is the company line.
In many ways, it was the most honest thing anyone affiliated with the club has said in years. It was great for neutrals. But it was terrible for Carlton. Docherty’s former club and coach, Michael Voss, are entitled to be absolutely filthy with him. In sport, you should never piss on statues, and Docherty is as close to unimpeachable as footballers get. When he retired last year, Voss spoke of a selfless, fearless footballer, the embodiment of a team player.
But in this instance, he was no more helpful than the performative talkback caller, or Blues powerbroker Bruce Mathieson mouthing off from his pokies kingdom. The loss to Sydney on Thursday night was bad, but it wasn’t worthy of blowing the place up via a voice memo. The Swans are an outstanding team and the Blues have a dire record at the SCG. Voss has a new crew of players and coaches who will take time to gel. It should have been a time for cautious optimism, for realism, for patience. Instead, several years of unresolved resentment and frustration boiled over.
And it was very much a blow up for the modern media age. It sparked a debate, if that’s the right word, about what former player turned podcaster Daniel Gorringe calls “old man media”. He hopped into some of the most established media figures in the game. He even had a crack at Leigh Matthews, who – I suspect – could still snap him in half like a Windy Hill point post.
I am as “old man media” as anyone. This column may as well be written on the typewriter Paul Sheldon whacked Annie Wilkes over the head with in Misery. The comic stylings of influencers like Gorringe don’t really add much to my life. But the way he and Docherty spoke was more genuine than anything coming out of Carlton in recent years. Voss has recently spoken of “the authentic me”, of a team that “attacks with humility” and of “collective ownership”.
The problem is, no one in the real world actually speaks like that. They speak like Gorringe and Docherty. And increasingly, young people go to platforms like Gorringe’s for their footy content. It’s something the league’s new head of corporate affairs, Sharon McCrohan, touched on when she addressed all 18 clubs last month. The media figures most capable of bringing down their club, she said, were not the likes of Gerard Whateley, Kane Cornes or Caroline Wilson. It was gossip columnists and content creators. The AFL and the clubs prefer them inside the tent pissing out. There’s some outstanding independent analysts out there who are denied AFL media accreditation. But people like Gorringe are welcomed with open arms and unfettered access.
Allan Jeans was a copper and a football coach. The devastation and depravity he encountered in his day job always informed how he approached his sporting role. “Football is simple,” he would say, “and so is coaching.” But it’s not any more. Voss spent the summer massaging the messaging, gently lowering expectations and bedding down a different way of playing. He spent Thursday night trying to neutralise Sydney’s midfield. And he spent the aftermath getting his head around the new media reality he operates in – a world where a TikToker can inflict as much damage as Errol Gulden’s left boot.
This is an extract from Guardian Australia’s free weekly AFL email, From the Pocket. To get the full version, just visit this page and follow the instructions
