As a footy writer, I keep a rather shambolic database of current and former footballers. It’s kind of a buoy I can grab on to when I’m up against a nasty deadline. Sometimes it’s four of five paragraphs; sometimes it’s a sentence on so-and-so’s inability to kick on his left, or his poor record against a certain player, or something vaguely interesting he said on a podcast. When Mitch Brown became the first man in VFL/AFL history to come out as gay or bisexual, I was curious to see what I had written on him. Here’s my Pulitzer worthy offering: “Nathan’s twin. Married to a netballer. Unlucky with injuries. Went and played in the Ammos.” If ever there was evidence that we’re just scratching the surface when it comes to this sport and the people who play it, it was there.
We learned a lot more about Brown on Wednesday. When he was drafted to West Coast, he was 18 and living in a two-team town, a town where footballers were worshipped and indulged more than any other, a club coming off a controversial premiership where the partying was completely out of control. During his time at the club, they resolved to instil a different culture. They drafted cleanskins. But it was still a football club. It was still pre same-sex marriage Australia. It was still what he called a “hypermasculine environment,” he told The Daily Aus.
At 19, he tentatively brought up his sexuality with a teammate and the conversation was quickly laughed away. He spoke about how good he was at hiding this part of his life from his teammates. He said homophobic abuse on the field was rife, and that it was a weapon, the ultimate insult, and a major reason he didn’t come out earlier. He remembers “two people having a conversation around how they would feel having a shower next to a gay man and one of the players said, ‘I’d rather be in a cage full of lions than have a shower next to a gay man.’” That was the world he lived, worked and played in. They were the conversations he had to navigate. That was the part of himself he had to blunt and hide. Only now, he said, in his mid 30s, was he finally figuring out who he is, and where he fits.
Several years ago, Four Corners sent its crack investigative reporter Louise Milligan to explore why no AFL footballer had come out as publicly gay. Milligan is a journalist to be reckoned with. But the tone of her investigation always sat uneasily with me. We heard from a completely nonsensical Jason Akermanis from his real estate office. We heard, as is constitutionally required in football, from Eddie McGuire. We heard from Robert Murphy, who insisted that a football club would be the most welcoming of environments for a young man struggling with his sexuality. “You’ll be a superpower for your football team and your football club,” he said.
Underpinning it all was a bewilderment – from both the footballers and those observing them – that no one felt safe to come out. It was as though they were saying: “C’mon boys. We’re safe. You’ll make a mint. You’ll be a hero. And we’ll feel bloody good about ourselves.” And so many gay people responded – that’s not what we see. We watch your panel shows, we watch your ads, we listen to your leaders, and we listen to your excuses, and we don’t see a welcoming environment.
Afterwards, Milligan spoke to a retired footballer, a gay man, “a tall man with a gentle countenance. When I introduce myself, I see a hint of hyper vigilance through his eyes.” His hyper vigilance was warranted. Not everyone wants to come out. Not everyone wants to be Murphy’s superhero. And for young players in particular, most of them are just trying to get drafted, trying to fit into a team, trying to work out who they are. Besides, even if football clubs in 2025 were safe spaces, the online world is often not. Footballers are abused online for all sorts of reasons. They’re abused for being Indigenous, for not manning-up, for costing punters the last leg of a multi. You can be a superhero. You can have Murphy putting his arms around you. But you’re powerless against a retired farmer with six Twitter followers. It’s telling therefore, that the first man to come out is no longer of that world, and no longer had anything to prove, to hide, or to protect.
It would be negligent to write about this issue and not mention Izak Rankine. It’s important and it’s reassuring to know that these athletes are human, that they’re not automatons, that they can be stupid, bigoted and ignorant. It’s just as important to acknowledge that they can also learn and have remorse and grow. And it’s good to know that we can have conversations about things that actually matter, things that go beyond stats and cliches and banalities and trade bait. It’s good that an administration is called out when it falls short of what should be done. That’s how things change for the better.
Former league CEO Gillon McLachlan said that the first footballer to come out would carry a “burden”. Courage comes in many forms in football. There’s courage in running headfirst into a pack. There’s courage in running yourself into the ground. And there’s the courage of Brown – to speak with clarity, with optimism and with grace – qualities the AFL has been lacking this past fortnight.
