At the peak of his powers, Mark Viduka once said the only ambition he had as a kid was to play for the Melbourne Knights, his boyhood club. It is the sort of tribalism the old NSL engendered, and the A-League tried to build on.
At times, the 15-year old competition has done it superbly. The Sydney and Melbourne derbies, the Big Blues and even the F3 derbies in the early years produced big crowds and the sort of occasions the redesigned league was constructed for.
But in recent years that has waned. Off-field issues, such as the governance war, and a baffling refusal to get to grips with football fan culture amongst the game’s hierarchy has left the competition feeling stale and badly in need of a reboot.
Identity is at the heart of the matter. In the absence of a long history, the tribalism Viduka embodied in his comments all those years ago was vital to the A-League’s continued growth.
Many bemoan the lack of quality on show in the domestic competition – not least since the post-Covid restart – while conveniently ignoring the fact that the best team the league has seen – Ange Postecoglou’s Brisbane Roar – were not able to sustain large crowds, even on the back of scintillating football, three championships and an Australian record 36-game unbeaten run.
The truth is, football fandom is more complex than mere success. It is about a sense of belonging.
Often this is generational, handed down from one generation to another. The A-League does not yet have that luxury. Success helps, of course, but it is not the panacea. Nor are star names. Players come and go, but it is the shirt and the badge that remain.
The A-League clubs (and there are some notable exceptions – Melbourne Victory and Sydney FC probably being the best two examples), have not yet embedded themselves deeply enough in their communities to generate that real sense of belonging. Many have not laid down roots in terms of actual bricks and mortar. Even Sydney and Victory do not own a stadium, a training ground, an office. There is a sense of permanence that is missing.
Football grounds in particular are shrines the world over. Go to Anfield, the Camp Nou, La Bombonera or the Westfalenstadion and you know you are unmistakably at the home of the club that plays there. It is history of course, but it is also football culture – these places simply reek of it.
By contrast, visit a Sydney FC home game at the old Allianz Stadium, and once you have parked up at the SCG complex (historically linked to cricket), sauntered past Rugby League HQ and dipped your lid to the offices that house the Waratahs, you might find yourself in a merchandise store selling Sydney Swans guernseys. This is not intended to cock a snook at the other sports – Australia is home to a variety of them, and stadium sharing is part of the culture here.
But for the most part, that is not football culture.
NSL clubs knew this. Some built their own stadiums, almost literally brick by brick. Loving homes, constructed as shrines to their football identity. Smaller than the big city venues, but built to create the sort of atmosphere football fans crave.
This is one of the missing links for the A-League and its clubs. Of the 11 regular venues, perhaps only Adelaide United and Perth Glory have stadiums that truly feel like football homes, and it is no accident they both came out of the NSL.
There are more than enough football fans in Australia to sustain a viable national competition, but not enough of them have felt a connection. Many have come, stayed a while and then drifted away – back to their rugby league club, their Premier League team, their families during the long summer months.
Many more who refuse to come at all believe the playing standard is poor and that the A-League therefore is not deserving of their affections.
This is unfair on the league, which has good games and bad games like any other, and mistakes poor quality for the real issue – a lack of emotional investment.
It is true that the stars from the Premier League and La Liga are on offer at the click of a button, but that is true for all countries around the world. Many support teams from the big leagues, but it does not stop them turning up to watch their local heroes.
For a while, Western Sydney Wanderers looked as though they had cracked the code. Their noisy fan base – with the Red and Black Bloc leading the choir – was on a big growth spurt until the stadium rebuild, and a media campaign against a misbehaving minority that essentially carpet bombed the entire terrace.
Today, Wanderers have a defender – Daniel Wilmering – who was a ball boy at their very first game against Central Coast Mariners in 2012. Like Viduka, he grew up wanting to play for his boyhood club because he became infused with that passion.
Now, the Wanderers experience is just like any other in the A-League. It’s sanitised and bland. And sanitised and bland does not win the battle for hearts and minds in such a crowded market as Australia.
