“Those are my principles, and if you don’t like them, well…I have others” – Groucho Marx.
North Melbourne’s Paul Curtis received a three-match suspension for a chase-down tackle, in which there was no intent to cause injury and his considerable momentum carried his opponent, Port Adelaide’s Josh Sinn, into the turf, causing a concussion.
Willie Rioli was first spared from sanction for allegedly threatening an opponent, Bulldog Bailey Dale, in a message after the game. When it emerged that Rioli had allegedly also made threatening comments to Geelong and Essendon opponents – incidents that neither club felt serious enough to raise hackles about – the AFL flipped, not the bird, but their position, handing Rioli a one-match ban.
Paul Curtis’ tackle on Josh Sinn.Credit: AFL Photos
By the time Rioli was suspended, the ban was irrelevant because he’d already chosen to withdraw from the Showdown against the Crows, having been understandably exhausted and drained by the mini-saga. The AFL’s initial clemency only made his situation worse.
The Curtis case was troubling on the score of the penalty, which, due to the rigid system that the match review officer deploys, gave the AFL tribunal a binary choice between zero or three matches.
That same chasm in potential outcomes has been evident in several high-vis tribunal cases, including Patrick Cripps (2022), Brayden Maynard (2023 finals) and, on the same evening last July, when both Charlie Cameron and Toby Bedford succeeded in having their three-match bans for rough conduct overturned by the tribunal.
In the AFL, there is a highly prescribed system of crime and punishments for collision incidents that take place on the field.
The Curtis case was so obviously flawed that Laura Kane, the AFL’s football boss, suggested that they would consider whether some flexibility could be added to the rigid MRO system.
In the social or behavioural realm, the opposite prevails – the AFL’s punishments, or absolutions, are not based on adherence to a series of criteria. Nor are they founded upon clearly defined principles. Their principles are much like Groucho Marx’s.
The apparent objective, in a non-football/social arena, is to maintain flexibility in devising punishments, and to bend like a willow according to public and media reactions, often in the interests of brand protection. There is the rule of lawyers, not the rule of law.
Tarryn Thomas was sacked by North Melbourne after an 18-match suspension for repeated conduct breaches, such as threatening a woman by direct message. Further, the AFL imposed major restrictions on his return to the game, even at second-tier level.
The AFL was right to sanction Thomas, and North made a principled stand in sacking one of their best players. As it stands, his AFL career is likely over. One can argue that he had plenty of chances to learn and change his ways at Arden Street.
Conversely, it is clear that the tough stance on Thomas was a change of direction for the AFL, which hitherto had not heavily penalised – let alone effectively barred a player from returning – for the troubling behaviours that Thomas exhibited.
Tarryn Thomas was sacked by the Kangaroos.Credit: Getty Images
Thomas, thus, was subject to a shift in the community zeitgeist – a welcome one – on the scourge of gendered violence or mistreatment of women. He was held to a higher standard, handed a heavier penalty because the social climate had changed.
Any mitigating challenges he had endured growing up as a young Indigenous man were either already factored in by North, or superseded by the AFL’s priority of showing solidarity with victims of gendered violence.
So, there’s a highly inflexible system of crime and punishment on the field of battle, and seemingly few steadfast principles in the social/behavioural realm – with the possible exception of illicit drugs.
Laura Kane is the AFL’s executive general manager of football.Credit: AFL Photos
If a player is filmed on a mobile phone with drugs, he will get two matches; if he tests positive privately under the illicit drugs code, he will be treated medically and spared. The real offence, thus, is embarrassing the code, rather than the behaviour itself.
It’s true that the AFL will take action against racism, homophobia or offences against women, but the goalposts even in these matters aren’t firmly planted.
The AFL Players’ Association, which has the unpleasant duty of defending the indefensible on behalf of members, has complained about what they see as a disparity between what players cop compared with coaches and officials.
Port, quite reasonably, ventilated the extent of racist abuse that Rioli has experienced (football boss Chris Davies making a powerful case on 3AW), as a way of providing context.
We all can learn much from hearing about Rioli’s experiences, as a Tiwi Islander who is constantly battered by racism (especially online), and gain understanding and empathy. If he is having a hard time, the AFL should support him.
But that support cannot absolve him fully for poor behaviours either, any more than the MRO/tribunal excuses a player who retaliates.
It is not feasible for the AFL to deal with Rioli-like scenarios, wacky Wednesdays (GWS), Balta, Thomas or Taylor Walker-type offences according to a rigidly defined set of penalties. Mandatory sentencing isn’t the answer.
What would be helpful, however, would be a more visible set of principles that make these judgments less baffling and ad hoc.
