An Englishman wearing a jersey bearing the image of American troops to commemorate the sacrifices of Australian and New Zealand soldiers. Rugby league, you’ve outdone yourselves.
It says a lot about the state of the Wests Tigers, arguably the most gaffe-prone club in all the codes in all the land – but their latest self-inflicted embarrassment says something else, too, about Australian sport’s relationship with Anzac Day.
We’ll give the poor old Tigers the benefit of the doubt on this one. They meant well. As David Klemmer said, their hearts were in the right place when it comes to the commemorative jersey they rushed through for their round-eight clash with Manly-Warringah, which was apparently ticked off by the club, the NRL and the Holsworthy Army Barracks.
That was before punters on social media pointed out a teensy weensy little problem with the evocative image plastered across John Bateman’s torso: the soldiers walking away from the big helicopter in the background of this free stock photo were Americans, not Aussie diggers.
Cue outrage, and a grovelling apology from the club. That mothballed jersey is now the ultimate collector’s item.
This isn’t about apportioning blame. All of sport needs to think harder about these ‘commemorative’ uniforms, who they’re for, why they exist, and whether they have become sartorial box-ticking exercises, taking advantage of Anzac Day instead of actually serving it.
The offending Wests Tigers 2023 commemorative jersey which will now be redesigned.Credit:Instagram @nrl_weststigers
Generally speaking, Aussie sport does Anzac Day well. The conflation of footy with war can be problematic, but by and large, the pre-match ceremonies are note-perfect, those involved with the armed forces seem to appreciate it, and any opportunity we get in this mad, mixed-up world to contemplate the sacrifices of those who put their lives on the line for their countries should be embraced.
But it’s worth remembering that this is not some age-old tradition, but a very modern initiative. The first Anzac Day clash in the AFL between Essendon and Collingwood was held in 1995. In the NRL, the Anzac Day Cup between Sydney Roosters and St George Illawarra Dragons only began in 2002.
Since then, the country changed, and so has the way Australians treat April 25. It’s no longer as mournful as it once was; there’s a creeping Americanisation about it all, almost a glorification of war and the lionisation of those involved, with a streak of blind patriotism. It’s increasingly commercial; some call it ‘Brandzac Day’. It felt a lot different when I was a kid.
Sport’s approach has shifted, too. We went from one solitary game on Anzac Day, which felt special and unique, to a bloated Anzac Round, where we now have the Last Post being played up to a week after or before the day itself, all because the other clubs watched the Pies and Bombers or Roosters and Dragons rake in the cash and wanted a slice of the pie. ‘Lest We Forget’ becomes ‘Let’s Gone Warriors’, and the meaning is lost along the way.
Teams went from wearing a single poppy on the chest, or the Australian Army’s rising sun symbol, to dozens of poppies, or full-blown silhouettes of soldiers and their guns, or camouflage, or other images taken straight from the battlefield, or all of those things together, sublimated in a very unsubtle way across a polyester fishing shirt.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, sure, and I could be wrong here, but there seems to be a decent number of sports fans who reckon these jerseys can be incredibly tacky and distasteful, if not outright ugly. For what is supposed to be (or once was) a solemn, respectful occasion, they’re obnoxious, out of sync with the spirit of the day. And they don’t seem to be doing much for the cause they are designed for.
It’s great that the Tigers plan to auction off the re-done Anzac jerseys (featuring true Aussie diggers) that their players will wear against the Sea Eagles later this month, with the proceeds to go to Legacy – but on their website, there’s no suggestion that any of the $160 they’re asking punters to pay will go to the RSL, any army-related charities, or anywhere else other than the club’s coffers.
They’re not alone. Most other clubs in most other sports are in on the cash grab. The whole industry seems to be leveraging Anzac Day as a marketing opportunity, a chance to sell a few extra shirts, and not much more.
Obviously, there is a market for this sort of gaudy stuff, because teams keep churning it out. There’s also a black market for it: a quick Google search reveals a staggering amount of Anzac-adjacent, likely algorithmically generated merchandise being flogged by third parties.
If you’re a Gold Coast Suns fan, for instance, and you’ve been dying to show your appreciation for not only our troops, but Australia’s Indigenous communities, at the same time … well, you’re in luck, because you can do exactly that through this special $143.99 oodie (that’s a cross between a blanket and a hoodie – and a fair discount, too.)
If anything, we should be thanking the Tigers for bringing us to a tipping point. Let’s take a deep breath, step back and ask two simple questions: Why are we doing this? And can we do it better?
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