What a Washout Actually Looks Like

One washed-out round. Two people awake before dawn. And what happened next.

3am.

Emma is awake.

Rain absolutely pouring. Wind howling outside.

Her first thought?

I wonder how many games are going to be washed out today.

5am.

She messages me.

It is pouring down her way too.

We agree there will be closures.

We just do not know how many yet.

The morning starts before the sun does

I get up and get dressed quickly because I know I am going to be busy in the wee small hours.

I drive to Wellesley Park, thinking I will set myself up in the clubhouse with my laptop.

About 6.30am.

Before I have even opened the laptop, I know Wellesley is unplayable.

I communicate that to Football Tasmania rosters and to South Hobart, whose home ground it is.

Then I wait.

Emma, meanwhile, is up checking her phone.

Nine forfeits already.

The reasons vary.

Some teams do not want to travel because they are worried their ground will close.

Some little ones do not want to play in the wind and rain.

Some teams simply do not have enough players because that happens on any given weekend, regardless of weather.

Emma starts messaging opposition delegates, letting them know and trying to keep everybody updated.

Her own team group chat starts too, with parents wondering whether they are playing.

At the same time, Emma and I are messaging back and forth.

Just the two of us, trying to look after a competition involving nearly 4,000 kids.

Waterlogged pitches.

Puddles everywhere.

The question keeps coming back.

Is it safe?

The avalanche

There is a severe weather warning for damaging winds.

The rain is expected to ease around 9am.

Maybe we will lose the early kick-offs.

Maybe the wind will clear some of the water.

Maybe the grounds will drain.

There is still hope.

Then it starts.

Sorry, our ground is closed.

And the forfeits keep coming.

We cannot keep up with sending them through to the opposition.

Too many.

Too fast.

There is no way I can post forfeits individually on social media. I can only just keep up with the ground closures.

So I put a message on Facebook saying I cannot answer questions about individual grounds. There is simply too much information coming in and I will post closures as soon as we receive them.

Parents at home are wondering whether to venture out.

Do they get the kids dressed?

Do they leave early?

Do they take it slowly because the game may not happen anyway?

Fair enough.

But I cannot keep up.

It is freezing in the clubhouse and my fingers will not work fast enough on the keyboard.

I am madly updating Facebook as each closure arrives.

Messages from Emma telling me what needs to be posted.

Phone calls from clubs wanting to know what is happening to their games.

Emails.

Messages.

More forfeits.

More closures.

And the list keeps growing underneath me.

At the same time, our ground contractor is out in the pouring rain.

He is physically inspecting grounds.

Looking at drainage.

Setting up nets where games might still be possible.

Putting a ball down and seeing whether it will actually roll.

Trying to save games, not cancel them.

A single name on the closure list can also mean far more than one ground.

Metro, for example, is not one closure.

It is four.

When a venue like that goes, the flow-on is enormous.

Kick-offs begin at 9am and continue on the hour through the day, so one decision can wipe out games at every time slot.

Taroona.

Lightwood Park.

Princes Street.

Lower Queenborough.

Metro.

Calvin.

Huon Valley.

Channel Christian School.

Waimea Heights.

Mount Nelson.

Soldiers Memorial.

And more.

Wowsers.

What is actually left?

And even that list only represents the proactive ones.

The delegates who have already physically made it to their grounds, inspected them and called us.

What about the others?

The ones who have not even reached their venue yet?

Some grounds are only set up shortly before the first game, so at that stage there is simply nothing to report.

Closed or open.

Nobody knows yet.

8am is getting closer.

The 9am kick-offs are coming.

We need to let people know one way or another and the urgency is growing by the minute.

And it is not just Hobart.

Our competition stretches from North Chigwell to Dover.

People are travelling right across the region.

And then comes another impossible part of mornings like this.

Families travelling long distances understandably want the decision made as early as possible.

Please tell us now.

We do not want to load the kids into the car, drive all the way into Hobart and discover the ground is closed.

Completely reasonable.

At exactly the same time, other families want us to wait.

Please do not cancel yet.

The rain is meant to ease.

Give it another hour.

Maybe the grounds will drain.

Maybe we can still play.

Also completely reasonable.

But they are opposite requests.

Make the decision early and people are angry that we did not wait.

Wait longer and people are angry that we did not tell them sooner.

There is simply no way to satisfy both.

And even where a ground is still technically open, there is another practical reality.

Teams make decisions about whether to turn up.

If half your competition has already forfeited or lost its ground, the teams still standing are not necessarily guaranteed a game either.

Opposition teams may decide not to travel for a fixture that might not go ahead or to a ground they do not trust will remain playable.

By then, the question is no longer whether one isolated game somewhere might still be possible.

The question is whether a competition of nearly 4,000 children, around 250 games and more than 40 grounds can still operate safely and practically as a competition.

The call nobody wants to make

In the middle of all this, Emma is also organising her own children.

Gumboots.

Rain jackets.

Forget the umbrella.

Because she is not just the person managing forfeits and delegates that morning.

She is a football mum too.

For me, it is different.

My son Ned is a club academy and technical director and the washout means a much bigger morning for him too.

Every team.

Every family.

Every coach.

One decision at the top becomes hours of extra work flowing down through clubs.

And then we make our first phone call to each other.
7.50am. Let’s wait until 8am on the dot. Let’s give it 10 more.

Then at 8am.

Do we wash out the round?

We know exactly what that decision means.

We know how many children will be disappointed.

How many parents will be frustrated.

How many messages will follow.

But we also know our responsibility is to provide a safe environment for children to play.

So we make the call.

A total washout.

More than 200 junior football games will not be played.

More than 200 opportunities for kids to run around, see their friends, kick a ball and simply be kids are gone.

That hurts.

We know there were children who woke up excited.

Parents who built their Saturday around football.

Coaches and managers who had prepared all week.

Our own families wanted to be there too.

And yes, the bloody sun came out.

Yes, by 11am it looked fine.

But at 7am it absolutely was not.

The decision had already been made hours earlier, when there was a severe weather warning, grounds were going under one after another, forfeits were pouring in and nobody knew how many venues would still be playable by the time the first games were due to begin.

Hindsight from a dry lunchtime does not change what the information looked like before breakfast.

Then it went public

The announcement went out to thousands of people.

Almost immediately, the messages began.

Emails.

Phone calls.

Private messages.

Some angry.

Some abusive.

Many anonymous.

Directed at the people who, hours earlier, had been doing everything possible to get football played.

Social media.

Wow.

To be fair, it was a small number.

But it is always the way.

The squeaky wheels get the most attention.

They are the ones you dwell on.

The ones that make you toss and turn at midnight long after the decision has been made and there is nothing left to do about it.

I also received one beautiful email thanking us.

Most people do not write when they are happy.

A word on timing

Emma and I also watched CRJFA being tagged by would-be local government candidates questioning the decision.

We welcome their interest in junior football.

We would welcome even more strongly their support for the infrastructure that would make mornings like this less damaging.

Better drainage.

More all-weather facilities.

More artificial football surfaces.

Grounds that can cope with a Tasmanian winter.

If local government candidates genuinely want fewer junior football games washed out, there is something tangible to advocate for.

One of those candidates was standing for Kingborough Council.

One of the first ground closures we received that morning came from Kingborough.

Lightwood Park.

Make of that what you will.

We also saw comments on other associations' pages congratulating them for playing on when we had not.

We were pleased for every child who got a game.

But comparisons are not always like-for-like.

CRJFA is managing nearly 4,000 players, around 250 games and more than 40 grounds stretching from North Chigwell to Dover.

When multiple venues begin closing across a competition of that size, the effect compounds very quickly.

What we would ask

Please remember something before directing anger at the people who make these calls.

We are football people through and through.

Emma has young children who were disappointed.

I have a son whose own morning became considerably harder because of the decision we made.

Our ground contractor was standing out in the rain trying to save pitches.

Two of us were sitting with phones and laptops trying to keep the competition moving while closures and forfeits arrived faster than we could communicate them.

Nobody wakes up hoping to cancel a weekend of junior football.

Nobody enjoys being the person thousands of families are frustrated with by lunchtime.

We understand the frustration.

We understand the disappointment.

You are entitled to disagree with the decision.

You are entitled to question it.

You are entitled to tell us you think we got it wrong.

But abuse directed at the people trying to deliver junior football is not acceptable.

And if yesterday has started a wider conversation about wet-weather cancellations, good.

Let us have that conversation.

Let us talk about drainage.

Let us talk about artificial surfaces.

Let us talk about the fact that nearly 4,000 children are trying to play every weekend on more than 40 grounds and how vulnerable that competition becomes when prolonged rain hits.

If councils and local government candidates want to help, there is something very real to work on.

Because behind every decision like this are people up before the sun, people standing in the rain checking grounds and two of us on phones and laptops trying desperately to keep football going.

Yesterday, the right call was safety first.

And sometimes doing the right thing still means being the person everyone is angry with.

Football, Not a Wrestling Match

There are some advantages to being an early riser in Tasmania.

While much of the country is still asleep, I can be sitting in my pyjamas and slippers, toast and marmalade in hand, watching live Premier League football from the other side of the world.

There is something rather wonderful about that.

The Premier League is the most watched football league in the world. It might be played in England, but it belongs to millions of us who organise our weekends, and sometimes our sleep, around watching it.

And this season, some things are changing.

Twenty teams will still chase the title over 380 matches. Supporters will still spend Monday mornings explaining why the referee ruined their weekend.

But the Premier League wants the game to flow better.

Less time-wasting. Less disruption. Quicker VAR decisions. Fewer soft fouls.

And one of the principles for referees in 2026/27 could hardly be simpler:

Not every contact is a foul.

Hallelujah.

Less is more

There is another rather lovely phrase in the Premier League's instructions to referees this season.

When it comes to handball:

Less is more.

Thank goodness for that.

After years in which players, coaches, commentators and probably quite a few referees have struggled to explain precisely what constitutes handball from one weekend to the next, perhaps we can stop analysing where someone's arm was in relation to their body every five minutes.

The Premier League wants to maintain a high threshold for fouls generally.

Football is a contact sport. It always has been.

That doesn't mean allowing dangerous challenges. Of course it doesn't.

But a bump is not necessarily a foul. A shoulder to shoulder challenge isn't necessarily a foul. And somebody falling over certainly doesn't automatically mean there has been a foul.

Supporters seem to agree.

In the Premier League's consultation, 96 per cent of respondents supported maintaining the high threshold for penalising challenges.

Good.

Although there is one type of contact that has always driven Ken mad.

The hugging at corners and free kicks.

It is one of his great football pet hates and, once you start looking for it, you see it everywhere.

Not a little bit of jostling for position. I mean the full embrace. Both arms around an opponent. Shirts being pulled. Players practically wrestling one another before the ball has even arrived.

Ken's response is always the same.

Surely that's a foul.

And really, surely it is.

If you've got both arms wrapped around another player and you are stopping him from moving towards the ball, what else would we call it?

Cuddling.

The Premier League is specifically asking referees to pay greater attention to obvious holding that materially prevents an opponent from playing the ball.

Good.

Maybe Ken will finally get his wish.

Let defenders defend. Let attackers attack.

But perhaps we can stop pretending that hugging someone around the waist at a corner is simply part of football.

Get on with it

Then we come to time-wasting.

Footballers have turned this into an art form.

The throw-in that takes an eternity.

The goal kick where the ball is carefully positioned, repositioned, stared at for a while and perhaps moved another few centimetres before the goalkeeper finally decides he's ready.

We've all watched it.

Now referees can begin a five second countdown when there is clear and deliberate delay.

Take too long over a throw-in and the opposition gets it.

Take too long over a goal kick and the opposition gets a corner.

Excellent.

Nothing complicated about that.

Get on with it or lose the ball.

Ten seconds. Off you go.

We all know this one too.

Your team is leading 1-0 with five minutes to go.

The substitution board goes up.

And, would you believe it, the player being substituted just happens to be on the other side of the pitch.

Suddenly he develops the walking speed of a 97 year old.

Not anymore.

A substituted player has ten seconds to leave the field.

If he doesn't, his replacement has to wait before coming on.

I suspect we are about to witness some miraculous improvements in walking speed.

The mysterious goalkeeper injury

This might be my favourite.

According to the Premier League's own survey, 73 per cent of respondents thought goalkeeper time-wasting was a problem.

But an even bigger 85 per cent thought goalkeeper "tactical timeouts" were a problem.

Of course they are.

We all know this one.

The opposition is on top. Momentum is building. The manager needs to reorganise things.

And suddenly the goalkeeper is sitting on the grass.

Oh dear.

On comes the physio.

Meanwhile, the ten outfield players wander across to the technical area, have a drink and get a quick coaching session.

A minute or two later the goalkeeper makes a miraculous recovery.

English professional football is trialling a wonderfully simple deterrent.

If play is stopped because the goalkeeper needs treatment, the team must nominate an outfield player who also leaves the pitch and, subject to the exceptions in the protocol, stays off for at least a minute after play restarts.

Now that I like.

You can still have your tactical timeout if you really want one.

But it might cost you a player for a minute.

Funny how quickly some of those goalkeeper injuries might clear up.

And then there is VAR

Ah, VAR.

The Premier League isn't getting rid of it.

But it does appear to have listened to what supporters have been saying.

The emphasis is on quicker decisions, better use of semi-automated offside technology and maintaining a high threshold for intervention.

In other words, the referee makes the decision and VAR should only get involved when there has been a clear and obvious error.

When the Premier League asked people what they wanted improved about VAR, speed kept coming up.

No great surprise there.

Only 43 per cent supported expanding the range of incidents VAR could review.

That tells us something.

People don't necessarily want more technology.

They just want the technology we've already got to hurry up.

There is one sensible extension this season.

VAR can intervene when a player has been incorrectly shown a second yellow card and consequently sent off.

But it can't go searching for second yellow cards the referee didn't give.

That seems reasonable.

Holding, hair pulling and goalkeepers

There are a few other things referees have been told to keep an eye on.

Holding is obviously one, as Ken will be delighted to hear.

Attacking players who aren't genuinely trying to play the ball and instead impede the goalkeeper will also be penalised.

Hair pulling gets clearer treatment too. A deliberate pull involving excessive force or brutality can mean red. Without that level of force, it can be yellow.

And diving and embellishment remain on the list.

Again, good.

If you've been fouled, you've been fouled.

We don't need the triple somersault afterwards.

The game people fell in love with

Football has become terribly complicated.

We talk about hand positions and silhouettes, phases of play, clear and obvious errors, semi-automated offsides and whether someone's toenail was beyond the last defender.

We watch VAR draw lines.

We watch referees stare at monitors.

We watch players waste time and then watch officials add the time back on at the end.

Sometimes you just want them to play football.

And perhaps that is what is most interesting about the direction the Premier League is taking in 2026/27.

When it asked supporters what makes the Premier League special, they talked about its speed, intensity, physicality and competitiveness.

Of course they did.

That's why we watch it.

So perhaps all these changes aren't really about changing the Premier League at all.

Perhaps they're about getting some of the rubbish out of the way and letting us see more of what made it the most watched league in the world in the first place.

Let the game flow.

Don't whistle every time somebody falls over.

Stop the deliberate time-wasting.

Do something about the wrestling at corners.

Use VAR when it really matters.

And for goodness sake, make the decision and get on with the game.

That's what I want to watch.

Even at five o'clock in the morning.

I'll provide the pyjamas, slippers, toast and marmalade.

You provide the football.

And at that hour, I really don't need a four minute VAR review.

Congratulations. You Finished First. Now Start Again.

Photo courtesy of Football Tasmania

Australia loves a finals series. But in an 18-game NPL season, are we using our football calendar the right way?

We are currently living in that strange twilight zone of Tasmanian football called the finals series.

The league season is finished.

South Hobart are the 2026 NPL Tasmania Premiers.

Eighteen matches have been played, the ladder has been completed and the team with the most points has finished on top.

Normally, in football, that sentence would be followed by something along the lines of:

Congratulations. You won the league.

But this is Australia.

So instead it is:

Congratulations. You finished first.

You have earned a week off.

Now start again.

I am not entirely sure I like it.

A Very Australian Idea

Perhaps some of my discomfort is cultural because finals are a very Australian sporting thing.

We love them.

AFL has them. Rugby league has them. Basketball has them. Australian sport seems almost uncomfortable with the idea that a season could simply finish with the team on top of the ladder being declared the winner.

We want elimination games.

We want preliminary finals.

We want Grand Final week.

We want somebody lifting something at the end of one enormous afternoon.

And there is no doubt finals can create fantastic theatre.

But football in Australia has spent much of its history trying to reconcile that Australian sporting instinct with the traditions of the game itself.

Interestingly, our national football competition did not always do things this way.

When the NSL Did It Differently

When the National Soccer League began in 1977, the system was decidedly traditional.

Finish top of the table and you were champions.

Eastern Suburbs-Hakoah won the inaugural NSL by finishing first and, for the early years of the competition, the league table determined the national champion.

There were finals introduced not long afterwards, but initially they were something extra.

You could have a finals series without using it to decide who had actually won the league.

Which, to anyone raised on traditional football, makes a fair bit of sense.

The league answered one question.

Who was the best team across the season?

The finals provided some extra football and a bit of end-of-season excitement.

Then Australian soccer started becoming a little more Australian.

Then Football Became More Australian

By the mid-1980s the NSL had moved towards finals determining the national champion.

There was a brief return to first-past-the-post in 1987, but from 1988 until the NSL disappeared in 2004, the Grand Final became the big prize.

And sometimes it worked spectacularly.

Grand Finals created huge occasions.

They produced memorable matches, big crowds and genuine drama.

There is the great argument in favour of them.

Finals create events.

They give television something to promote.

They give supporters a date to circle.

They give clubs another opportunity to put people through the gate.

They give us the possibility of extra time, penalties, upsets and one extraordinary afternoon that people remember for years.

By the time the NSL ended, the Grand Final had become part of Australian football culture.

So when the A-League arrived in 2005, Australian football did not go back to the traditional model.

Instead, we came up with a very Australian compromise.

The A-League Compromise

We decided to have both.

The team finishing first after the regular season would be the Premiers.

The team winning the Grand Final would be the Champions.

Two achievements.

Two trophies.

Two ways to win.

It is perhaps the perfect expression of Australian football.

Much of the football world says:

Who finished first?

Australia says:

Yes, yes. Very good.

But who won the Grand Final?

And maybe there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

I have watched plenty of wonderful A-League finals.

Knockout football produces a different kind of tension.

One mistake matters.

One goal can change everything.

A team that has been brilliant all season can suddenly find itself hanging on for dear life with ten minutes remaining.

That is sport.

It is exciting.

It is theatre.

But I think my problem with the Tasmanian NPL finals is slightly different.

Eighteen Games Is Not Much of a Season

Our NPL teams have just played an 18-game league season.

Now we have a finals series stretching across another four weekends.

Five of the ten NPL clubs qualified.

Half the league.

South Hobart finished first and received the opening-week bye. Then they enter the finals in week two and, potentially, keep playing until the Grand Final on 5 September.

And I find myself wondering something quite simple.

If we have another four weekends available for football, should our first priority really have been a finals series?

Or should we be asking whether 18 league matches is enough in the first place?

That is where I think the comparison with the A-League becomes important.

The A-League has traditionally given clubs a longer regular season before reaching its finals.

The finals feel like the climax of the competition.

In Tasmania, they feel a little more like an addition to a league season that finished before I was quite ready for it to finish.

Perhaps finals are not actually the problem.

Perhaps the short season is.

We Already Have a Knockout Competition

There is another reason I have never felt desperately in need of a finals series in football.

We already have a magnificent competition designed specifically for knockout drama.

The Cup.

That is exactly what the Cup is for.

The Statewide Cup asks:

Can you win today?

Can the underdog beat the favourite?

Can you handle the pressure of a knockout match?

Can you survive extra time?

Can you win a penalty shootout?

Wonderful.

That is the magic of Cup football.

But a league is supposed to ask a different question.

What Is a League Supposed to Tell Us?

A league asks:

Who is the best team over time?

Who can win consistently?

Who handles injuries, suspensions and dips in form?

Who can travel away and find a result on a miserable winter afternoon?

Who can recover from a bad week?

Who has the squad depth?

Who keeps accumulating points?

There is something beautifully unforgiving about a league table.

After everybody has played everybody, it does not care whether you would have preferred another opportunity.

It tells you where you finished.

That is why I have always regarded winning a league as such an enormous achievement.

It rewards sustained excellence.

A final rewards excellence on the day.

Both have value.

But they are not the same thing.

And I am not sure we should pretend they are.

This Is Not About South Hobart

Before anyone suggests this is simply a South Hobart person worrying about what might happen in the finals, let me save you the trouble.

I will feel exactly the same way if South Hobart wins the Grand Final.

This is not about South Hobart.

It is not about which club ultimately wins the finals series.

It is about what we want our premier football competition to be.

South Hobart have already achieved what the league competition asked of them.

Over 18 matches they accumulated more points than everybody else.

They are the Premiers.

Now we are playing another competition.

And that is fine, as long as we are honest about what it is.

Maybe One Winner Wasn't Enough

There is something wonderfully Australian about the whole thing.

We inherited a game in which finishing first traditionally means you are champions.

Then we put our own stamp on it.

We kept the ladder.

We kept the Premiership.

Then we added a finals series and a Grand Final because apparently one winner wasn't quite enough.

Maybe that is simply Australian football now.

Finals have been part of our national football culture for decades.

They are not going anywhere in the A-League and perhaps supporters here will embrace them too.

I hope the matches attract good crowds.

I hope they produce great football.

I hope the Grand Final is a terrific occasion.

But I still cannot quite shake the feeling that we have things slightly back to front.

If our best players are available for another month, I would rather first ask how we can give them a longer and stronger league season.

More meaningful football.

More matches in which every point counts towards determining who wins the league.

Then, if there is room for finals as well, terrific.

Because right now we are in a peculiar place.

The league has been won.

The Premiers have been crowned.

Half the competition is still alive.

And we have another month before somebody wins the Grand Final.

Very Australian.

I'm just not completely convinced it is very football.

324 Teams. Hobart, Get Ready.

324 teams.

Around 4,000 players.

1,523 games.

Nearly 707 hours of football.

More than 40 grounds across greater Hobart.

All across one Hobart Cup weekend.

I have spent the past few months preparing for this tournament without really knowing what the response would be.

That is the strange thing about organising something like the Hobart Cup.

You have to start making decisions long before you know how many people actually want to come.

Will entries be strong?

Will everyone have had enough football after a long winter season?

Will families really want one more weekend?

Will clubs enter one team or six?

It is, to a large extent, a guessing game.

And then the entries arrived.

The answer was fairly emphatic.

No, apparently nobody has had enough football at all.

The appetite just keeps growing

The growth of the Hobart Cup itself is extraordinary.

In 2023 we had 180 teams.

In 2024, 261.

In 2025, 306.

And this year, 324.

In three years, the number of teams wanting to play in the Hobart Cup has increased by 80 per cent.

If you want evidence of the appetite for football in Tasmania, there it is.

This year those 324 teams will play 1,523 games.

When you add up all those matches, it comes to nearly 707 hours of football.

If you tried to play them one after another, you would be playing continuously for more than 29 days.

Instead, we are going to squeeze them into one weekend.

Kids want to play.

Coaches want to coach.

Families want to watch.

Clubs and schools want to enter teams.

People want to be involved.

Sometimes, amongst all the conversations we have about football structures, pathways, governance, competitions and facilities, I think we can lose sight of the most obvious thing sitting right in front of us.

People love this game.

Before you know if anyone is coming

Of course, organising the Hobart Cup does not begin when entries close.

By then you are already well into it.

Trophies and medals have to be ordered before you know exactly how many you are going to need.

This year, with global supply chains feeling more uncertain than usual, ordering early became even more essential. Thanks Donald.

When you are relying on goods coming from overseas, waiting until the final team numbers are known simply isn't an option.

So you take a punt.

You try to estimate.

And you hope you have got it somewhere near right.

There was footballs to buy for our littlest players.

Ground bookings to finalise.

St John Ambulance to book.

Extra bins and cleaning to arrange.

Equipment.

Signs.

Food.

Photographers.

Venue managers.

People to collect scores.

People to collate results.

There are hundreds of little decisions which, eventually, become one football tournament.

Then there is the weather

And hovering over everything is the one thing none of us can control.

The weather.

I confess I am already looking at the long-range forecast.

I know perfectly well that looking at a Hobart forecast weeks in advance is probably fairly pointless.

I still look.

Please, not another 2024.

That was the year extreme weather wiped out our Saturday.

You can organise almost everything.

You can book the grounds.

Order the trophies.

Buy the medals.

Find the volunteers.

Build the roster.

Book the ambulance.

Arrange the bins.

And then, eventually, you find yourself looking at the sky.

The City of Hobart is my friend

One of the reasons the Hobart Cup can exist at this scale is the support we receive from the City of Hobart.

Shannon, Nathan and their sportsground crews are very much my friends at this time of year.

There are grounds to prepare and all sorts of practical things to work through.

Extra cleaning.

Extra bins.

Early morning set-ups.

Late night pack-downs.

Thousands of players, parents and supporters do not simply arrive at sporting grounds for three days without a huge amount happening behind the scenes.

Most people will never notice much of it.

That is probably a sign that it has all worked.

The people who say yes

And then there are the people.

The Hobart Cup does not happen because some enormous event company swoops in and runs it.

It happens because people say yes.

Clubs say yes.

Schools say yes.

Volunteers say yes.

Coaches and managers say yes.

Venue managers agree to spend their weekend answering questions and running around collecting scores.

And I do mean running around.

Being reasonably fit is an advantage.

There are photographs to take. Thanks Nikki.

Food to organise.

Results to collect.

Questions to answer.

Problems to solve.

And somewhere, at almost every moment of the weekend, somebody will be asking:

"Where am I supposed to be?"

Let me tell you about Gemma

Then there are the people who seem to appear from nowhere.

Last year Gemma contacted me.

Essentially:

"Can I help?"

It turns out she could.

A lot.

Gemma is an accountant and a maths whizz.

When you are trying to produce rosters involving hundreds of teams and more than 1,500 games, checking for clashes becomes slightly mind-bending.

Gemma worked out an algorithm we could run our rosters through to identify problems.

Do not ask me to explain it.

I can't.

But I can tell you it works.

It has saved an enormous number of draft rosters from going out with problems buried somewhere inside them and has saved many, many hours of manual checking.

One random message.

"Can I help?"

Amazing.

Emma and Gemma now check and recheck the rosters.

Frances will be collating results and on standby across the weekend for whatever inevitably crops up.

Clare looks after the medals, trophies and merchandise, another one of those jobs which sounds relatively simple until you realise just how many medals, trophies, age groups and competitions are involved.

Everybody has their piece of the puzzle.

Meanwhile my family say oh God it's Hobart Cup time.

My least favourite time of the year.

The stress you see is palpable.

Football everywhere

For three days, Hobart becomes one enormous football venue.

We do not have one giant complex capable of holding this tournament.

So we spread out across more than 40 grounds throughout greater Hobart.

Council grounds.

Club grounds.

School grounds.

Football everywhere.

And 324 teams means around 4,000 young footballers.

They do not come alone.

They bring parents.

Grandparents.

Brothers and sisters.

Coaches.

Managers.

Supporters.

Some are local.

Others are travelling to Hobart for the weekend.

And all those people need somewhere to stay, somewhere to eat and somewhere to get that desperately required coffee between the 8.30am game and the 10.30am game.

They stop at cafes.

Bakeries.

Supermarkets.

Takeaway shops.

Petrol stations.

They move from one part of greater Hobart to another as they follow their teams.

They visit suburbs they might not otherwise visit.

They buy food.

They buy drinks.

They stay around for another game.

They support their kids and, along the way, they support local businesses.

So Hobart cafes, bakeries, supermarkets, takeaway shops and coffee vans, consider yourselves warned.

Stock up.

Here come the hungry hordes.

Bigger than the games themselves

That is something I think can easily be underestimated.

The Hobart Cup is obviously a football tournament.

But an event of this scale spreads far beyond the touchline.

There is the community contribution.

Clubs opening facilities.

Schools providing grounds.

Council crews preparing venues.

Volunteers giving up their weekends.

Coaches and managers organising teams.

People taking photographs, collecting scores, handing out medals and solving the hundred little problems that inevitably appear.

It takes an extraordinary number of people to create 707 hours of football.

What the numbers really tell us

So I keep coming back to where I started.

324 teams.

Around 4,000 players.

1,523 games.

Nearly 707 hours of football.

More than 40 grounds across greater Hobart.

And thousands more parents, grandparents, siblings, coaches, managers and supporters coming along for the ride.

Those numbers tell us much more than the size of a junior football tournament.

They tell us there is an extraordinary appetite to play football.

An appetite to watch it.

An appetite to coach it.

An appetite to volunteer.

An appetite simply to be part of it.

We spend a lot of time in football trying to work out how to grow the game.

Sometimes the game is already telling us exactly what it wants.

More opportunities.

More places to play.

More football.

Perhaps our job is simply to keep finding ways to say yes.

Hobart, get ready.

The hungry hordes are coming.

One Ear on the AGM, Both Eyes on Northcote

Monday night was supposed to be about football governance.

Instead, it became about football governance, family, promotion, nerves and my desperate attempt to look as though I was concentrating on a Zoom meeting while another screen had almost my entire attention.

FSAA

I had been asked to stand for election to the General Committee of the Football Supporters Association Australia, or FSAA.

For those who haven't come across it, FSAA is an independent national organisation representing football supporters in Australia. Its purpose is pretty simple and, I think, important. Supporters should have a genuine voice in the decisions that affect our game.

Not just the administrators.

Not just the leagues.

Not just the broadcasters, sponsors and clubs.

The people who buy the tickets, travel ridiculous distances, stand in the rain, pay for memberships, take their children to games and build their lives around football matter too.

That is where FSAA comes in.

Monday night was its AGM and committee election and I was one of 16 candidates standing for ten General Committee positions.

I had been asked to stand and was genuinely pleased to be nominated. I knew there was a strong field of candidates and was simply happy to put my hand up and offer what experience I could.

There was, however, one slight problem with the timing of the AGM.

Slight problem

Northcote City were playing Melbourne Victory.

My son Max Clarke is Northcote's head coach and my stepson Nick Morton was in the starting eleven.

And this wasn't just another Monday night game.

The equation was beautifully simple and horribly stressful.

Win, and Northcote would be one game away from automatic promotion to the Victorian NPL.

So there I was.

FSAA AGM on one screen.

Craig Foster, our guest speaker, in one ear.

Northcote City v Melbourne Victory on the television.

And football occupying virtually every other functioning part of my brain.

I will confess now that I wasn't the most interactive participant at the AGM.

My camera was off.

This was probably best for everyone.

Had it been on, my facial expressions during the Northcote game would have revealed very quickly that the Football Supporters Association Australia did not have my undivided attention.

Everything on the line

Victory had plenty at stake themselves.

They were right in the promotion conversation too, sitting just behind the leading group and knowing that a win would drag them even closer.

So this wasn't one side with everything to play for and another simply making up the numbers.

Both teams needed it.

That was what made it so compelling and so horribly difficult to watch.

On the Victory touchline was club legend Besart Berisha, now coaching the side and increasingly scowling as the night wore on.

It was one of those games.

Tight. Nervy. Difficult.

Two teams playing as though the result really mattered because, of course, it did.

Northcote eventually got the goal from the penalty spot.

Was it a penalty?

That rather depends on which bench you were sitting on.

What mattered to us was that it went in.

And then came the unbearable business of protecting it.

Every clearance mattered.

Every tackle mattered.

Every time Victory got near the box, the room seemed to get quieter.

Nick goes down

Then Nick went down injured.

Everything stopped.

There is a very particular kind of silence when someone you love is lying on the ground during a football match.

For a few seconds, promotion disappeared completely from my mind.

Was he all right?

Was it serious?

Could he continue?

We held our breath.

Thankfully, he was okay.
Then, as if there wasn't already enough to worry about, Tasmanian goalkeeper Kieran Brown went down injured and had to be replaced at about the 75-minute mark.

Another little spike in the heart rate.

On came Noah, a player Devonport people will know from his time with the Strikers.

So now Northcote were protecting a 1–0 lead, Nick had already given us an injury scare and the goalkeeper had been forced off with 15 minutes or so still to play.

Perfect.

If my nails weren't purchased monthly, I would have bitten every one of them off.And then somehow we went straight back to worrying about the score.

That is football.

One minute you are thinking about a league table.

The next you are thinking about absolutely nothing except whether someone you love is hurt.

And then, once you know they are fine, you immediately start worrying about the league table again.

Helpless

Being the mother of the coach is a particularly useless position to occupy during a game like this.

You cannot make a substitution.

You cannot change the shape.

You cannot give anyone instructions.

You cannot even shout something remotely intelligent at the television because the person who actually knows what he is doing is several hundred kilometres away on the touchline.

So you sit there.

And suffer.

Northcote eventually saw it out.

Melbourne Victory 0.

Northcote City 1.

Three enormous points.

Now Friday

And suddenly Friday became massive.

Northcote now sit on 49 points, two behind Melbourne Knights and two ahead of Brunswick Juventus.

On Friday night, Northcote play Brunswick.

Second against third.

And this is why I love promotion and relegation.

No manufactured drama.

No contrived finals system required.

The table has created the tension all by itself.

If Northcote beat Brunswick on Friday, they go to 52 points.

Brunswick stay on 47.

With only one game remaining after that, Brunswick could reach a maximum of 50.

Which means a Northcote win on Friday would guarantee automatic promotion to the Victorian NPL.

That is it.

Win and they are up.

No playoff.

No second chance.

No calculator required.

One game.

One result.

One enormous prize.

This is pro-rel

This is what promotion and relegation does to football.

It makes a Monday night game against Melbourne Victory feel enormous.

It makes a penalty feel enormous.

It makes an injury scare feel unbearable.

And then it gives you four days to think about the next one.

This is why I love it.

You don't have to manufacture jeopardy.

You don't have to invent it.

The ladder does the work for you.

One club is chasing automatic promotion.

Another is trying to force its way into the race.

One result changes everything.

That is football with consequence.

Meanwhile, democracy

Somewhere alongside all of this, democracy was also taking place.

Votes were being counted.

People were being elected.

Important things were being discussed.

I am sure I nodded thoughtfully at appropriate moments.

Eventually, after the final whistle and after my nervous system had returned to something approaching normal, I discovered that I had also been elected to the FSAA General Committee.

So it wasn't a bad Monday night in the Morton-Clarke football household.

Tasmania at the table

The new FSAA committee has representatives from Tasmania, Victoria, New South Wales, South Australia, Western Australia and the ACT, with a mixture of supporters, football administrators, journalists, governance people and people who have simply spent a very large proportion of their lives around the game.

I am particularly pleased that Tasmania will have a voice at that table.

Australian football can sometimes become very Sydney and Melbourne focused. Those of us living outside the biggest markets know that the football world looks rather different from here.

Grassroots football matters.

Regional football matters.

Junior football matters.

Women's football matters.

The National Premier Leagues matter.

The A-Leagues matter.

And, above all, supporters matter.

I have spent enough years around football administration to know that committees do not automatically change the world simply because a collection of enthusiastic people have joined one.

What matters is what they actually do.

So I am looking forward to finding out more about FSAA, listening, contributing where I think I can be useful and seeing whether we can strengthen the voice of Australian football supporters.

But first

Friday.

Northcote City v Brunswick Juventus.

Win and Northcote are promoted.

I promise I will be considerably more focused at the next FSAA meeting.

Unless Northcote are playing.

Then all bets are off.

They’re Eight. Chill Out.

Every weekend, thousands of kids play junior football across southern Tasmania.

Parents drive them there. Grandparents turn up. Carers organise their lives around getting them to football. Coaches coach, managers manage, volunteers put up nets and someone inevitably discovers at 8.15 on Saturday morning that one shin pad has disappeared.

I love it.

Junior football doesn't happen without these people and, overwhelmingly, they are absolutely amazing.

Then the whistle blows.

And the red fog descends.

I don't know what happens.

Perfectly normal, rational adults who arrived at the ground with a coffee suddenly become Jurgen Klopp.

KICK IT!

RUN!

PASS!

SHOOT!

GET BACK!

Then Grandpa joins in from the other side.

Someone else is yelling "MAN ON!"

The coach is actually trying to coach.

And poor little Jimmy or Jenny, who is eight, has about ten adults simultaneously shouting instructions.

How on earth are they supposed to hear anything?

More importantly, how are they supposed to learn to make their own decisions?

That's part of learning to play football.

Sometimes they should pass.

Sometimes they should shoot.

Sometimes they will make completely the wrong decision.

Good.

They're eight.

That's how they learn.

And I promise you, little Jimmy's failure to square the ball to little Johnny in the Under 8s on Saturday morning is unlikely to derail his future professional football career.

Chill out.

Then there are the complaints

This is the bit I get to see as President of CRJFA.

Weekend finishes.

Monday comes.

Inbox.

The team was rough.

The players were rough.

Someone used bad language.

The referee didn't know the rules.

The referee was unfair.

A parent yelled something.

A grandparent yelled something.

Someone thought the other coach should have done something about it.

And sometimes I open the email and look at the age group.

Under 8.

FFS.

Now, before anyone gets upset, of course there are complaints that need to be dealt with.

If something serious happens, if a child's welfare is involved or behaviour has genuinely crossed the line, it needs attention.

And yes, this is part of CRJFA's role.

We want to know what is happening across our competition and CRJFA is very happy to be copied into correspondence between clubs and schools when there is a dispute or concern.

Please keep us in the loop.

But there is also a process and there is a very good reason for it.

There are around 8,000 parents and carers involved in CRJFA football every weekend. We simply cannot investigate 8,000 different versions of what happened on football grounds across southern Tasmania.

The first step is really simple.

Coaches, talk to each other.

If one team is being too physical, have a conversation.

If players are using language they shouldn't be using, tell the other coach.

If there is a problem developing on the sideline, deal with it before it becomes World War III.

Most coaches are perfectly reasonable people and most things can be sorted out with a conversation.

If the coaches can't resolve it, the next step is the club or school delegates.

Let the delegates talk to each other.

Copy CRJFA in.

That way we know what has happened, we can see how it is being dealt with and, importantly, we can also see if the same issues keep appearing.

If the delegates resolve it, terrific.

If they can't, or the matter is serious enough that CRJFA needs to become involved, then it comes to us to action.

That's our role.

Coach first.

Delegate second.

CRJFA if it needs to go further.

With CRJFA very happy to be copied in along the way.

I am always happy to reply to emails sent to me, and I do. I would much rather know what is going on than not know.

But allowing the coaches and delegates to deal with things first isn't CRJFA avoiding a complaint. It is how the system is supposed to work.

And sometimes, dare I say it, everyone just needs to chill out.

Because while the adults are still discussing the great injustice of Saturday morning, Jimmy and Jenny have probably forgotten the whole thing.

About those referees

Here's something else worth explaining about CRJFA football.

From Under 5 through to Under 12, we don't have professional referees.

They're volunteers.

The teams referee a half each.

Sometimes the two coaches look at each other and work out that it makes far more sense for one person to referee the whole game.

Maybe one coach is injured and can't run around. Maybe the other coach doesn't have a support crew. Maybe there are five freezing substitutes standing on the sideline who need to be marshalled on and off the pitch and someone needs to actually coach them.

So the adults work it out between themselves.

Excellent.

That's exactly how junior football should work.

In a world where getting people to volunteer for anything is becoming harder and harder, these people are incredibly important.

So genuinely, thank you.

Thank you to the parent who picks up the whistle.

Thank you to the coach who says, "Yep, I'll do both halves."

Thank you to the person who didn't particularly want to referee at all but realised somebody had to do it or the kids couldn't play.

We value you.

Which is why it makes me so cross when I receive complaints saying one of these volunteers was cheating.

Cheating.

Really?

Or that they didn't understand the rules.

Maybe they got something wrong.

Of course they might have.

They are volunteering to referee children's football, probably while trying to remember which kid needs to come off next and whether somebody's jumper is still sitting behind the goal.

Imagine volunteering your Saturday morning so a group of children can play football and then being accused of deliberately cheating an eight-year-old.

It's pretty damn horrible, to be honest.

It is also a fabulous way to make sure that person never volunteers to referee again.

Then next week we'll all complain because nobody wants to referee.

We can't have it both ways.

The Hobart Cup is coming

And this is probably why I am writing this now.

The Hobart Cup is nearly here.

Thousands of kids. Hundreds of teams. Grounds all over Hobart. Three days of football.

It is going to be fabulous.

It is also going to be competitive.

I know that.

Kids want to win. Coaches want to win. Parents want their kids to win. Grandparents definitely want their grandchildren to win.

Nothing wrong with that.

I love winning too.

But somewhere between wanting to win and believing an incorrect throw-in decision is a violation of our fundamental human rights, we need to find the middle ground.

There will be bad decisions at the Hobart Cup.

I can guarantee it.

There will be missed offsides.

There will be balls that may or may not have crossed lines.

There will be fouls that aren't given and perfectly good tackles that someone thinks should have resulted in a red card, a suspension and possibly a police investigation.

There will be games where the better team loses.

Welcome to football.

And remember, for our younger age groups, the person standing there with the whistle is a volunteer.

They're helping us.

They're helping your children play football.

So when the red fog starts creeping in, recognise it.

Take a sip of your coffee.

Chill out.

Let the coach coach.

Let the referee referee.

And please, please let the kids play.

Cheer for them.

Encourage them.

Clap the great stuff.

Console them when they lose.

Ask them afterwards whether they had fun.

Because one day they won't be eight anymore.

And I would much rather they remember junior football as the place where they loved playing the game than the place where Grandpa spent Saturday mornings screaming at the referee.

Although, knowing Grandpa, that might be asking a bit much.

A Love Letter to the Championship

I love the Championship.

There. I've said it.

We watch a lot of football in our house, but there is something about the English Championship that gets me every time.

It isn't always beautiful. It isn't supposed to be.

It's tough. Uncompromising. Relentless.

And this morning, it starts all over again.

Wolves against Blackburn at Molineux.

Game one.

Only 45 to go.

Summer at Molineux

Today the supporters are in T-shirts.

The managers still have their summer tans and summer lingers over Molineux, the sunshine making the gold of the Wolves shirts look warm.

Around 31,000 people are there to begin the journey again.

We sat in that stadium last season and experienced some of the angst of Wolves' Premier League season ourselves.

It was miserable at times. The frustration around Molineux was palpable.

At one point the Wolves supporters were chanting:

"We are shit."

Football supporters.

But look at them today.

They're back.

Of course they're back.

Because it's Wolves.

It's their club.

You can be furious with your club. You can despair at the recruitment. You can abuse the manager. You can spend Saturday afternoon telling anyone who will listen that half the team isn't fit to wear the shirt.

And then the following Saturday?

You're back in your seat.

That's football.

Loyal until the end.

They know what they're missing

And Wolves aren't alone.

That's another thing I love about the Championship.

So many of these clubs have already been at the top.

They've played in the Premier League. Their supporters have walked into Old Trafford, Anfield, Stamford Bridge and the Emirates following their team.

They've felt it.

They've loved it.

They've lost it.

And they want it again.

They know exactly what promotion means because they know exactly what they've lost.

Above the Championship sits the Premier League.

The holy grail.

For some clubs, automatic promotion is a realistic expectation. For others, reaching the play-offs would be a dream.

And those play-offs.

After 46 league games, an entire season can eventually come down to one afternoon at Wembley.

Win and you're in the Premier League.

Imagine the pressure.

Surviving the Championship

But first you have to survive it.

Twenty-four clubs.

Twenty-three opponents.

Home and away.

Forty-six league games.

Then there is the League Cup.

The FA Cup.

Maybe a cup run.

Maybe the play-offs.

Saturday. Tuesday. Saturday again.

Cold nights. Horrible away trips. Injuries. Suspensions. Players exhausted. Managers sacked.

Another game arriving before you've really had time to dissect the last one.

A Championship side can find itself playing fifty-plus competitive matches in a season.

It is relentless.

And I love it.

You can't bluff your way through 46 league games.

A brilliant August won't get you promoted and a terrible September doesn't necessarily condemn you.

There is time for a team to evolve.

Time for a young player to break through.

Time for a manager to change things.

Time for a club to wobble, recover and go again.

A proper football season develops its own story.

Meanwhile, in Tasmania...

And this is where, sitting in Hobart at some ridiculous hour of the morning watching the Championship begin, I had one of those moments.

Forty-six games.

We had 18.

Not only did Tasmania's NPL clubs play an 18-game league season in 2026, the league season finished last weekend.

Five of our ten clubs are now completely finished for the year.

Boots away.

See you in 2027.

The other five move into a four-week finals series which, let's face it, looks rather more Australian Rules than traditional football.

South Hobart finished top and were crowned league champions. Now we embark on a finals series to find a Grand Final winner.

Very Australian.

Whether you like finals or not is almost a separate argument.

What bothers me far more is this:

Why have we finished the actual league in early August?

We are still in winter

That's the bit I can't get past.

It is 15 August as I write this.

We are still in winter.

There are months of perfectly playable football weather ahead of us, yet half the clubs in Tasmania's highest men's competition have finished playing competitive football for the year.

And we talk endlessly about player development.

Pathways.

High performance.

Talent identification.

Representative football.

Opportunities.

Preparing young Tasmanian players for the next level.

But eventually there is one fairly fundamental ingredient required to develop footballers.

Football.

Young players need meaningful matches.

They need good weeks and bad weeks. They need to lose and respond. They need opportunities to force their way into teams.

Coaches need time to develop players, change systems, make mistakes, fix them and go again.

That's development too.

Eighteen

Imagine stopping the Championship after 18 games.

"Righto everyone. That's the season. Thanks for coming."

They'd think you were joking.

They wouldn't even have played every opponent once.

And they would still have 28 league matches remaining.

Twenty-eight!

That's ten more league matches still ahead of them than our entire Tasmanian NPL season.

Now, before somebody starts furiously typing at me, I know Tasmania isn't England.

Of course it isn't.

Nobody is suggesting our players should play 46 league games. The Championship schedule is brutal and there is a legitimate argument that it asks too much of players.

But surely there is quite a lot of room between 18 and 46.

Twenty-four?

Twenty-seven?

Thirty?

I don't pretend there is one magical number.

But I struggle to believe the right number is 18.

And I struggle even more with a system where the amount of football a young player gets depends upon whether his club finishes fifth or sixth.

Finish fifth and you've got more football.

Finish sixth and your season is over in early August.

Surely development shouldn't work like that.

Anyway, back to the Championship

Because this is a love letter.

And I do love it.

The grounds.

The supporters.

The tackles.

The noise.

The jeopardy.

The clubs with enormous histories trying to find their way back to the Premier League.

The smaller clubs trying to bloody the noses of the big boys.

The February night when two exhausted teams are kicking lumps out of each other because both desperately need three points.

The manager who looks doomed at Christmas and somehow has his team in the play-offs by April.

And then those final weeks when somebody inevitably starts doing Championship mathematics.

"If we beat them, they draw with them, and those two lose..."

Wonderful.

Full metal jacket football.

No prisoners taken.

Today they're in T-shirts at Molineux.

The managers have their summer tans and the August sunshine is making those gold Wolves shirts glow.

Make the most of it.

Before long it'll be beanies, scarves, heavy coats and freezing nights under the floodlights.

And they'll still be playing.

The supporters will still be turning up.

Because it's their club.

Because many of them have been to the Premier League and know what it feels like.

Because they want it again.

Because there is always next Saturday.

And because that's football.

Here in Tasmania, half our league has already gone home.

It's August.

Tasmania's NPL State Squad Is Picked. So What Have We Ended Up With?

I've been asking questions about Tasmania's return to interstate representative football since it was announced. Now we finally have the team.

I have already written about this twice.

So perhaps I should see it through.

When Football Tasmania first announced that a Tasmanian NPL representative side would travel to Perth to play Western Australia, I asked a fairly simple question:

Why?

I wasn't opposed to representative football. I wasn't opposed to giving good players another opportunity.

I just wanted to understand what we were trying to achieve.

Was it development? Talent identification? Benchmarking? Marketing? State pride? Pathways?

And, perhaps most importantly, what would success actually look like?

I wrote about that in Representative Football Is Back. But Why?

Read: Representative Football Is Back. But Why?

Then more information arrived.

And I discovered the opt-in box.

Players selected for Tasmania would be invited to opt in or opt out of a fully funded trip to Perth: flights, accommodation and meals covered.

Having spent years watching football families opt into invoices for representative opportunities, I found that rather entertaining.

So I wrote about that too.

Read: The Opt In Box

Now we have reached the next stage.

We have a team.

And inevitably, I have more questions.

First there were 11

On August 10, Football Tasmania announced its 2026 NPL Team of the Year.

The process was clear.

NPL coaches voted for players by position and weren't permitted to vote for players from their own club.

Eleven players emerged:

Rex Maddock, Joel Badger, Joshua Tollervey, Ryan Lynch, Samuel Berezansky, Kobe Kemp, Eli Wright, Musashi Kokubo, Jacob Lancaster, Brady Last and Nicholas O'Connell.

Jon Fenech was also voted NPL Coach of the Year by his peers.

All perfectly straightforward.

Although Football Tasmania did manage to remove a little suspense from its own Awards Night on September 12.

The Team of the Year will receive their commemorative strips there and Jon will presumably receive recognition as Coach of the Year.

We were told who they all were on August 10.

Perhaps everyone can practise looking surprised.

Then came the State squad

The Team of the Year announcement made clear that those 11 players would form the "backbone" of the State team, with the full squad announced later.

Five more players subsequently appeared:

Ivan Jolivet, Devonport Strikers Eli Luttmer, Kingborough Lions Adam Gorrie, South Hobart Hugo Schwarz, Kingborough Lions Thomas Cordell, South Hobart

And initially I wondered who had selected them.

Then I went back to something I had already written.

Turns out I had the answer sitting in my own blog.

The information sent to NPL clubs earlier in the year explained that after the coaches' vote, Football Tasmania would confirm the starting eleven, select the additional players and appoint the coaching staff.

"Football Tasmania will then confirm a starting eleven, select additional players to complete a squad of seventeen and appoint coaching staff."

So that answers one question.

Football Tasmania was always going to complete the squad.

But it creates another small curiosity.

The original information said the additional selections would create a squad of 17.

The squad announced this week contains 16.

Perhaps someone opted out.

Remember the box?

Perhaps there was a late withdrawal.

Perhaps the plan simply changed.

Again, probably a perfectly simple explanation.

What about the staff?

Jon Fenech was voted Coach of the Year by his peers and therefore takes charge of Tasmania.

Joining him are assistant coach Matt Hess, goalkeeping coach Alex Tatnell, team/kit manager Cameron Ellis and physiotherapist Greg Downes.

There are familiar faces there for Jon.

Tatnell, Ellis and Downes are part of his Kingborough environment, while Hess has a long association with Kingborough as a former player and coach, although he is now coaching Taroona's Championship side.

That makes sense to me.

This isn't a team preparing together for six months.

It's a representative squad travelling interstate for a match.

Give the coach people he knows and trusts and get on with it.

Pick the best. Please.

Then there is the distribution of the players.

It is striking.

South Hobart, 7 Kingborough, 5 Devonport, 3 Clarence Zebras, 1

Six NPL clubs have nobody.

Twelve of the 16 players come from South Hobart and Kingborough.

Fifteen come from three clubs.

Tasmanian representative selections have, at times in the past, included something of a geographical nod.

Not this time.

And I'm pleased.

If we're going all the way to Western Australia to play their best NPL players, pick our best players.

I don't want somebody selected because the North needs a representative.

I don't want every NPL club to get a participation prize.

If the best available 16 contains seven South Hobart players, take seven.

If it contains five Kingborough players, take five.

The test of this selection shouldn't be whether the map of Tasmania has been adequately represented.

It should be whether this is the strongest team we can put on the park.

Although there is a little irony

When this concept was originally announced, one of the arguments for it was that it would provide a national opportunity for leading NPL players who weren't already getting one.

Kingborough had the Australia Cup.

The NPL champion would have the Australian Championship.

The State side offered something to everybody else.

Then South Hobart won the NPL.

And now look at the State squad.

South Hobart, seven.

Kingborough, five.

The two clubs already heading into national competition supply 12 of Tasmania's 16 players.

Everybody else supplies four.

Football does enjoy ruining a perfectly good theory.

But again, if they're the best players, take them.

State of Origin?

I'm still amused by this description.

State of Origin.

It sounds magnificent.

I'm just not entirely sure what anyone's "origin" has to do with it.

This isn't rugby league eligibility.

Nobody is checking where Musashi Kokubo played his first game of football to determine which state can claim him.

It's really a Tasmanian NPL representative team playing a Western Australian NPL representative team.

And that's fine.

Actually, I prefer it.

If you're playing in our league, you're eligible and you're good enough, pull on the Tasmanian shirt.

State of Origin looks better on the poster.

I'll call it Tasmania.

Have I changed my mind?

This is probably the question I should answer after writing two fairly sceptical articles about the whole exercise.

A little.

I still don't know what this game ultimately achieves.

I still wonder whether the money involved might produce a greater benefit elsewhere in Tasmanian football.

I still wonder why, if fully funded interstate representative football is worthwhile for our best men, there isn't an equivalent opportunity for our best women.

And I still think Victoria or New South Wales might provide a more meaningful football benchmark for Tasmania than Western Australia.

Those questions haven't disappeared.

But now that we're doing it?

Do it properly.

Pick the best players.

Take a strong coaching team.

Treat representing Tasmania as something important.

Go to Perth intending to win.

And then, when everyone comes home, tell us what we learned.

Because perhaps that's where my original question eventually gets answered.

Not:

Did Tasmania beat Western Australia?

But:

Was Tasmanian football better for having done it?

I'll be interested to find out.

And in the meantime?

Go Tasmania.

Another One Bites the Dust: What Happens to Western United Now?

There is something desperately sad about watching a football club fall apart.

On Monday, the Australian Professional Leagues terminated Western United's Club Participation Agreement.

Seven years after entering the A-League, Western United is out.

For now, anyway.

The club insists this should not be the end. It wants new custodians, new investment and ultimately a return to the A-League in 2027/28.

I genuinely hope it finds a way.

Because this isn't just a story about owners, licences, participation agreements and millions of dollars.

There are people underneath all of that.

And there is still a football club underneath it too.

This one is a little personal

My son Max spent several years coaching at Western United.

Through Max, we developed a very good relationship with the club. He made some wonderful friends there and worked with excellent coaches, staff and some very talented young footballers.

So there is no pleasure whatsoever for me in seeing Western United in this position.

I've seen the other side of it.

I've seen the people.

And even since Max left Western, I've continued seeing a little bit of the club because Western United's senior academy team plays in the same VPL1 competition in Melbourne as Northcote City, where Max now coaches.

I've watched Western play Northcote.

I've watched those young players.

There are some very good footballers there.

Which is why one of the biggest questions for me isn't simply what happens to Western United's A-League ambitions.

What happens to all of them?

Another one bites the dust

Western United joins an uncomfortable list.

New Zealand Knights.

North Queensland Fury.

Gold Coast United.

And now Western United has lost its place in the A-League.

Western entered the competition in 2019.

Three seasons later, it was Champion of Australia.

Four years after lifting that trophy, its participation agreement has been terminated.

That is an extraordinary rise and fall.

Of course, Western United had serious problems of its own.

There were well-publicised financial difficulties, including a reported $15.5 million tax debt, and the club failed to satisfy the mandatory licensing requirements required for an A-League return.

So let's not pretend this was simply something done to Western United.

Things went badly wrong.

But after 21 seasons of the A-League, when clubs continue to lose enormous amounts of money and clubs periodically disappear, surely we're entitled to ask whether every failure can be blamed entirely on the individual club.

At some point we have to examine the model.

And now the stadium is gone too

This week brought another blow.

Wyndham City Council has terminated its Development Agreement with Western Melbourne Group for the proposed Wyndham Stadium Precinct.

That matters.

Because the stadium wasn't some little addition to the original Western Melbourne proposal.

It was central to it.

When Western Melbourne was selected for A-League expansion in 2018, one of the great selling points was the promise of a privately funded football-specific stadium.

That was exciting.

A club with its own home.

A football stadium in Melbourne's rapidly growing west.

A permanent base from which to build an identity.

Seven years later, the A-League participation agreement is gone.

And now the stadium development agreement is gone too.

The existing Ironbark Fields football facility is different. It is owned by Wyndham City Council and remains there.

But the grand stadium vision that helped sell the Western Melbourne dream is effectively gone under the existing agreement.

That's quite some distance from what Australian football thought it was buying in 2018.

But Western United hasn't completely disappeared

And this is where the story gets really interesting.

Because Western United still has football teams.

Its academy has been substantial.

There are junior teams.

There is an Under 23 team.

And there is a senior academy team playing in VPL1.

I know that team a little because I've watched them.

Northcote City and Western United play in the same league.

When I watch Western's youngsters play against Max's Northcote side, I'm not watching a failed corporate entity.

I'm watching footballers.

Young, ambitious, talented footballers trying to make their way in the game.

They don't disappear because somebody terminates a participation agreement.

So what happens to them?

As I write this, Football Victoria has not publicly provided a definitive answer about the future status of Western United's VPL1 and academy teams following the termination of the A-League agreement.

And that creates a fascinating situation.

What exactly is Western United now?

Think about it.

No A-League team.

No current Club Participation Agreement.

No longer the stadium development agreement that formed such a large part of the original vision.

But potentially still:

A name.

A badge.

A football facility it uses.

Supporters.

Coaches.

An academy.

Junior teams.

An Under 23 team.

A senior team playing competitive football in Victoria.

That sounds suspiciously like a football club to me.

And perhaps this is where Australian football's strange structure becomes most obvious.

Football Victoria has previously said participation by A-League clubs in its competitions has not historically been automatically tied to their A-League licence, although those arrangements were under review.

So perhaps Western United can continue.

But presumably it would need an entity capable of satisfying the same financial, governance, insurance and competition requirements expected of other Victorian clubs.

And then comes the really interesting question.

Could Western United simply become a normal Victorian football club?

Maybe the franchise disappears and the football club survives

I'd quite like that.

Strip away the A-League licence.

Strip away the grand expansion promises.

Forget about returning to the A-League for a moment.

Let Western United play football.

Keep developing those kids.

Keep the senior team.

Find sponsors.

Build membership.

Strengthen the relationship with Melbourne's west.

Play Northcote.

Play Bulleen.

Play Brunswick.

Win games.

Lose games.

Build rivalries.

Create history.

Become part of the community.

In other words, become the sort of football club Australian football already has hundreds of.

Perhaps something genuinely sustainable could grow from that.

But then we arrive at the great Australian football contradiction.

Western United could theoretically become a wonderful football club.

It could win VPL1.

It could climb Victoria's football pyramid.

It could ultimately become one of the strongest clubs beneath the professional game.

But it could never win its way back into the A-League.

For that it needs another mechanism entirely.

Owners.

Investment.

Approval.

A participation agreement.

Money.

Lots of it.

Welcome to Australian football.

Did we build clubs or franchises?

This is the uncomfortable question Western United leaves behind.

Australia already had football clubs when the A-League was created.

Lots of them.

Some more than a century old.

They had supporters.

Juniors.

Clubrooms.

Volunteers.

Rivalries.

History.

Generations of families attached to them.

The professional competition largely chose a different model.

New entities representing geographical markets.

There were understandable reasons for doing that.

But perhaps Australian football underestimated something fundamental about our game.

You cannot manufacture belonging.

You can create a logo.

You can design a shirt.

You can identify a catchment containing hundreds of thousands of people.

You can buy players.

You can even win a Championship.

But creating a football club that people feel belongs to them is different.

That takes time.

Sometimes generations.

Australia doesn't have a football problem

That's what makes all of this so frustrating.

Football itself isn't struggling.

Come to Tasmania in a few weeks and have a look.

We are currently putting together the Hobart Cup.

More than 4,000 kids.

Hundreds of teams.

Families travelling from around the state.

Coaches.

Parents.

Volunteers.

Football everywhere.

And that's one tournament in one small Australian state.

Multiply that across the country.

Australia has an enormous football community.

Kids play it.

Parents spend thousands on it.

Volunteers give their lives to it.

Australians get up in the middle of the night to watch it being played in England and Europe.

We don't have a football participation problem.

We have a conversion problem.

The A-League has never managed to convert enough of those football people into people who feel they cannot live without the A-League.

People who attend.

People who buy memberships.

People who watch.

And increasingly importantly, people who subscribe.

Subscriptions matter

Professional sport is no longer simply about the crowd through the gate.

Eyeballs matter.

Broadcast audiences matter.

Streaming matters.

Subscriptions matter.

The APL has secured another three-year agreement with Paramount. That's important and positive for the competition.

But ultimately broadcasters pay for audiences.

And that brings me, somewhat reluctantly, home.

Tasmania and the licence Western got

Forgive me a little Tasmanian bitterness here.

Western United came out of the same 2018 A-League expansion process in which Tasmania was trying to get into the competition.

We missed out.

Western Melbourne survived the process and ultimately got a licence.

And then, just to add insult to injury, they turned up wearing green.

Green!

Seriously?

We had spent years dreaming about a green Tasmanian team representing our island in the national competition.

Western Melbourne got the licence.

Then they pinched the bloody colour.

Grrrrr.

But that is where the bitterness ends.

Because Max subsequently went to work there.

We got to know people at Western United.

They became friends.

I watched what they were trying to build.

And I feel desperately sorry for them now.

They didn't decide Tasmania shouldn't get an A-League licence.

They were simply football people trying to make their club work.

But what has happened to Western United has fundamentally changed the way I think about Tasmania.

I used to desperately want Tasmania in the A-League

I don't anymore.

There. I've said it.

Not under this model.

I don't think it would work.

Tasmania has a population of a little over half a million people spread across an entire state.

Could we get a fantastic crowd for the first game?

Absolutely.

Could the first season create enormous excitement?

I think it could.

But what happens in year three?

Year five?

Year ten?

How many memberships can we sustain?

How much corporate sponsorship can our economy provide?

How many Tasmanians will regularly watch?

And crucially, how many additional streaming subscriptions would a Tasmanian team generate?

Because Tasmania's small population matters when the economics of professional sport increasingly depend on broadcast audiences.

Then somebody has to pay for everything else.

Players.

Coaches.

Administration.

Travel.

Facilities.

Marketing.

Academies.

And whatever gap remains between income and expenditure.

Bring on the white knight

Maybe he or she exists.

Perhaps one morning our Tasmanian white knight will gallop over the hill on a magnificent steed carrying an enormous chequebook and announce:

"Don't worry everyone. I'm quite happy to contribute bloody millions of dollars every year to keep this thing going."

Wonderful.

I'll wave as they ride past.

But let's call that what it is.

It isn't a sustainable business model.

It's benefaction.

Western United should make every prospective Tasmanian investor think very carefully.

Western wasn't operating in a market of a little over half a million people.

It was sitting in Melbourne's rapidly growing west.

It had an enormous football-playing population around it.

It had an academy.

It had men's and women's professional teams.

It won the bloody Championship.

And seven years after entering the competition, its A-League participation agreement is gone.

Maybe Tasmania dodged a bullet

I never thought I'd write those words.

When Tasmania missed out in 2018, I thought we'd been denied an enormous opportunity.

Eight years later, I wonder whether we were lucky.

Western Melbourne got through.

Tasmania didn't.

Western got the licence.

Western got the green.

Western got its Championship.

And now Western has lost its place in the A-League.

Meanwhile Tasmania still has football.

We have clubs.

Juniors.

Volunteers.

Coaches.

Competitions.

History.

Thousands of people playing every weekend.

So perhaps we should stop asking:

When will Tasmania finally get an A-League licence?

And ask something else.

If somebody really did have the millions required to establish and continually subsidise a Tasmanian A-League club, where could those millions do the most good for Tasmanian football?

I'm no longer convinced the answer is the A-League.

I hope Western survives

None of this means I want Western United to disappear.

Quite the opposite.

I've watched those young players.

Max has friends there.

Our family has friends there.

There are good football people whose livelihoods and dreams have been caught up in something far bigger than them.

Western United says this should be a reset rather than the end.

I hope they're right.

Maybe somebody does come along.

Maybe Western eventually returns to the A-League.

But perhaps there is another future too.

Maybe the professional franchise disappears but the football club underneath it refuses to die.

Maybe those young players keep playing.

Maybe the academy survives.

Maybe Western United becomes a genuine part of the Victorian football pyramid.

And maybe, over time, it builds something from the ground up rather than the top down.

There would be something rather wonderful about that.

It would also leave Australian football with one painfully obvious question.

If Western United can survive, develop players, build a community, win football matches and climb a football pyramid...

why shouldn't it be able to win its way back to the top?

Perhaps that's the question this whole sorry Western United story ultimately leaves us with.

Because Western United may have lost its place in the A-League.

But football in Melbourne's west hasn't disappeared.

The kids haven't disappeared.

The coaches haven't disappeared.

The supporters haven't disappeared.

The game certainly hasn't disappeared.

And perhaps that tells us where Australian football should have been looking all along.

Build football clubs people belong to.

Then build a system that gives them somewhere to go.

The Rebellion Has Begun: Can Gianni Infantino Survive It?

Only days after The Empire Strikes Back, three of world football's six continental confederations have issued an extraordinary joint letter challenging the leadership of FIFA President Gianni Infantino.

Well, that escalated quickly.

Now, I know lots of you probably don't give a damn about all this FIFA stuff going on.

But here's why you should.

FIFA governs our game. What happens at the very top eventually reaches football in the Pacific, Australia, Sydney and right down here in Tasmania.

So the more people who understand what is happening, ask questions and write about it, the better.

Because if you have ever wondered where some of the money you pay into football through registrations and subscriptions goes, how it moves through the layers of the game, who controls the enormous sums at the top, and how those people are held accountable, this stuff matters.

We spend plenty of time talking about what happens on the pitch.

Every now and then, we should probably look upstairs as well.

And right now, there is quite a fight going on up there.

Only days ago I wrote The Empire Strikes Back, looking at the growing revolt against Gianni Infantino and his extraordinary proposal to create FIFA Forward Enterprise, a new subsidiary bringing together FIFA's commercial rights and event operations, and sell a minority interest to outside investors.

At the time, the proposal was collapsing and some very powerful people in world football were clearly furious.

But there is a considerable difference between opposing one of Gianni Infantino's ideas and publicly challenging his leadership.

We have now crossed that line.

On Monday, 10 August, an open letter to the football family was issued jointly by three of FIFA's six continental confederations.

Not from journalists.

Not from former football administrators.

Not from one disgruntled national association.

It came from the leadership of:

UEFA, which governs football in Europe.

AFC, the Asian Football Confederation, which governs football across Asia and includes Australia.

And Concacaf, which governs football across North America, Central America and the Caribbean.

The letter was personally signed by the presidents of all three organisations:

Aleksander Čeferin, President of UEFA.

Salman bin Ibrahim Al Khalifa, President of the AFC.

Victor Montagliani, President of Concacaf.

And this wasn't simply three presidents putting their names to something.

Their three general secretaries also signed it: Theodore Theodoridis of UEFA, Datuk Seri Windsor John of the AFC and Philippe Moggio of Concacaf.

Six of the most senior administrators in international football, representing three continental governing bodies, speaking with one voice.

That is what makes this letter so significant.

What Does The Letter Actually Say?

It is ostensibly about the fallout from FIFA Forward Enterprise, Infantino's now abandoned proposal to bring FIFA's commercial rights and event operations together in a new FIFA-controlled subsidiary and open a minority interest to outside investment.

The potential numbers were enormous.

The proposed company was valued at around US$20 billion, with FIFA seeking billions in outside investment while retaining control.

FIFA argued that the arrangement could dramatically increase the amount of money available for football development around the world.

But read Monday's letter and it becomes very clear that this is no longer really about the proposal.

It is about how Gianni Infantino is running FIFA.

The six signatories accuse FIFA's leadership of deception.

They describe what happened as a "fundamental breach of trust."

They say the process surrounding the commercial proposal was designed to limit scrutiny.

They question why FIFA's elected representatives and Member Associations were excluded from important discussions.

They demand a fully independent investigation.

And, most strikingly, they challenge the entire philosophy of Infantino's leadership.

The letter begins with a statement that could hardly be more pointed.

Football, they write, is the world's greatest shared passion.

It belongs to no individual and no institution.

Then it gets considerably sharper.

The authors argue that leadership is not a possession and that when an individual places himself above the collective that gave him authority, the duty of leadership has been abandoned.

And eventually comes the sentence that removes virtually any doubt about who this is aimed at.

They describe conduct not as that of a custodian of the game, but of someone who believes the game is answerable to him.

They never actually write:

Gianni Infantino must resign.

But this is certainly not a letter asking him to improve his communication skills.

And subsequent reporting makes the political intention increasingly clear.

Reuters reports that people close to the confederations see the letter as an opportunity for Infantino to step aside before seeking re-election in March 2027, with his dignity intact.

A Quick Guide To The FIFA Family

Because football administrators do love an acronym, it is worth remembering how the world game is divided.

FIFA has six continental confederations:

• UEFA: Europe

• AFC: Asia, including Australia

• CAF: Africa

• Concacaf: North America, Central America and the Caribbean

• CONMEBOL: South America

• OFC: Oceania, including New Zealand

Australia, geographically part of Oceania, has competed as a member of the AFC since 2006.

So look again at who signed Monday's letter.

Europe plus Asia plus Concacaf.

Three of the six.

That is enormously different from UEFA simply having another fight with FIFA.

And perhaps the most politically interesting signature is not Čeferin's at all.

It is Salman's.

Asia Joining Europe Changes This

Aleksander Čeferin and Gianni Infantino being on opposite sides of a political fight is not particularly surprising.

UEFA and FIFA have been circling one another over money, competitions and power for years.

But AFC President Salman bin Ibrahim Al Khalifa standing beside Čeferin and accusing FIFA's leadership of deception is something else.

Infantino's political strength has long rested heavily on his support outside Europe.

Now the man leading the confederation containing Australia and dozens of other FIFA Member Associations has put his signature to a document accusing FIFA's leadership of deception and a fundamental breach of trust.

Then add Concacaf President Victor Montagliani.

Suddenly this is not Europe versus FIFA.

It is the leadership of three continental confederations effectively telling the FIFA President:

Football does not belong to you.

And that is why Monday's letter may turn out to be much more significant than the commercial proposal that started all of this.

"Designed To Limit Scrutiny"

This may be the most serious allegation in the entire letter.

The three confederations do not simply say consultation was inadequate.

They say the compressed timetable and lack of meaningful consultation were not accidental.

They describe them as the product of a design intended to limit scrutiny.

Think about what they are alleging.

Not incompetence.

Not poor communication.

Design.

In other words, they are suggesting the process was structured so the people who should have scrutinised an enormous decision affecting the commercial future of FIFA would have less opportunity to do so.

That is why this is not going away simply because FIFA Forward Enterprise has been abandoned.

The deal is dead.

The trust problem is not.

And Now It Appears They Want Him Gone

The letter itself stops short of explicitly demanding Infantino's resignation.

But subsequent reporting makes the political objective increasingly difficult to miss.

Reuters reports that people close to the confederations see the letter as giving Infantino a chance to step aside before his proposed re-election in March 2027.

Other reporting now describes UEFA, AFC and Concacaf as actively pushing for Infantino to quit.

That is a very different proposition from simply opposing FIFA Forward Enterprise.

The proposal has gone.

Now the argument is about whether Infantino should go with it.

And there is another extraordinary development.

The three confederations have reportedly held preliminary discussions about organising competitions themselves if the confrontation with FIFA escalates.

Just consider that for a moment.

Europe.

Asia.

North and Central America and the Caribbean.

Discussing competitions between themselves.

We are nowhere near having an alternative World Cup. There are enormous legal, sporting, commercial and political obstacles before anything remotely like that could happen.

But the remarkable thing is that the conversation is apparently happening at all.

A fortnight ago we were discussing a controversial FIFA investment proposal.

Now powerful football administrators are reportedly discussing what they could do if their relationship with FIFA breaks down completely.

That's quite a fortnight.

Then There Is Morocco

There is another part of the letter that deserves far more attention.

A FIFA leadership meeting was held recently in Morocco.

And here the letter is remarkably specific.

It says only one elected official was present.

No FIFA Council members were invited.

No representatives of the 211 Member Associations were invited.

Instead, the Management Committee, composed of senior FIFA employees, was represented.

The letter goes even further, saying that only a select number of Management Committee members were summoned to Morocco, rather than the full committee.

Why does that matter?

Because FIFA does not belong to its management.

It does not belong to its employees.

And despite the increasingly presidential nature of the organisation, it does not belong to Gianni Infantino.

FIFA is supposed to be governed on behalf of its Member Associations.

Which takes us straight back to the opening of the letter.

Football belongs to no individual and no institution.

They Don't Trust FIFA To Investigate FIFA

The three confederations are now calling for an independent investigation.

And they mean independent.

They do not want FIFA investigating itself.

They do not want FIFA staff conducting it.

They do not even want football stakeholders conducting it.

They want a fully independent third party.

They have also demanded that relevant documents and records be preserved.

That may be one of the clearest indications of just how badly the relationship has broken down.

When three of your six continental confederations say they do not trust your organisation to investigate what happened inside your organisation, you have moved well beyond a communications problem.

Now Watch The Countries

This is where the story becomes even more interesting.

A confederation president cannot simply deliver the votes of every country within that confederation.

Salman cannot put every AFC vote in his pocket.

Čeferin cannot automatically deliver every European association.

Montagliani cannot command every Concacaf vote either.

FIFA's President is ultimately elected by its Member Associations.

And there are 211 of them.

The movement from confederation opposition to individual national associations choosing sides has already begun.

England has withdrawn its support for Infantino's re-election.

Norway has gone further, publicly calling for him to resign.

Wales, Sweden and Serbia have also withdrawn their previous support.

US Soccer and Canada Soccer have backed demands for greater transparency and accountability.

That matters.

The rebellion is beginning to move from confederation headquarters into the Member Associations themselves.

But it is not moving in only one direction.

And that is where FIFA politics gets interesting.

So Where Does Australia Stand?

Football Australia is a member of both FIFA and the AFC.

Its continental president has just put his name underneath an extraordinary attack on the FIFA President.

So there is a perfectly reasonable question to ask.

Does Football Australia agree?

Does it believe there has been a fundamental breach of trust?

Does it support the independent investigation demanded by the AFC, UEFA and Concacaf?

Does it continue to support Infantino?

And if this ultimately becomes a battle over his future, where does Australia's vote go?

We are not spectators in this.

Australia has one of those 211 votes.

Don't Pack Gianni's Office Just Yet

This is the important counterweight to all the excitement.

Infantino is not finished.

Not remotely.

CAF, representing Africa, has publicly backed him.

Leading figures and associations in South America have also rallied behind him, with Argentina among those declaring their support.

Mexico has backed him too, despite belonging to Concacaf, whose president signed Monday's letter.

That alone tells you how complicated this is going to become.

And Infantino has spent ten years doing something extraordinarily effectively:

Building relationships with national associations around the world.

FIFA development funding has become an important part of that relationship.

For many smaller football nations, FIFA is not some distant bureaucracy in Zurich.

It funds pitches.

Facilities.

Administration.

Women's football.

Youth football.

National teams.

And the abandoned FIFA Forward Enterprise proposal promised vastly more.

Under FIFA's own proposal, FIFA Forward funding for the 2027 to 2030 cycle would have increased to US$20 million per Member Association.

On top of that, each association would have had the option of accessing another US$20 million through a proposed FIFA Fast Forward Programme.

Potentially US$40 million for one four-year cycle.

For a small football nation, these are not abstract numbers.

They can transform facilities and football programmes for a generation.

That does not mean a vote can simply be bought with development funding.

But it certainly helps explain why the political arithmetic inside FIFA is considerably more complicated than simply asking whether a national association agrees with its confederation president.

Relationships matter when presidents need votes.

And Infantino has been building those relationships for a decade.

The World Is Dividing, But Not Neatly

The leadership of UEFA, AFC and Concacaf is now openly challenging Infantino.

CAF has publicly backed him.

Powerful voices in South America are supporting him.

OFC, representing Oceania, has not joined the three-confederation letter.

But even that description makes the battle sound tidier than it really is.

Individual countries within those confederations are taking their own positions.

Some want Infantino gone.

Some want governance reform.

Some continue to support him.

Others have said very little.

So this is not simply three confederations against three.

It is potentially 211 individual decisions.

There will be alliances.

Pressure.

Development funding.

Personal relationships.

Presidential ambitions.

And undoubtedly several very pleasant dinners.

Welcome to FIFA.

The Empire Strikes Back, Part Two

When I called the previous piece The Empire Strikes Back, it was partly tongue in cheek.

Infantino had pushed.

Football was beginning to push back.

I was not expecting the sequel quite this quickly.

But this is no longer simply resistance to a commercial proposal.

Three continental confederations have effectively told the President of FIFA:

The organisation is not yours.

They have accused his leadership of deception.

They say trust has been broken.

They want an independent investigation.

And reporting now indicates that the three confederations want Infantino to step down.

That is an extraordinary place for world football to have reached within days.

But there is one final twist.

A rebellion is only a rebellion until you count the votes.

Then it becomes either a revolution or a failed uprising.

And FIFA has 211 of them.

So perhaps that is the question we should be asking now.

Not whether The Empire Strikes Back.

It clearly has.

The question is whether Gianni Infantino still has enough of the galaxy on his side to survive it.

Tony, Nick, Drew, Danny and Brian: The Pressure Is On, Lads

Promotion, relegation and the decisions Tasmanian football is waiting for

There is something happening in Canberra that caught my attention this week.

Not because I necessarily agree with what they have decided. In fact I am a great believer in promotion and relegation and in clubs being able to earn their way up the football pyramid.

But Canberra has done something Tasmania has not yet done.

It has told its clubs what is happening.

And as our 2026 seasons reach their climax, with championships being decided and two clubs about to leave the NPL, that seems increasingly important.

Because in Tasmania we know who is going down.

What we don't yet know is how anyone gets back up.

Promotion and Relegation 101

Promotion and relegation is one of the things that makes football, well, football.

Finish at or near the bottom of one division and you go down.

Win or finish near the top of the division below and you get the opportunity to go up.

Different countries and competitions do it differently. Sometimes it is automatic. Sometimes there are playoffs. Sometimes clubs must also satisfy financial, facility or licensing requirements.

But across most of the football world the fundamental principle is the same.

Performance has consequences.

There is jeopardy at the bottom.

There is opportunity at the top.

And there is always somewhere to aspire to.

England, Scotland, Germany, France, Spain, Italy and countless other football nations operate pyramids in which clubs can rise and fall according to what happens on the pitch.

There are, of course, some notable closed shop exceptions.

Australia is one.

Our A-League remains disconnected from the NPL competitions below it. Win an NPL competition and there is no sporting route into the A-League. Finish bottom of the A-League and you don't get relegated.

The United States is another obvious example. Major League Soccer operates as a closed league without promotion and relegation, and incoming commissioner Larry Berg made clear this week that it isn't happening anytime soon, calling it "not appropriate for our league."

Mexico has also suspended promotion and relegation, with Liga MX confirming there will be no promotion or relegation for the 2026-27 season.

Interestingly India has headed in the other direction. The Indian Super League introduced relegation for the first time this season, with the bottom club dropping down and the second tier champion coming up.

So closed competitions exist.

But across world football they remain very much the exception rather than the rule.

And that brings me to Canberra.

So What Has Happened in Canberra?

Capital Football has made a very clear decision.

There will be no promotion or relegation in its NPL youth competitions in 2027.

There is some history behind that.

The collapse and withdrawal of Gungahlin United created considerable disruption to Canberra football. Capital Football subsequently changed its competition structures and suspended the normal promotion and relegation arrangements.

But clubs weren't all happy about that continuing into 2027.

They asked the Capital Football Board to reconsider.

The Board did.

Twice.

Then on 7 August it publicly gave everybody its answer.

No.

The Board said its original decision had been made to provide stability and certainty following the disruption caused by Gungahlin United.

It acknowledged that clubs aspiring to reach the NPL would be disappointed.

But it was unequivocal.

"We stand by our decision."

And just in case anyone thought there might be another round of discussion:

"The Board does not intend to revisit this decision again."

Read the Capital Football Board statement

Now I am not convinced I like their decision.

I can certainly understand why a club sitting below the NPL, investing in coaches, players, facilities and development and trying to win its competition, might be more than a little unhappy to discover that there is no door through which it can progress.

But I do like one thing about it.

Everyone knows.

The clubs know.

The coaches know.

The players know.

The committees know.

The people preparing budgets for next year know.

Capital Football has made the call, explained why it made it and put it publicly on the record.

There is certainty.

And that is where my mind immediately came back to Tasmania.

Meanwhile, Back in Tasmania...

Our situation is quite different.

Tasmania expanded the men's NPL from eight teams to ten for 2026.

We were also told from the outset that this was temporary.

At the completion of this season two clubs would be relegated and the competition would return to eight teams for 2027.

So far, so clear.

Launceston United and Ulverstone will leave the NPL and we return to eight.

But then comes the question I cannot find a clear answer to.

What happens after that?

Is eight the permanent number?

Does the bottom NPL club get relegated in 2027?

Can a Championship club be promoted?

Is promotion automatic?

Is there a playoff?

Does the Northern Championship winner play the Southern Championship winner?

Does that winner then play the bottom NPL club?

What licensing requirements apply?

What happens if a Championship winner doesn't satisfy them?

And what happens if the Championship winner already has a team in the NPL?

These aren't obscure administrative questions.

They determine whether we actually have a football pyramid.

And This Isn't Hypothetical

Look at what is happening right now.

South Hobart's Championship men are within touching distance of winning the Southern Championship.

Meanwhile the Southern Championship Women has developed into a cracking finish.

University currently sits top on 41 points from 18 games.

South Hobart sits just one point behind on 40, having played only 17.

And this Sunday they play each other at D'Arcy Street.

It could hardly be set up better.

Potentially South Hobart could finish the season with both its men's and women's Championship teams as league champions.

A wonderful achievement if they can do it.

But it also gives us a perfect real life example of why the structure needs to be understood.

What does winning a Championship actually mean?

South Hobart already has an NPL men's team, so what happens if its Championship side wins the Southern Championship?

Does an opportunity pass to the next eligible club?

Does nobody get promoted?

Does the Northern champion come into the equation?

Is there a playoff?

And on the women's side, how does the Championship connect with the Women's Super League?

This isn't really about South Hobart.

Next season it could be another club asking exactly the same questions.

It is about what winning the competition means.

Enter The Chosen Ones

Of course there may be an answer coming.

I certainly hope so.

We know Football Tasmania is undertaking its competition review.

I previously wrote about the small group selected to help with that process and, perhaps a little cheekily, christened them The Chosen Ones.

I subsequently interviewed Football Tasmania CEO Tony Pignata about the review and why he had chosen a smaller group rather than another enormous meeting involving everybody and their dog.

Fair enough.

And I suspect there must be an enormous amount going on behind the scenes.

There certainly should be.

Because promotion and relegation cannot possibly be considered in isolation. Competition sizes, the North-South divide, travel, facilities, licensing, financial sustainability, reserve teams, women's football and player pathways all come into it.

None of this should be decided on the back of an envelope.

So let's hope The Chosen Ones are busy.

But We Are All Waiting

And this is where consultation becomes so important.

Out here in clubland we are sitting on the edge of our seats waiting to hear what comes next.

What does this mean for our club?

What does it mean for our players?

What does it mean for the teams we currently have?

What competition are they going to be playing in?

What pathway can we offer them?

And when will we know?

Because football clubs don't magically reappear in March ready for another season.

Budgets need to be drawn.

Coaches need to be appointed.

Players need to make decisions.

Teams need to be entered.

Sponsors need to know what they are supporting.

Committees need to plan.

Clubs investing significant amounts of money, time and energy into player development need to understand where that pathway ultimately leads.

These are decisions that are being made now.

That is why the Canberra announcement interested me so much.

I don't necessarily want Canberra's answer.

But I wouldn't mind their certainty.

Their clubs know the rules of the game.

Ours need to know too.

Over to the Chosen Ones

Perhaps the answers are already being worked through.

Perhaps there is a new competition model sitting on a table somewhere.

Perhaps we are finally going to see a clearly articulated Tasmanian football pyramid.

Perhaps there will be playoffs.

Perhaps licensing will determine eligibility.

Perhaps something entirely different is being contemplated.

Perhaps there are ideas none of us have even considered.

I genuinely look forward to hearing them.

But the clock is ticking.

The 2026 champions are being decided now.

Two clubs are being relegated now.

Clubs are beginning to plan for 2027 now.

Budgets are being considered now.

Players and coaches will soon be making decisions.

So now it is over to Tony, Nick, Drew, Danny and Brian.

No pressure, lads.

Well, actually...

There probably is a bit of pressure.

Because all around Tasmanian football we are sitting on the edge of our seats waiting for the consultation.

Not because we are impatient or simply curious, but because the decisions that follow it will shape what our clubs, teams and players do next.

What does it mean for our clubs?

What does it mean for our teams?

And, most importantly, what does it mean for our players?

So Tony, Nick, Drew, Danny and Brian, the ball is very much in your court.

The pressure is on, lads.

And while we wait, one very simple question remains.

If you can go down, how do you get back up?

Football 101: When the Governing Body Owns a Football Club

Last year I travelled to Wollongong with South Hobart for the Australia Championship.

Like most football people, I knew the Wollongong Wolves.

I knew their history.

I knew their success.

I knew they were one of Australia's great traditional football clubs.

What I didn't know was South Coast Flame.

In fact, I'd never even heard of them.

Fast forward twelve months and suddenly South Coast Flame is making headlines across Australian football.

Not because they've won a title.

Because they're disappearing. Football South Coast has announced that 2026 will be the club's final season before it is wound up and replaced by a new FSC Academy pathway.

This is still unfolding as I write.

There's already a petition with more than eight hundred signatures.

A rally is planned for Saturday morning.

So take this piece as the start of a conversation, not the end of one.

That sent me down a rabbit hole.

What I discovered genuinely surprised me.

South Coast Flame wasn't simply another football club.

It was created by Football South Coast – the governing body responsible for football across the Illawarra.

I actually had to read that twice.

The association itself had established its own representative football club and pathway.

My first reaction?

"Hang on... can they do that?"

Apparently they can.

The more interesting question is...

Should they?

Football clubs are football

I've spent more than twenty years in football.

The one thing I've learned is this.

Football clubs are football.

Long before governing bodies existed in their current form, football clubs were bringing communities together, developing players, creating rivalries and giving people somewhere to belong.

Governing bodies play an essential role too.

They organise competitions.

Develop coaches and referees.

Create representative opportunities.

Set standards.

Provide leadership for the game.

Traditionally, the relationship has been quite simple.

Clubs play football.

Governing bodies govern football.

South Coast Flame challenges that traditional relationship.

Because when the governing body establishes and operates one of the clubs, those two roles begin to overlap.

And that's where the governance discussion begins.

Why create a club?

To be fair, Football South Coast wasn't acting without reason.

Its representative players were reaching the end of the junior pathway and many were leaving the region.

Its solution was to create South Coast Flame.

A pathway that stretched from junior development through youth football and into the senior game.

The objective was simple.

Keep more talented players developing in the Illawarra.

On paper, that's a perfectly understandable ambition.

But another question immediately follows.

If the governing body owns one of the clubs...

...is it now competing with the very clubs it exists to support?

It reminded me of Tasmania

Reading about South Coast Flame took me straight back to Tasmania.

Many readers will remember the National Training Centre.

The NTC wasn't the same as South Coast Flame.

It wasn't established as a permanent football club.

But it created some very similar emotions.

At South Hobart we watched talented young players we'd helped develop move into an elite environment.

You couldn't blame them.

Every ambitious young footballer wants to test themselves at the highest level possible.

Parents want opportunities.

Players chase dreams.

That's football.

But from a club's perspective, it felt different.

The NTC became the team everybody wanted to beat.

Not because anyone disliked the players.

Because it represented something bigger than another football club.

It represented the governing body.

One memory has stayed with me for years.

I was sitting in the grandstand watching what I think was an Under 18 match beside a coach who had recently arrived in Tasmania.

I introduced myself and asked what he thought of the football.

"It's shit," he replied.

He wasn't there simply to watch the game.

He was there identifying recruits.

Looking back now, that conversation wasn't really about one coach.

It represented a changing relationship.

For many clubs, it suddenly felt like "them" and "us".

The clubs developed players.

The pathway recruited them.

Nobody was necessarily doing anything wrong.

But the landscape had changed.

Then I remembered something Tony Pignata said

A while ago I interviewed Football Tasmania CEO Tony Pignata.

We were discussing what might happen if Tasmania eventually had an A-League club.

His answer has stayed with me.

If Tasmania had an A-League team, the best players would naturally want to go there.

Of course they would.

That's football.

The best players chase the highest level available.

But afterwards I found myself thinking about Tasmania.

We're not Sydney.

We're not Melbourne.

We're not Brisbane.

We're a small football state.

Our player pool is limited.

Our coaching pool is limited.

Our volunteer base is limited.

Every outstanding player who leaves one club for another is noticed.

Every coach who changes clubs is noticed.

Unlike the bigger mainland states, we don't have an endless conveyor belt of players coming through behind them.

The football ecosystem is much smaller.

That makes governance decisions even more important.

Because every new pathway has to recruit from somewhere.

Every representative team draws from existing clubs.

Every elite program competes for the same finite pool of players.

And there are still only eleven starting positions in every team.

That's the dilemma.

The questions worth asking

This isn't about suggesting Football South Coast acted improperly.

From everything I've read, there was a genuine desire to improve opportunities for local players.

But good intentions don't remove legitimate governance questions.

If an association creates and supports one of the clubs within its own football ecosystem...

Can member clubs ever feel they are competing on completely equal terms?

Where does governance end and participation begin?

How independent can an association-created club ever really be?

How are resources separated?

These aren't accusations.

They're governance questions.

And governance questions matter.

The story isn't really about South Coast Flame

Families involved with South Coast Flame are understandably devastated by the announcement that the club will close.

If I were one of those families, I'd probably feel exactly the same.

But if I were sitting on the committee of the Wollongong Wolves, Bulli or another competing club, I suspect I'd also be quietly thinking something else.

Maybe football had returned to the model it has traditionally known.

Independent clubs competing against independent clubs.

Governing bodies governing the game.

Perhaps that's why this story fascinated me so much.

I travelled to Wollongong last year thinking I understood football in the Illawarra.

It turns out I still had plenty to learn.

Because in the end, this isn't really a story about South Coast Flame.

It's a story about governance.

Where should the line be drawn between governing the game and participating in it?

I don't pretend to have the answer.

But I do know this.

Football clubs are the heartbeat of our game.

They build the game.

They sustain the game.

And perhaps most importantly...

They deserve a governing body whose only job is to govern.

The Empire Strikes Back

Episode X: A Disturbance in the Football Force

The following is satire. Any resemblance to actual emperors, Sith Lords, galactic investment bankers or football administrators is purely coincidental... probably.

A long time ago...

In a football galaxy far, far away...

EPISODE X

THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK

There is unrest across the Football Galaxy.

Following the spectacular destruction of the FIFA Forward Enterprise Death Star, Emperor Gianni has returned to the Imperial Palace on Planet Zürich to reassure his loyal Stormtroopers that everything is proceeding exactly according to plan.

The Rebel Alliance, led by Obi-Wan Čeferin, the CONCACAF Squadron and an increasing number of Confederations who have suddenly rediscovered the concept of consultation, are beginning to question the Emperor's latest vision.

Meanwhile...

Far away from the marble halls of power...

Millions of volunteers continue lining football fields, blissfully unaware another 600-page strategic review has just been commissioned...

The Rise of Emperor Gianni

Every great saga needs an Emperor.

Football has one.

When Gianni Infantino first arrived, he wasn't supposed to become the Empire.

He was the reformer.

The fresh face who stepped over the smoking wreckage of his old master's throne and promised it would never, ever happen again.

The old master, of course, was Darth Blatter.

Banished to the outer rim after his own fall, stripped of his robes, last seen muttering about payments nobody could quite explain.

Nobody mentions Darth Blatter at Imperial functions anymore.

Which is, itself, a little suspicious.

The new Emperor's robes were modest.

The speeches were optimistic.

The Force seemed strong.

Ten years later...

The robes appear slightly grander.

The speeches slightly longer.

The trophy launches considerably longer.

And the competitions...

Well...

They seem to multiply faster than Stormtroopers.

Order 48

Every fall has a beginning, and this one had a number.

Not Order 66. Football was never quite that dramatic.

Order 48.

The directive that grew the World Cup from 32 teams to 48, handed down with great fanfare as a gift to the footballing galaxy, more nations, more matches, more glory for all.

Nobody clapped louder than the Emperor himself.

Nobody noticed, at the time, that "more of everything" is also just a very polite way of saying "harder to control."

In hindsight, Order 48 wasn't the moment football got bigger.

It was the moment the Empire stopped asking permission.

Enter Darth Calendar

No Emperor rules alone.

Standing faithfully beside him is perhaps the most feared Sith Lord in football history.

Darth Calendar.

Every morning he arrives carrying a black leather diary, and every morning the diary is somehow fuller than the day before.

"Your Majesty..."

"Yes?"

"We've found another international window."

"Excellent."

"We've expanded the Club World Cup."

"Excellent."

"The players haven't slept since March."

"That sounds like a player problem."

Darth Calendar never raises his voice.

He doesn't need to.

He just keeps scheduling.

The Death Star

Then came the Empire's greatest engineering achievement.

Not another trophy.

Not another tournament.

The FIFA Forward Enterprise.

The Death Star of football finance.

A magnificent battle station promising untold riches through private investment.

For those who missed the classified briefing, here's what the blueprint actually said. Spin FIFA's commercial rights, including the World Cup itself, into a new subsidiary worth 20 billion Imperial credits. Sell roughly a fifth of it to outside investors. Sweeten the deal for the 211 systems with 20 million credits each, available immediately, no questions asked.

Especially no questions asked.

The glossy presentations were impressive.

The consultants wore expensive suits.

Darth Calendar, ever efficient, had already blocked out the unveiling ceremony three months in advance.

There was only one small problem.

Someone left a thermal exhaust port.

Help Me Obi-Wan Čeferin, You're My Only Hope

At first the Rebels were few.

Then Obi-Wan Čeferin ignited the lightsaber.

CONCACAF climbed aboard.

Parts of Asia began asking awkward questions.

Even inside the Imperial Palace...

Stormtroopers reportedly started reading the briefing papers.

One of the Emperor's own senior advisers, a man with rather cosy ties to a certain White House panel, resigned rather than sit through the rest of the meeting.

Even Master Wenger, the old Jedi brought in to oversee football's development across the outer rim, stepped forward to say the retreat was necessary, no debate required.

Which is a very Jedi way of saying he wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.

Somewhere, Darth Calendar penciled in an emergency meeting to discuss the emergency meeting.

When your own Stormtroopers begin whispering, your own advisers start filing their resignations, and your own wise old Jedi masters start distancing themselves in careful, diplomatic sentences...

The Force is trying to tell you something.

The Confederation Cantina

It was like walking into the Mos Eisley Cantina.

Confederations that rarely agreed on anything suddenly found themselves nodding in agreement.

Some who had applauded enthusiastically only days earlier quietly shuffled toward the exit.

Others discovered, almost overnight, that they had always believed in consultation.

In the corner booth, a scruffy-looking captain from the CONCACAF sector leaned back, boots on the table.

"Fifty-two of them, lost confidence in a week," he said. "Never tell me the odds."

Beside him, something enormous and hairy growled its agreement.

Nobody was entirely sure whose ship they'd flown in on, or whether it would be for hire once the dust settled.

Politics.

It's a funny old galaxy.

By the time the dust settled, the Death Star had been scrapped and Obi-Wan Čeferin wasn't in a forgiving mood. UEFA released a statement that it had lost confidence in the Emperor's leadership altogether. Nothing, they said, should be ruled out.

That's not a lightsaber wave. That's a full Rebel fleet regrouping for round two.

The Ghost of Darth Blatter

That night, alone in the Imperial Palace, Emperor Gianni saw something flicker at the end of the hall.

A familiar shape.

Old robes. Older grudges.

"You were the one who was going to fix all this," said the ghost of Darth Blatter. "Not become it."

The Emperor said nothing.

"I built an empire on favours and back-room deals, and they dragged me out of it in disgrace," the ghost went on. "You built yours on promising you'd never do what I did."

"Same ending, though. Isn't it."

Then he was gone, cackling softly, off to wherever disgraced former Emperors go to watch the sequel with popcorn.

Lord Kushner Arrives

Just when things couldn't become stranger...

It turned out the Death Star had an anchor investor all along.

A New York investment house, founded by one Lord Kushner, younger brother of a rather more famous Kushner who happens to be married into a certain Presidential family currently running its own Empire a little further west.

Small galaxy.

The Emperor unveiled him as his newest adviser anyway, because subtlety was never really the Empire's strong suit.

Lord Kushner.

Supreme Chancellor for Commercial Opportunities, Galactic Real Estate and Synergy Optimisation.

Even the Supreme Leader of the wider Republic, a man the Emperor once decorated with the Football Peace Medal for services to intergalactic harmony, has reportedly gone rather quiet on the whole affair.

When your own Supreme Leader stops returning your holo-calls, that's not a great sign either.

"My Emperor..."

"We've monetised the Death Star."

"Excellent."

"Yoda's swamp has been rezoned for luxury waterfront apartments."

"Now we're talking."

Darth Calendar, taking notes in the corner, quietly added "swamp inspection" to next Tuesday.

The Imperial Rally

The Emperor stepped onto the balcony.

The crowd waited.

"My friends...

People are saying this is the biggest World Cup ever.

The best.

Nobody has ever seen tournaments like these.

Darth Vader came up to me...

Big fellow...

Very emotional...

Tears in his eyes...

He said...

'Sir... thank you for expanding everything.'

Beautiful moment."

Even C-3PO looked unconvinced.

"Sir, the probability of that exact conversation occurring is approximately three thousand, seven hundred and twenty to one."

Nobody was listening to C-3PO either.

Attack of the Clone Letters

Then came perhaps the strangest chapter.

It turns out the Emperor had already secured pledges of loyalty from around 200 of the Galaxy's 211 systems, all neatly worded, all suspiciously similar, all filed away as proof that resistance was pointless.

Stormtrooper 143 looked puzzled.

"Sir... we've all written exactly the same letter."

Stormtrooper 287 smiled.

"That simply proves we're all thinking independently."

C-3PO quietly calculated the probability and decided, wisely, not to share it.

Then the Death Star blew up, and something curious happened.

One by one, systems that had signed the clone letters started quietly asking for them back.

Planet Wales was first to defect.

Turns out nobody wants to be caught holding a loyalty pledge to a battle station that no longer exists.

Order 48 had grown the competition.

Order 48 had also, it seems, grown the list of people willing to walk away from him.

General Figo Breaks Ranks

Then, from the outer systems, an old rival returned.

General Figo, once a contender for the Empire's throne himself before he stood down and swore his fleet to the Emperor's cause, stepped out of retirement.

He did not come quietly.

He'd flown with rogues his whole career, he said. But nothing in that career had prepared him for the kind of self-serving conduct he'd just watched play out at the top of the game he loved.

"Time for him to go," General Figo said. "Past time."

The cantina went silent.

It's one thing for the Rebels to turn on an Emperor.

It's another entirely when the general who once knelt and swore allegiance to him picks up a lightsaber of his own.

The Succession Whispers

Already, in the cantina's back booths, names are being traded like bounty contracts.

A club president from a galaxy far too glamorous for its own good.

A CONCACAF commander said to be quietly building his own fleet, right under everyone's nose.

Nobody has declared anything.

But everybody is counting votes.

Darth Calendar, ever the professional, has already pencilled in the coronation.

Just in case.

Master Yoda Clears His Throat

Finally...

Silence descended.

A tiny green figure appeared.

"Powerful... football is."

"Powerful... volunteers are."

"Powerful... children playing are."

"Serve football... leaders must."

"Serve themselves...

They must not."

Then he paused.

"Fear of losing power... leads to secrecy."

"Secrecy... leads to distrust."

"Distrust... leads to this whole sorry mess we find ourselves in."

Then, quieter still.

"Forgotten the grassroots... some have."

No one in the room argued.

Even Darth Calendar stopped writing.

Meanwhile... On Planet Grassroots

While the Empire debated billions...

Someone unlocked the clubrooms.

Someone marked the lines.

Someone pumped up footballs.

Someone sold sausages.

Someone washed jerseys.

Someone comforted a child who had just scored an own goal.

Someone celebrated another who had scored their first ever goal.

No consultants.

No investment vehicles.

No commercial entities.

Just football.

The Real Force

Perhaps that's the lesson.

Empires rise.

Empires fall.

Presidents come and go.

Strategies are launched.

Strategies are abandoned.

Working groups become steering committees.

Steering committees become review panels.

Review panels become discussion papers.

Discussion papers become another meeting.

Meanwhile...

Football quietly gets on with being football.

The Force has never lived in boardrooms.

It lives on suburban grounds.

Country ovals.

Community clubs.

In parents.

Coaches.

Referees.

Volunteers.

Children.

That's where football has always found its greatest strength.

May the Football Force Be With You

As the credits rolled over Planet Zürich...

Emperor Gianni disappeared into the Imperial Palace.

Darth Calendar had already scheduled three more tournaments, and possibly a fourth, out of spite.

Lord Kushner was still measuring Yoda's swamp.

Somewhere, a consultant was preparing a presentation titled:

"Unlocking Synergies Across the Galactic Football Ecosystem."

And somewhere else...

On a windswept suburban football ground...

A volunteer quietly hammered another corner flag into the ground before sunrise.

Without fanfare.

Without applause.

Without a PowerPoint.

Without a billion-dollar strategy.

Just because football needed them.

Master Yoda smiled.

"Strong with football... the Force is."

"Forget this... never should we."

"Power...

Temporary it is.

Football...

Forever it will be."

Darth Calendar checked his diary one last time.

"Your Majesty...

We've found room for another tournament."

The Emperor smiled.

"Where?"

Darth Calendar looked up.

"Christmas morning."

May the Football Force be with you. Always.

The Trophy Dilemma: When Should Champions Lift the Silverware?

Photo Credit: Football Tasmania / Devonport Strikers.

These amazing women had no trouble knowing when they would lift their trophy. Cup finals are simple. League championships can be a very different story.

Some football debates never have a right answer.

This is one of them.

When should league champions actually get the trophy?

The moment they mathematically win it?

Their final home match, so more supporters can be there?

A designated presentation day at the end of the season?

Around the world you'll find all three.

The Premier League generally waits for the champions' final home game. Germany often celebrates the moment the title is won. Here in Australia, different federations do it differently and, in a lot of cases, there isn't even a written policy.

Which got me thinking about two memories from Tasmania.

A Day I Still Remember

Years ago the State League title went down to the last day.

From memory, South Hobart needed the right result while their rivals were playing at the Den, though someone with a sharper memory than mine might correct me on exactly who that was.

What I do remember clearly is John Boulous.

He was sitting in limbo with the trophy, waiting to find out where the championship would actually be decided. If South Hobart won it he had to get to one ground. If the result at the Den went the other way he had to get somewhere else entirely.

A logistical nightmare.

Lucky for John, both grounds were in Hobart.

The Women's Title No One Quite Knew How to Finish

There was another one too.

A women's league title, won and then the club sort of hovering around afterwards, not entirely sure whether anyone from Football Tasmania was actually going to turn up with the trophy.

Plenty of chit chat about that one at the time.

I won't pretend to remember every detail. But I do remember the feeling of it. A team that had earned its moment, standing around waiting to find out whether the presentation was actually going to happen.

If men's football sometimes struggles to get the logistics right, it's fair to ask whether women's football gets asked to wait a little longer and wonder a little harder.

What If It Had Been Devonport?

Both memories raise the same question.

What if one of those clubs had been in Devonport?

Or Launceston?

Or Burnie?

Tasmania is a very different proposition to England. We don't have clubs separated by twenty minutes. We have clubs separated by hundreds of kilometres.

The trophy can only be in one place.

Do you sit someone in a car and hope they've guessed right? Put replica trophies at multiple grounds? Or just accept the presentation might have to wait, or in some cases, just not happen the way it should?

These aren't hypotheticals. Any competition spread across a state this size has to solve this eventually.

How Do Other Competitions Handle It?

Turns out the big leagues have already wrestled with exactly this problem.

The Bundesliga has one of the smartest systems. The real Meisterschale is sent to the club leading the table heading into the final day, while a replica goes to any other ground where the title could still be won. Whoever actually becomes champions gets the real trophy within the hour. No one drives across the country hoping they've guessed right.

The Premier League does it differently, though it has landed on a similar solution. In 2022, with Manchester City and Liverpool both able to win the title on the final day, the real trophy stayed in Manchester while a replica was sent to Anfield in case Liverpool finished on top. If the title has already been secured before the final round, the trophy is usually presented at the champions' final home match instead.

Italy does it differently again. The Scudetto isn't really about lifting a trophy on the day at all. It's a small shield stitched onto the champions' shirts the following season. Nothing to physically deliver, nowhere to race to.

Closer to home, the A-League generally presents the Premiers Plate at the club's next home match after the title has been secured, not the moment it's actually won.

So there isn't one universally accepted answer.

There are simply different leagues solving the same problem with the resources they've got.

The Emotion of the Moment

There is something in that final whistle that nothing else can replicate.

The players don't know they're champions until that instant.

The emotion is real.

The celebrations are spontaneous.

Parents, kids, volunteers and supporters all share something that will never happen in exactly the same way again.

Can a celebration a week later ever really recreate that?

I'm not sure it can.

Imagine winning the league with three rounds still to play.

The players are celebrating.

The supporters are on the pitch.

Everyone knows history has just been made.

Then someone says, "We'll see you in three weeks for the trophy."

It doesn't quite feel the same.

But What About the Supporters?

Then again, if your club wins away from home, shouldn't your own supporters get to see their captain lift it?

Plenty would say they've earned that too.

That's probably why waiting for the final home game has become such a strong tradition in some competitions.

It allows the entire club to celebrate together, not just the travelling supporters.

Is There a Right Answer?

Maybe there isn't one perfect system.

Maybe leagues just need a policy that's fair, practical and understood by everyone before the season even starts, for men's and women's football alike.

Football loves its traditions.

But sometimes traditions only exist because someone once solved a practical problem.

So I'm interested in what others think.

If your team wins the league, when should they lift the trophy?

• Immediately after the title-winning match?

• At the next home game?

• On a designated presentation day?

• Or does it simply depend on the circumstances?

Whatever the answer, one thing is certain.

Winning a league title is one of the hardest achievements in football.

Whenever the trophy is lifted, it deserves to be a moment worthy of the accomplishment.

Beyond the White Lines: The Story of Riverside Olympic and Windsor Park

From left: Riverside Olympic Club Secretary Natalie Brown, West Tamar Council Mayor Christine Holmdahl, Riverside Olympic President Stuart McCarron and The Honourable Jo Palmer MLC, Member for Rosevears and Minister for Education, inspect the latest stage of the Windsor Park redevelopment. Photo courtesy of Riverside Olympic.

When we talk about football clubs, we often focus on what happens between the white lines.

The goals.

The trophies.

The premierships.

But some of the most important stories in football aren't about the 90 minutes on a Saturday afternoon. They're about the generations of volunteers, committee members, councils and governments who quietly build the places where those matches are played.

Riverside Olympic Football Club is one of those stories.

Today, Windsor Park has developed into one of Tasmania's most significant football precincts, supporting one of the state's largest football clubs. It has taken almost six decades of vision, patience and hard work to reach this point.

Humble Beginnings

Riverside Olympic was founded in 1967, although its football heritage reaches back even further.

When the historic Patons & Baldwins club ceased operations, Riverside Olympic purchased its playing strips and equipment, carrying forward a football tradition that stretched back to the pioneering days of the game in Northern Tasmania during the 1920s and 1930s.

The club initially competed as Ravenswood Olympic, based at Kings Meadows High School, before moving to Ravenswood Recreation Ground in 1970.

Success came quickly.

In 1973, Olympic claimed its first major honour by winning the Northern Combined League before finishing runner-up in the State Championship.

Yet perhaps the most important decision in the club's history came a few years later.

Finding a Home

In 1978, Riverside Olympic secured Windsor Park as its permanent home.

Initially, football was played inside the athletics track while the club worked with the council to create something far more ambitious than simply another playing field.

The vision was to build a football home.

The main pitch was later relocated to its current position, while in 1981 the club borrowed $5,000 to begin construction of its clubhouse. A Government sports loan later helped complete the facilities that continue to serve the club today.

Looking back now, those decisions changed everything.

Building for Generations

In 2016, Riverside Olympic reached another milestone by merging its junior and senior clubs into a single organisation, creating a complete pathway from junior football through to senior men's and women's teams.

Today, the club has more than 600 participants taking the field each week.

More than 50 teams call Windsor Park home.

More than 85 training sessions are conducted every week.

Few football venues in Tasmania would host more activity in a typical week.

That is a remarkable logistical challenge, but it also reflects the extraordinary growth of football in Northern Tasmania.

The Next Chapter

The latest redevelopment at Windsor Park is another significant step in that journey.

A new full-sized natural grass pitch is nearing completion, together with three caged five-a-side training pitches that will significantly increase the club's training and playing capacity.

President Stuart McCarron says the project is about much more than another field. It is about creating capacity for the next generation of footballers.

"This development will provide a first-class pitch that will be our major training area while also providing the opportunity for further games to be played on a football-designated pitch.

"The development also includes three caged five-a-side pitches. This will not only provide first-class training opportunities but also allow us to host small-sided competitions that will enhance the experience not only for Riverside players, but for the Launceston community as a whole."

Partnerships That Make It Possible

Major sporting facilities don't happen by accident.

They require long-term partnerships.

McCarron is equally quick to acknowledge the role played by West Tamar Council and the Tasmanian Government.

"The West Tamar Council provides a tremendous amount of support, not only for our club but for the West Tamar sporting community as a whole.

"In the past five years they have contributed over $4 million in funding for the development of grounds and change rooms. They also contribute significantly with the maintenance of nearly the equivalent of four full-sized football pitches.

"The State Government has not only provided $500,000 for this latest development but also previously provided an interest-free loan to the council to enable the clubroom complex to be built."

Those investments are creating facilities that will benefit thousands of footballers for years to come.

More Than Football

While football is at the heart of Windsor Park, the precinct has become much more than a sporting venue.

The clubhouse now features four change rooms, a commercial kitchen and a function room capable of seating around 150 people.

It has evolved into a genuine community hub, hosting schools, other sporting organisations and local community events.

McCarron believes that is one of the club's greatest achievements.

"I am most proud of the position that Riverside Olympic holds in the West Tamar community as the largest sporting club in the municipality.

"The Riverside Olympic Football Centre has become a community hub used by other sporting clubs and schools, while also providing a great space for local families to celebrate milestone events."

Looking Ahead

Like every successful club, Riverside Olympic isn't standing still.

McCarron hopes to see further expansion of the precinct, including additional playing space, an all-weather training area, more change rooms and improved undercover spectator facilities.

It is a vision measured not in seasons, but in decades.

Appreciating What Has Been Built

One of the privileges of spending more than twenty years involved in football administration is seeing how clubs grow over time.

I have to admit, I sometimes look at clubs like Riverside Olympic and Kingborough Lions with a touch of envy.

Not because of the football they play, but because of the room they have to grow.

I know exactly what another pitch means because I've spent years juggling training schedules, moving sessions between grounds and trying to fit more football onto the same patch of grass.

In the City of Hobart, land is scarce. There is very little green space left for major sporting developments, and every improvement seems to take years of planning, funding applications and patience.

Sometimes all you can think is, imagine what one more full-sized pitch would mean.

Or a clubhouse.

Or another training area.

I've watched South Hobart enjoy remarkable success on the field over the past twenty years, but the facilities have never quite matched that success. A new clubhouse is finally on the way, but like so many community projects, the wheels turn slowly. Wellesley Park took seven years to become a reality, and anyone involved in football soon learns that patience is simply part of the journey.

That's why I genuinely appreciate what Riverside Olympic has achieved.

Facilities like Windsor Park are not created by a single funding announcement or one committee.

They are the product of thousands of volunteer hours, countless committee meetings and a willingness to keep planning for the next generation.

They are built over decades by volunteers, club leaders, councils and governments all pulling in the same direction.

When I look at Windsor Park today, I don't just see another football ground.

I see nearly sixty years of people believing their club could always be a little better.

Every clubhouse began as an idea.

Every football pitch was once just an empty paddock.

Every major redevelopment started with someone asking, "What if we could make this better?"

The next time you walk into a football club, take a moment to look beyond the white lines.

Because chances are, you're standing in the middle of someone else's dream.

Tony Pignata: The Decisions That Shape Tasmanian Football - Part Three

Photo Credit: Nikki Long

The first two parts of this interview were about understanding Tony Pignata.

Who he is.

How he leads.

And where he believes Tasmanian football needs to go.

This final part is different.

It's about decisions.

The decisions that shape competitions.

The decisions that affect clubs, players, coaches and volunteers.

The decisions that attract support from some and criticism from others.

Leadership in football is rarely tested when everyone agrees.

It's tested when change is proposed.

When long-held traditions are questioned.

When people worry about what they might gain, or what they might lose.

That's where our conversation went next.

One of the biggest pieces of work currently underway at Football Tasmania is its Competition Review.

It has generated plenty of discussion throughout the football community and, understandably, plenty of questions.

What is Football Tasmania trying to achieve?

Why now?

What might change?

And how will those decisions ultimately shape the future of football in this state?

They were questions I wanted answered.

So I asked them.

Competition Review: Meet the Chosen Ones

Coaching and pathways both feed into a bigger question.

How are our competitions built, and who gets to decide?

Football Tasmania is currently reviewing its competition structures, and it's fair to say not everyone is comfortable with that.

I wanted to understand what the review is actually trying to solve.

"The review needs to consider whether our competitions are structured in a way that supports quality, sustainability and player development," Tony told me.

He spoke about a wide range of issues.

Team numbers.

Season length.

Promotion and relegation.

Travel and financial pressures.

Youth pathways.

Competitive balance.

The relationship between senior and youth competitions.

And, importantly, the different circumstances facing clubs in the north, north west and south of the state.

That last point matters more than it might first appear.

A structure that works for a Hobart club, with multiple grounds close by, may not work for a club in the north west where away trips can involve hours on the road.

I then asked why he had chosen a small advisory group to lead the review, rather than opening the discussion to the broader football community from the outset.

His answer was blunt.

The old model, bringing together large numbers of club presidents, simply hadn't worked.

"It was more like a love-in," he said.

Nothing got decided.

So he built something smaller, and he was refreshingly open about how it came together.

"I chose them," he told me.

During our conversation, he referred to them as "the chosen ones."

I'll admit, hearing those words stopped me for a second.

It's the title I gave a piece I wrote questioning who gets a seat at the table in Tasmanian football, and who doesn't.

Whether Tony meant it as a knowing nod to that article or simply arrived at the same phrase independently, I genuinely don't know.

He didn't say.

And I didn't ask.

What I do know is that the phrase perfectly captured the issue I'd been writing about.

Ten people sitting around a table can work through detail that two hundred people in a room often can't.

I understand that logic.

But who gets chosen, and who doesn't, shapes what the review recommends just as much as the terms of reference do.

Tony's response to that tension was equally direct.

"Not every club will agree with every decision," he said. "But the process must be transparent and focused on what is best for Tasmanian football as a whole."

That's easy to say before the recommendations are released.

The real test comes when a club feels it has lost something it values, whether that's a place in a competition, a long-standing tradition or a degree of independence, in the name of what's best for the game as a whole.

Tony told me he wants a competition structure that clubs "understand and believe in" and one that "can remain sustainable over the long term."

Whether that happens will depend less on what is said during the review and more on what the chosen ones ultimately recommend, and whether the clubs affected feel they were genuinely heard rather than simply spoken to.

Communication: The Word That Keeps Coming Back

I said earlier in this series that communication was a word Tony returned to again and again.

Now we've arrived at it properly.

I asked him directly how well he thought Football Tasmania communicated with the clubs it serves.

He didn't claim it was solved.

"Communication can always improve, particularly when you are dealing with a large and diverse football community," he said.

He pointed to several initiatives already in place.

A monthly newsletter to all clubs.

Meetings with NPL and WSL presidents twice a year.

Regular communication through Football Tasmania staff.

"However, it can still be difficult to ensure every decision reaches everyone, is clearly understood and is communicated at the right time," he said. "I am always available to talk to clubs and will always be transparent in my dealings with them."

That last line is easy to say.

It's harder to test.

Being available isn't the same as involving people before decisions are made.

A club finding out about a decision through a newsletter after the fact has technically been communicated with.

It hasn't necessarily been consulted.

I put that distinction to him, and it's where the Competition Review Working Group came back into the conversation.

"That is one reason we established the new competition working group," he said. "A smaller group can meet more regularly, examine issues in greater detail and engage directly with clubs to gather feedback. I believe that will create a more effective two-way flow of information than relying solely on larger meetings."

The chosen ones again.

Smaller, in Tony's view, means faster and more genuine engagement.

I understand the theory.

But it also places a great deal of responsibility on a small group of people to carry information in both directions, from clubs to Football Tasmania and back again, accurately and without it getting lost or reshaped along the way.

Tony was equally honest about where he believes the real challenge lies.

"The challenge for us is to continue communicating earlier and explaining not only what decisions have been made, but why they have been made," he said. "Clubs may not always agree with every decision, but they should understand the reasoning and feel they have had an opportunity to contribute."

That's a high standard to set.

Not just for Football Tasmania.

For any sporting organisation.

It's also the standard against which Football Tasmania will inevitably be judged.

Not by what Tony says about communication today.

But by whether clubs genuinely feel better informed, better consulted and, in Tony's own words, "have had an opportunity to contribute" before the next difficult decision arrives.

Communication, after all, isn't measured by what is sent.

It's measured by what is received.

National Second Division: What Really Happened

This is the issue I probably approached with the least neutrality anywhere in this series.

I was President of South Hobart for sixteen years and part of the collaborative group that worked on the club's National Second Division bid.

When Football Tasmania declined to support our request for government funding, I was disappointed, and I said so publicly at the time.

So I put the question to Tony directly.

I even told him he was welcome to answer it off the record if he preferred.

He didn't.

He answered every part of it on the record.

His position was clear.

"Football Tasmania's position was never about opposing South Hobart. I supported their ambition and respected their willingness to pursue the opportunity."

The issue, he explained, wasn't the bid itself.

"Their application was a club-led bid, and it needed to be funded on that basis, by the club."

Football Tasmania, he said, would not approach government seeking substantial funding for one individual club, "particularly when doing so could affect government support for other important football projects across Tasmania."

"The same position would apply to any other Tasmanian club," he wrote. "There was no discrimination against South Hobart, it was about applying a consistent principle and protecting the interests of football across the entire state."

I understand that principle.

I also understand why so many people at South Hobart found it difficult to accept.

This wasn't simply about one person or one club.

Over two years, countless hours were invested by directors, volunteers and many others associated with South Hobart in preparing what was widely regarded as a credible National Second Division bid.

It was the only Tasmanian club to submit a National Second Division bid.

Government investment was always likely to form part of the equation.

No National Second Division bid anywhere in Australia was ever going to be funded entirely by one club.

At the time, asking why Football Tasmania couldn't support that approach felt like a legitimate question.

It still does.

Tony also left the door open for the future.

"A genuine statewide bid may be viewed differently," he wrote, "and if that opportunity arose in the future we would assess the opportunities based on their merits and their benefit to Tasmanian football as a whole."

Whether that door eventually opens is something only time will answer.

Tony's explanation helped me better understand Football Tasmania's position.

It didn't erase my disappointment.

Too many people invested too much time, energy and belief in that bid for it to simply become another chapter in Tasmanian football history.

If a future statewide bid ever emerges, Tasmanian football will once again face the same question.

Who will back ambition when the opportunity arrives?

Government and Advocacy: Football's Case for Itself

If the National Second Division discussion was about one bid, this part of our conversation was about something much bigger.

How does football make its case to government?

I asked Tony where he thought that case currently falls short.

"Governments sometimes underestimate football's scale, diversity and reach," he told me.

He made the point simply.

"Football is played in communities across Tasmania by people of all ages, cultural backgrounds and financial circumstances. It is also one of the most accessible ways of engaging young people, improving health and connecting increasingly diverse communities."

Participation, he said, has grown strongly.

Infrastructure hasn't kept pace.

"Too many clubs are dealing with limited pitch access, ageing facilities and inadequate amenities, particularly for women and girls," he said.

Anyone involved in grassroots football knows exactly what he is talking about.

Whether it's ageing clubrooms, inadequate lighting, poor drainage or a shortage of quality pitches, these are conversations taking place in clubs right across Tasmania.

What interested me most, though, was how Tony framed football's argument.

"Football should not be viewed only as a sport asking for funding," he said. "Investment in football is investment in health, inclusion, youth engagement, tourism and community infrastructure. That is the message we have to get across to the Government."

It's a persuasive argument.

It's also one that other sports make just as confidently, often with greater success.

Football has the participation numbers to support its case.

What it hasn't consistently achieved is converting those numbers into the level of government investment many within the game believe they justify.

Tony didn't shy away from that reality.

He framed it as a challenge of advocacy rather than evidence.

Football already has the numbers.

The task is convincing governments that those numbers should translate into greater investment.

Whether that's the whole story is a fair question.

Advocacy matters.

Relationships matter.

Political timing matters.

So does presenting governments with projects that are well planned, broadly supported and ready to deliver.

Those are challenges that belong not only to Football Tasmania, but to clubs, councils and governments as well.

If there was one message I took away from this part of our conversation, it was that football's case has probably already been made.

The challenge now is turning that case into outcomes.

Participation numbers, on their own, don't build changerooms, install lights or improve pitches.

People do.

Governments do.

And ultimately, so does leadership.

Looking Ahead: What He Hopes People Will Say

I asked Tony the same question I ask everyone I interview.

When it's all over, how does he hope people will remember his time leading Football Tasmania?

His answer was straightforward.

"I hope people will say I helped leave Tasmanian football stronger, more ambitious and better positioned for the future," he wrote.

He described what that would look like.

A Home of Football.

Stronger player and coach pathways.

Competitions that remain sustainable.

Better facilities.

And deeper relationships with clubs, government and the wider football community.

None of that is guaranteed.

Some of it, as we've discussed throughout our conversation, remains contested.

"I would also hope people say that I brought energy, experience and belief to the role," he wrote. "Leadership is never perfect, and not every decision will be popular. But I want it to be clear that I cared deeply, made decisions for the right reasons and worked to give Tasmanian football the profile and opportunities it deserves."

Near the end of our coffee, I asked him one final question.

Does football spend too much time arguing with itself?

And could we become better at disagreeing while still working together?

"Yeah, absolutely," he said.

"We do."

There was no hesitation.

No qualification.

Just a simple acknowledgement.

Then he made a small request of me.

He'd like to see me write something positive one day.

Fair enough.

I do write positive pieces.

I'd like to think this is one of them, whatever else people may see in it.

But I'll admit something too.

Difficult questions are often easier to find than good news.

That's as true for me as it is for Football Tasmania when it's trying to convince governments to invest in the game.

Finishing Up

Three parts, one long coffee, and a lot of follow-up questions later, I don't agree with every decision Tony has made or defended.

I said that at the start, and it's still true now.

But I understand his reasoning better than I did before I asked him directly, instead of writing about him from a distance.

That was always the point of doing this.

Since these pieces started going up, I've been sending Tony each one as it's published. We've agreed to keep talking, on the record and off, about the issues that matter to Tasmanian football.

That doesn't mean the questions stop.

If anything, it means there will be more of them.

Understanding someone isn't the finish line.

It's just where the next conversation starts.

Identity Matters: Clarence Zebras Starts a Conversation About the Future

"Honouring our past. Shaping our future."

It's a simple tagline, but it captures one of the biggest challenges any football club will ever face.

If you've spent any time around Tasmanian football over the past year, you'll know this has probably been one of the worst kept secrets in the game.

There has certainly been plenty of chatter that Clarence Zebras were considering the next chapter in the club's identity.

This week, the club confirmed exactly that.

Rather than simply announcing a new direction, Clarence Zebras has launched what it describes as a community-led brand evolution, inviting members, players, volunteers, supporters and sponsors to help shape the club's future.

The consultation seeks feedback on three important aspects of the club's identity:

• The club name

• The club crest

• The club colours and traditional stripes

Supporters are also invited to submit their own crest and playing strip designs.

More Than a Badge

Football clubs don't change their identity lightly.

A club's name, colours and badge are far more than marketing tools. They represent generations of players, volunteers, coaches and supporters. They become part of family history.

For some people, the badge is the first shirt they ever pulled on. For others, it is the crest their parents or grandparents wore before them. Those connections explain why conversations about names, colours and crests often become passionate. They are not really about design. They are about belonging.

Speaking personally, I can only imagine what would happen if someone suggested changing the name of South Hobart FC, Tasmania's oldest continuously operating association football club.

I know exactly which committee member would resign on the spot.

I suspect that idea would go down like the proverbial lead balloon.

Every club is different, but it highlights just how deeply people care about their football clubs.

A Club That Has Already Evolved

Clarence Zebras is itself the product of football history.

The story begins with Juventus Soccer Club, founded in 1956, one of Tasmania's most successful football clubs with a proud connection to the Australian Italian community.

In 1998, as Australian football moved away from ethnic-based club names, Juventus became Hobart Zebras, while proudly retaining the famous Zebras identity.

Meanwhile, on Hobart's Eastern Shore, Phoenix Rovers was established in 1978 before becoming Clarence United in 1998, building its own proud football history along the way.

In 2019, Hobart Zebras and Clarence United came together to form Clarence Zebras FC, bringing together two proud football traditions under one banner at Wentworth Park.

Now, six years later, the club is once again asking its community to help shape what comes next.

Why Identity Matters

Football clubs evolve.

Communities change.

Facilities improve.

Junior participation grows.

New generations arrive while others step back after decades of service.

The challenge for every club is finding the balance between respecting its history and preparing for its future.

What actually defines a football club?

Is it the name?

The colours?

The crest?

Or is it the people who pull on the shirt every weekend?

I'm no longer bound by anyone's rules about what I can and can't say on this.

So I'll say it plainly. Clubs aren't buildings or badges. They're whoever turns up on a wet Tuesday night to unlock the clubrooms.

There may not be a right answer, but there will certainly be plenty of opinions.

Consultation Matters

One thing I do think deserves recognition is the process.

Questions about a club's identity are deeply personal. Rather than simply unveiling a decision, Clarence Zebras has chosen to invite its community into the conversation before deciding its future direction.

That won't guarantee everyone agrees with the eventual outcome, but it does mean everyone has the opportunity to contribute.

Through my role as Tournament Director of the Hobart Cup, I've seen another side of Clarence Zebras.

Wentworth Park is one of our busiest venues. Throughout the tournament, four pitches are alive with football from morning until late afternoon, welcoming hundreds of players, coaches, families and volunteers from across Tasmania and interstate.

Every year the club embraces the event. Their volunteers help create an environment where young footballers simply get to enjoy the game, and that willingness to support football beyond their own club says a great deal about the people involved.

Like every successful football club, much of what Clarence Zebras does happens because volunteers quietly get on with the job.

The Next Chapter

Whether this consultation ultimately results in significant change or simply reinforces the traditions that already exist, it marks another chapter in a football story that stretches back almost 70 years through Juventus, Hobart Zebras, Clarence United and today's Clarence Zebras.

For those with a connection to the club, whether as a current member, former player, volunteer, supporter or family member, this is an opportunity to help shape the next chapter of that story.

The consultation closes on 16 August.

If you have a connection with Clarence Zebras FC and would like to participate, you can find the consultation here:

Consultation Link

Whatever the outcome, football people across Tasmania will be watching.

Not because there's a right or wrong answer.

Because every club eventually has to answer the same question Clarence Zebras just asked out loud.

Who are we, and who do we want to be?

Is Bigger Always Better?

From John Aloisi to 64 Teams

I was there.

Sitting with my children.

Two hours of football.

Extra time.

Then penalties.

Every kick seemed to take forever.

Mark Schwarzer made the saves.

John Aloisi stepped forward.

One swing of his right boot.

The net bulged.

His shirt came off.

The stadium erupted.

We hugged complete strangers.

More than twenty years on I can still picture every moment.

If you're old enough you know exactly where you were that night.

If you're younger find the footage on YouTube. It still gives me goosebumps.

That wasn't just another World Cup qualification.

It was the end of 32 years of waiting.

It was relief.

It was joy.

It was Australian football finally believing we belonged.

Which is why FIFA's latest proposal made me stop and think.

FIFA Doesn't Hang Around

The confetti from the first 48-team FIFA World Cup has barely settled.

Yet FIFA is already exploring another expansion.

This time to 64 teams for the 2030 tournament.

What surprised me wasn't just the proposal.

It was the speed.

FIFA has already invited expressions of interest from consultants to examine the financial sporting and logistical impacts of a 64-team tournament.

The successful consultant is expected to be appointed by 14 August.

The full analysis is due back by 11 September.

That is barely a month for a decision that could fundamentally reshape football's biggest tournament.

Normally you would expect a governing body to let one major expansion settle before considering another.

Instead FIFA appears keen to move on to the next expansion before we've really had time to evaluate the last one.

There's More Going On Than Football

Here's the part that made me raise an eyebrow.

That 11 September deadline doesn't sit in isolation.

Just over a week later, on 19 September, FIFA's member associations are due to vote on something entirely different. Gianni Infantino's plan to sell a stake in FIFA's commercial rights to outside investors, through what's being called FIFA Forward Enterprise.

I wrote about that proposal in more detail a little while back, if you want the full picture.

Its Not Really about the Money

It's a plan that has already drawn strong opposition from UEFA, Concacaf and the Asian Football Confederation.

One senior adviser to Infantino has reportedly resigned over it.

So the timing is worth sitting with.

A major football decision, landing just days before a hugely contested commercial vote.

Maybe that's coincidence.

Maybe a bigger tournament is simply a way to build goodwill and momentum heading into a difficult vote.

I don't know which it is.

But when a governing body moves this fast on one front while fighting a much bigger battle on another, it's fair for supporters to ask what's really driving the timeline.

Football decisions rarely happen in a vacuum. This one certainly doesn't.

Why Uruguay Mattered

For readers who are newer to football let me explain why that night against Uruguay meant so much.

Australia hadn't qualified for a FIFA World Cup since 1974.

For decades we competed in the Oceania Football Confederation.

Winning Oceania wasn't enough.

We then had to face a nation from another continent in a winner-takes-all playoff.

Often that opponent came from South America.

It was one of the toughest qualification pathways in world football.

Many outstanding Australian teams never made it.

The 2005 playoff against Uruguay was brutal.

Two tense matches.

Extra time.

Penalties.

One kick that changed Australian football forever.

Soon afterwards Australia left Oceania and joined the Asian Football Confederation.

The move gave Australia stronger opposition a more logical qualification pathway and regular competition against some of Asia's best nations.

The pathway became fairer.

Not easy.

But certainly fairer.

How Hard Is It Today?

Since joining the Asian Football Confederation Australia has qualified for every FIFA World Cup.

That is an outstanding achievement and a credit to generations of Socceroos players and coaches.

The numbers tell an interesting story.

The Asian Football Confederation has 47 member associations.

For the 2026 FIFA World Cup Asia received eight automatic qualification places plus one intercontinental playoff place.

That means almost one in every five Asian member associations now has a direct pathway to the World Cup with another still getting a second chance.

If FIFA expands to 64 teams many expect Asia to receive additional qualification places although FIFA has not yet announced how those places would be allocated.

That would be fantastic news for developing football nations.

It would also make Australia's pathway to qualification easier again.

The Case For Expansion

There is plenty to like.

More countries would experience football's biggest event.

More players would fulfil lifelong dreams.

More supporters would have the joy of watching their own nation at a World Cup.

Football would genuinely become more global.

More matches also mean more stories.

And I have to admit something.

I really enjoyed the expanded tournament.

Like many people I wondered whether there would be too many one-sided matches.

Instead many of the so-called minnows held their own.

They defended brilliantly.

Played without fear.

Created memorable moments.

Perhaps we underestimated just how much the global standard of football has improved.

That was one of the biggest positives for me.

The Case Against

But there is another side.

The World Cup has never just been about the finals.

It's about qualifying.

The tension.

The pressure.

The heartbreak.

The nights that become part of football folklore.

Scarcity creates value.

It does in life.

It does in sport.

If Australia qualifies almost automatically every four years will qualification still feel the same?

Or will it simply become...

"The World Cup's on again.

Are we ready?"

Sometimes the journey is every bit as important as the destination.

There's also a football argument against rushing this. Critics of a 64-team format have warned it would mean far more uncompetitive matches and could stretch qualifying competitions in some regions to the point of meaninglessness. That's not a small concern for a tournament that prides itself on being the pinnacle of the sport.

Spot Gianni

Of course FIFA President Gianni Infantino would tell us this is exactly why football should expand.

More countries.

More dreams.

More opportunity.

And to be fair there is merit in that argument.

But during the last World Cup I found myself playing a little game.

Spot Gianni.

No matter which match I switched on...

...there he was.

Los Angeles.

Toronto.

Dallas.

New York.

Television directors have an uncanny ability to find him sitting in the grandstand.

If the tournament expands to 64 teams there will be another 16 official team photos to attend.

Or...

Maybe that's the real reason for expansion.

Sorry Gianni.

I couldn't resist.

So Where Do I Stand?

Honestly...

I'm torn.

I loved the expanded tournament.

I enjoyed watching nations we don't usually see on football's biggest stage.

I hope more countries get the opportunity to experience that magic.

But I also remember sitting with my children on that unforgettable night against Uruguay.

I remember the silence before the penalties.

I remember the roar when Aloisi scored.

I remember complete strangers hugging each other as if we'd known one another forever.

Those moments mattered because qualifying was incredibly difficult.

Part of me wants more countries to experience the joy of reaching a World Cup.

Another part wonders whether making the destination easier to reach also makes the journey a little less memorable.

And now there's a third part of me. The part that wants FIFA to slow down and make this decision on its football merits alone, not as a bargaining chip in a much bigger fight over who controls the game's money.

One Final Thought

FIFA has 211 member associations.

Even with a 64-team World Cup almost 150 nations would still miss out.

Perhaps that's the question FIFA has to answer.

Is bigger automatically better?

Or is part of the World Cup's magic the fact that it has always been so difficult to reach?

I don't know the answer.

But I do know this.

I'll never forget sitting beside my children watching John Aloisi score that penalty.

Because sometimes it's not the destination that creates the memory.

It's just how hard the journey was.

Acknowledgement: This article was prompted by recent reporting regarding FIFA's accelerated consideration of a 64-team FIFA World Cup, together with publicly available FIFA information.

The Mercury’s Top 15 Women Footballers: The Real Story Isn’t the Rankings

The rankings celebrate an outstanding group of Tasmanian women. Perhaps the real story is not the order of the list, but how far women’s football in Tasmania has come.

The day before yesterday The Mercury published its ranking of Tasmania’s top 15 women footballers.

Congratulations to every player named.

Being included represents years of dedication, sacrifice and hard work. Every player should feel proud of the recognition.

After writing about the men’s rankings, I found myself asking a slightly different question as I worked through the women’s list.

Not simply whether the order was right.

But whether everyone was being measured by the same standard.

How do you compare a player who has scored more than 200 Women’s Super League goals with a teenager who has only recently entered senior football?

How do you compare an established A-League Women player with someone beginning to attract attention through Australia’s youth pathways?

Or a footballer competing in England or Spain with a young Tasmanian still learning her craft in our own Women’s Super League?

They are all talented footballers.

But they are at very different stages of their careers.

There were also some details in The Mercury’s list that deserved closer examination. Positions were not always accurately described, some names and pathways required clarification, and the phrase “Junior Matildas watchlist” appeared several times without explaining whether that meant formal selection, a national training camp or simply that a player was being monitored.

Rather than repeat those descriptions unquestioningly, I wanted to look more closely at the players, celebrate what they have achieved and acknowledge the Tasmanian clubs and pathways that helped shape them.

Because every player on this list started somewhere.

On community grounds.

With local coaches.

At Tasmanian clubs that gave them their first opportunity to fall in love with football.

Perhaps that is the real story these rankings tell.

15. Emily Heazlewood

Emily emerged through Launceston United and Football Tasmania’s development system before moving to South Australia in 2020.

She attended a Junior Matildas camp while still a Launceston United player and won consecutive Northern Women’s Championship Best and Fairest awards as a teenager.

Leaving Tasmania to pursue stronger competition requires courage and commitment. Emily has continued to test herself in South Australia’s leading women’s competitions, building a career that began in northern Tasmania.

14. Harkana Tkatchenko (née Dixon)

Many Tasmanian football followers will remember Harkana as Harkana Dixon.

A former Clarence United player, she progressed through Tasmania’s TIS, NTC and representative programs before establishing herself with Eastern Suburbs in Queensland.

With more than 100 appearances for the club, Harkana’s career has been defined by longevity, leadership and resilience. She also returned to senior football after time away following her marriage and the birth of her first child.

That is an achievement deserving considerable recognition.

13. Layla Brewster

Riverside Olympic’s Layla Brewster is already regarded as one of Tasmania’s most promising young midfielders and attackers.

She has featured prominently in Tasmania’s youth representative pathway and is continuing to develop in senior football.

At this stage, Layla’s ranking is naturally based as much on potential as established senior achievement.

That is not a criticism. It simply reflects how early she is in a career that may have a very exciting future.

12. Francesca Johnstone

Francesca Johnstone has already broken into South Hobart’s senior Women’s Super League side at a remarkably young age.

Her composure, passing range and technical ability have made her one of the most exciting players emerging from Tasmania’s youth representative system.

Young players entering senior football deserve time and space to develop without the weight of enormous expectations.

Francesca has made an impressive beginning. Where her football takes her from here will be fascinating to watch.

11. Lucy Foote

The Mercury described Lucy Foote as a striker, but that does not fully capture the role she plays.

The Devonport Strikers captain has been one of the competition’s most influential midfielders and has played a central part in one of the strongest periods in the club’s history.

She combines work rate, vision and composure with the ability to score important goals.

Devonport’s success has not happened by accident, and Lucy has been one of the players driving it.

10. Abbie White

Abbie has been another cornerstone of Devonport Strikers’ sustained success.

A dependable midfielder who also contributes regularly in front of goal, she was named player of the match in Devonport’s 2024 Statewide Cup final victory.

The Mercury credited her with more than 100 WSL goals. Whether or not that total can be independently confirmed, her influence is about far more than one statistic.

She has been a consistent and important performer in an outstanding team.

9. Georgia King

Every dominant side needs players capable of contributing in different roles, and Georgia King provided exactly that for Devonport Strikers.

Whether operating in midfield, central defence or standing over a dangerous set piece, Georgia’s versatility and quality helped underpin Devonport’s success.

Her departure during 2026 to pursue a cricket opportunity in England also reflects the considerable ability of a genuine dual-sport athlete.

Whatever direction her sporting career ultimately takes, her contribution to Tasmanian football deserves to be remembered.

8. Bonnie Davies

Few Tasmanian footballers have tested themselves in as many environments as Bonnie Davies.

She established herself as one of the Women’s Super League’s most dangerous attackers with Olympia Warriors, winning the 2020 Golden Boot as Olympia claimed the league title, before later representing South Hobart.

Her career then took her to the A-League Women with Newcastle Jets and Brisbane Roar before she moved to England, where she has represented Blackburn Rovers and Halifax.

That is a substantial football résumé and a pathway few Tasmanians have been able to follow.

7. Ruby Geach

A Launceston City product, Ruby Geach progressed through Tasmania’s youth representative pathway before earning an A-League Women opportunity with Newcastle Jets.

She is now continuing her football in Spain.

Goalkeepers rarely receive the same attention as goalscorers, but earning opportunities at that level requires technical quality, courage and resilience.

Tasmania has produced some outstanding goalkeepers over the years, and Ruby is continuing that tradition.

6. Aimee Medwin

Aimee Medwin’s story is one of the most complete football pathways on the list.

Her journey began with Taroona and continued through Football Tasmania’s NTC, Olympia Warriors and South Hobart.

From there she progressed to South Melbourne, American college football and the A-League Women, representing Melbourne City, Western United and Brisbane Roar. She has also represented Australia at youth level.

It is exactly the type of journey young Tasmanian footballers now dream of following.

Aimee’s success reflects her own determination, but also the contribution of every club and coach who helped her along the way.

5. Ebony Pitt

Glenorchy Knights central defender Ebony Pitt has already progressed beyond simply being “on a watchlist.”

After representing Tasmania at Under-14 and Under-15 level, she was selected for a national Junior Matildas training camp in 2025.

That distinction matters.

A national camp selection is a genuine achievement and recognition of her standing among Australia’s emerging players.

Now in her third Women’s Super League season, Ebony is also gaining the senior experience that will be essential to the next stage of her development.

4. Ruby Powell

Ruby Powell has risen through Launceston City and Tasmania’s youth representative pathway, including appearances at the National Youth Championships.

She is now playing senior Women’s Super League football as Launceston City returns to the competition.

For any young player, the step from representative football into consistent senior performances is an important one.

Ruby is beginning to turn years of youth promise into senior football and remains one of Tasmania’s most highly regarded emerging players.

3. Jaz White

Some careers are measured by potential.

Others are measured by what has already been achieved.

Jazmin White, better known as Jaz, has built one of the great résumés in Tasmanian women’s football.

Her story includes a remarkable goalscoring season with Ulverstone, repeated individual honours with Devonport Strikers, a season with South Hobart, and a return to Devonport in 2026.

She won the Women’s Super League Best and Fairest and Golden Boot in both 2022 and 2023 and has now passed 200 league goals.

Sometimes we become so familiar with excellence that we stop appreciating it.

Jaz White’s record deserves to be celebrated.

2. Addison Broadbent

Addison Broadbent represented Hobart City FC, South Hobart and Tasmania in the youth pathway before playing senior Women’s Super League football with Glenorchy Knights.

Her move into Victoria’s NPLW system has continued her development in a stronger and more demanding football environment.

Like several players near the top of the list, Addison’s ranking reflects both what she has already achieved and the belief that her best football may still be ahead of her.

That makes comparisons difficult, but it also demonstrates the excitement surrounding her future.

1. Amelie Millar

Launceston City goalkeeper Amelie Millar captained Tasmanian representative sides in consecutive years before earning national youth selection and signing with Adelaide United at just 16.

Her rise has been exceptional.

She has moved from community football in northern Tasmania into a professional A-League Women environment and Australia’s youth international pathway in a very short period.

There will be few arguments about the scale of her potential.

At the same time, placing a young player with limited senior experience above footballers who have produced outstanding careers over many seasons again raises the central question behind these rankings.

Are we measuring current performance, career achievement or future potential?

Depending on the answer, the order could look very different.

The Real Story

Reading through this list, I found myself thinking less about who should have been first or fifteenth and more about where these football journeys began.

Launceston United.

Clarence United.

Riverside Olympic.

South Hobart.

Devonport Strikers.

Olympia Warriors.

Launceston City.

Taroona.

Glenorchy Knights.

Ulverstone

Hobart City

Football Tasmania’s representative and development programs.

None of these careers happened in isolation.

They were made possible by parents driving children to training, volunteers marking grounds, coaches giving their time, administrators building competitions and clubs creating places where girls could play.

They were also made possible by the women who came before them.

Women who played when opportunities were fewer.

Women who coached, administered and advocated.

Women who refused to accept that football was a game belonging only to men and boys.

Twenty years ago, could we have imagined a list of Tasmanian women that included A-League players, professionals in England and Spain, Australian youth internationals, national camp selections and local footballers with more than 200 league goals?

Perhaps not.

That is the real achievement.

Not deciding who should be first.

But recognising how many outstanding footballers Tasmania is now producing.

The rankings will create discussion, as all rankings do. Some people will value professional experience. Others will favour sustained achievement in the Women’s Super League. Some will be most excited by the enormous potential of the next generation.

There is no single formula capable of comparing all three.

Perhaps separate categories for established professionals, outstanding domestic players and emerging talent would provide a fairer way to recognise such different achievements.

But whatever order you would choose, every player named deserves congratulations.

And every Tasmanian club that helped begin these football journeys should feel enormously proud.

The Mercury's Top 15 Tasmanian Footballers: A Ranking That Starts an Important Conversation

Iluka Wootton

The Mercury's rankings have certainly sparked a conversation. Perhaps the more interesting question isn't who should be first, but how we judge greatness.

Yesterday The Mercury published its rankings of Tasmania's top 15 men's footballers, alongside a separate top 15 for the women's game.

The women's list deserves its own space rather than a few paragraphs tacked onto the end of this one, so I'll come back to that in a separate post.

For now, the men.

Congratulations to every player named.

Simply making the list is recognition of years of hard work, dedication and sacrifice.

Like many football supporters, my first reaction was probably the same as yours.

"Really?"

Within minutes I was mentally moving players up, moving others down and wondering who had missed out altogether.

Then I stopped.

Because here's the question nobody asked before they started ranking.

Can we really compare a Socceroo with a Joeys international?

Can we compare an established NPL legend with a teenager only just beginning a professional career?

Can we compare someone whose achievements span more than a decade with a player whose greatest football may still lie ahead?

They're all outstanding footballers.

They're all Tasmanians.

But are they even competing for the same title?

Keep that question in your back pocket. We'll come back to it.

One thing I noticed was that the article appeared without a byline.

I looked for the author's name but couldn't find one.

Personally I think that's a pity.

Lists like these are always subjective. There is no right or wrong answer and that's exactly what makes them interesting. But if you're prepared to rank players, put your name to it and be part of the argument that follows.

One small observation before we begin. The published rankings also appear to contain two players listed at number 14, so there seems to be a minor editing error in the numbering.

Rather than simply agreeing or disagreeing with The Mercury, I thought it might be interesting to work through the list, add a little context, and give credit where it's due.

15. Kobe Kemp

Photo credit: Nikki Long

The Mercury describes Kobe as an NPL stalwart whose spectacular bicycle kick in last year's Australia Cup was the goal of the tournament.

That goal got him the headlines.

Those who watch Tasmanian football every week know there is much more to Kobe than one spectacular goal. His consistency, work rate and influence have made him one of the competition's most respected midfielders over many seasons.

The bicycle kick made him famous. His football is what has kept him there.

14. Toby Simeoni

The Mercury highlights Toby's football journey through the United States, South Melbourne, Launceston City and now Northcote City.

Here's what the article doesn't mention. Toby has spent much of this season sidelined through injury.

Most supporters ranking him this year haven't actually seen him play this year.

Worth remembering, before we get too confident about anyone's spot on this list.

14. William Humphrey

Recognised by The Mercury as one of Tasmania's most composed defenders, William has quietly built one of the state's most consistent NPL careers over more than 150 senior appearances.

Quietly is the right word.

He's not the one making the highlight reels. He's the one making sure the highlight reels are even worth watching.

13. Sam Lancaster

The Mercury highlights Sam's progression from South Hobart to Sydney FC and his senior Australia Cup debut.

Since the rankings were published, Sam's added another line to his CV. He came off the bench against Tottenham Hotspur in Sydney FC's Festival of Football fixture.

Tottenham Hotspur.

A kid from South Hobart, on the same pitch as a Premier League club, inside the same year he's being ranked against players who've barely left the state.

That's the comparison problem in one sentence.

12. Taylor Last

Taylor's move from Devonport to Victoria reflects something bigger than one player's career. It's the growing number of Tasmanian players prepared to leave home to test themselves in stronger competitions.

We should be proud of that.

We should also be honest about what it costs our own competitions when they go.

11. Eddie Bidwell

Now back with Magic United after helping the club to a championship, Eddie continues to build an impressive career interstate.

A premiership medal and a return to the club that gave it to him. Not a bad way to make a list.

10. Charles Bidwell

A Devonport stalwart before signing with Broadmeadow Magic for last year's Australian Championship. Now at Birkenhead United, chasing a title in New Zealand's National League.

Three competitions, three countries worth of football, in as many years.

Not many Tasmanian midfielders can say that.

9. Eli Luttmer

School assistant principal by day. Kingborough Lions captain by weekend.

Led the club to its first Statewide Cup trophy this year, off the back of a Lakoseljac Cup run that deserved a lot more attention than it got.

If you missed it, that's on us, not on him.

8. Austin Yost

Twenty one years old. Already five seasons into the NPL, since he was 16.

Since the rankings were published, Yost has returned to South Hobart, adding more firepower to a squad that hardly needed it.

Half the players on this list are still working out what kind of career they'll have. Yost has been answering that question since he was old enough to need a permission slip.

7. Fletcher Fulton

Part of Heidelberg's Australia Cup upset over Wellington Phoenix last year. One of the biggest results by a Tasmanian linked player against A-League opposition in recent memory.

A consistent performer at Heidelberg, trusted by Jonny A to do a job.

6. Andy Brennan

Started at South Hobart. Won an NPL title there in 2014.

Then Newcastle Jets. Then years at South Melbourne, before departing late last year.

A long career, and one worth more than a single line in someone else's list.

5. Nick O'Connell

Kingborough's Lakoseljac Cup triumph elevated several players into the spotlight, and Nick's performances between the posts were central to that success.

Two penalty shootouts. Semi and final.

That's not luck, that's nerve.

4. Nick Morton

Photo credit: Nikki Long

Few players have dominated Tasmanian NPL football over such a sustained period.

Three Best and Fairest awards. Golden Boots. Club best player.

And now the opportunity to challenge himself at Northcote City, under his stepbrother Max.

His place near the top of this list isn't up for debate.

3. Iluka Wootton

Still only at the beginning of his career, Iluka continues to establish himself at Adelaide United and remains one of Tasmania's brightest young prospects.

This is exactly the comparison problem again. He's third on a list that has players twice his age with a decade more football behind them.

Third now. Ask again in five years and the answer might be completely different.

2. Daniel Wojcik

Daniel's move to Adelaide United and his selection for Australia's Joeys underline why so many people believe his future is exceptionally bright.

A Joeys call up at his age is not a small thing.

It's also, again, not the same thing as fifteen years of NPL football. Which is exactly why ranking the two of them on one list was always going to be an argument, not a fact.

1. Nathaniel Atkinson

There is little debate about Nathaniel's place at the top.

From Riverside Olympic to Melbourne City and the Socceroos, including representing Australia at the FIFA World Cup, he has established himself as the benchmark for every young Tasmanian footballer with professional ambitions.

If there's one name on this list that transcends the argument I've been making all along, it's his.

Everyone else on here can be reasonably debated. Nathaniel can't.

Final Thoughts

Whether you agree with every ranking or not, one thing is beyond dispute.

Tasmania continues to produce footballers capable of succeeding on the national and international stage. From players starring in our own NPL to those building careers interstate and representing Australia, our football community has much to be proud of.

Perhaps that is the greatest value of lists like these. They make us stop, reflect and appreciate just how many outstanding footballers Tasmania has produced.

There will never be universal agreement on rankings like this, and perhaps there shouldn't be.

Every supporter brings their own experiences, memories and values to the discussion.

Perhaps the answer isn't one list at all.

Perhaps it's several. Our greatest professional footballers. Our greatest NPL footballers. Our brightest young talents. Our most influential careers.

Different achievements deserve to be celebrated in different ways.

So rather than arguing over who should have been fourth instead of sixth, or who missed out altogether, I'll leave you with the question that started this.

If a Socceroo, a Joeys international and an NPL legend are all Tasmanians, are they even competing for the same title?

I don't think there's a right answer.

But it's worth asking before the next list comes out.