If I were President

This is also a daydream.
Not a campaign.
Not a pitch.

Just an exploration of what leadership at the top of the game could look like if it were grounded in football, not status.

The President does not run football day to day.
But they shape what the organisation stands for, what behaviour is normal and what is quietly tolerated.

That matters more than most people realise.

The role is not ceremonial

The President is not there simply to attend functions and smile for photos.

The President sets the moral and cultural tone of the organisation. What they say yes to, what they stay silent on and what they challenge tells everyone else what is acceptable.

I would see the role as stewardship, not prestige.

This game was here before me. It will be here after me. My job would be to leave it healthier, calmer and more stable than I found it.

The governing body exists because its members exist

A football governing body can sometimes begin to feel like the centre of the game.

It is not.

It exists because clubs and associations exist.
It exists because volunteers give their time.
It exists because children play, parents drive, coaches coach and communities care.

Without that, there is no organisation to govern.

Authority in football is not ownership. It is stewardship on behalf of members.

That means listening matters.
Respect matters.
Partnership matters.

Clubs and associations are not there to serve the governing body. The governing body exists to serve the game they are already delivering.

Associations and clubs are the engine room

Junior associations and community clubs are not peripheral parts of football.

They are the engine room of the game.
They are where players begin, where families connect, where volunteers learn leadership and where the next generation of football people is formed.

Every senior player, coach, referee and administrator starts somewhere. Almost always, it is in an association or a community club.

If those structures weaken, the whole system weakens. Not immediately, but inevitably.

Support does not only mean funding. It means clarity. Stability. Realistic expectations. Systems that recognise most of the work is done by volunteers.

What happens there today determines what football looks like in ten and twenty years.

Children’s safety and joy come first

At its heart, football is a children’s activity.

If children are not safe, if they are not having fun, if they are not treated with respect, then nothing else we build matters.

Safeguarding is not a compliance box. It is culture.

I would speak about child safety openly and often.
I would expect safeguarding to be properly resourced.
I would support strong, clear processes when issues arise, even when they are uncomfortable.
Safeguarding must have authority, independence and proper resourcing, not just policy documents.

But safety is only half the picture.

Football must also be joyful.

If the environment becomes too adult, too political or too pressured, we forget who the game is for. Children stay in sport when it is fun, when they feel they belong and when adults behave like role models.

Participation is not sustained by structures alone.
It is sustained by experience.

Protecting the game from ego

Football politics attracts strong personalities. Ambition. Territory. History. Grievances.

The President cannot add to that noise.

I would work to lower the temperature, not raise it. To defuse, not inflame. To bring conversations back to what is best for football when they drift toward who wins.

Not every disagreement needs to become a battle.
Not every slight needs to be remembered forever.

Backing the CEO and challenging in private

The President and CEO relationship sets the tone for the whole organisation.

Public undermining weakens the organisation. Blind loyalty weakens it too.

I would support the CEO in public, but behind closed doors I would ask hard questions. Are we listening. Are we overloading volunteers. Are we solving problems or just managing optics.

The President’s job is not to run operations.
It is to ensure the person who does is supported and properly challenged.

Keeping the Board grounded

Boards can drift upward into governance language, risk registers and strategy documents.

All important. None of it the game itself.

I would constantly bring the focus back down.

Clubs.
Associations.
Volunteers.
Children playing on cold mornings.

If a decision makes life harder for the people actually delivering football, we should know that before we vote, not after.

The President also has a practical role here, ensuring Board meetings are disciplined, agendas are clear and decisions are followed through. Good governance is not just what is discussed, but how the Board functions.

Making culture a governance issue

Culture is not soft. It is structural.

If volunteers feel disrespected, if clubs feel unheard, if junior football feels invisible, that is not a communications issue. That is a governance failure.

I would ask regularly
Do clubs trust us
Do associations feel supported
Do volunteers feel the load getting lighter or heavier

Those answers matter as much as financial reports.

Culture is also about behaviour standards. Respect for referees, volunteers and each other cannot be optional. The President can help set the expectation that how we behave is as important as what we achieve.

Normalising transparency about conflicts

In a small football state, everyone has connections.

Pretending conflicts do not exist is theatre.

I would set the expectation that interests are declared calmly and routinely. No embarrassment. No drama. Just honest governance.

Trust grows when reality is acknowledged.

Stability over constant reinvention

Boards often want to leave a mark.

Sometimes the bravest decision is not to change things.

Football people can handle hard seasons. What they struggle with is endless structural churn.

Stability allows clubs and volunteers to plan, recover and build properly.

Volunteer impact matters

Before approving new requirements, systems or reporting, I would ask
Who is doing this work
And when

Usually the answer is a volunteer, late at night.

If we are not reducing load somewhere else, we are quietly burning people out.

Being a visible advocate for football

The President should not be silent outside boardrooms.

Football needs a public voice.

I would speak up when football is overlooked.
When it is misunderstood.
When it is unfairly diminished.

Not combatively. But clearly and consistently.

Advocacy is also about steady relationships. The President helps maintain constructive, ongoing dialogue with councils and government so football is represented early, not only when issues arise.

Promoting the game, not just the organisation

I would be visible at grounds.
Visible in conversations about facilities.
Visible when football needs representation.

If football people only see their President at formal events, the role feels distant. If they see them occasionally on the fence at ordinary matches, the role feels connected to reality.

Defending football without apology

Football sometimes carries an unnecessary defensive tone.

I would speak about football as a major sport, a community builder and a global game that belongs here.

Pride in the game is not arrogance. It is leadership.

Keeping the long view

CEOs think in seasons and budgets. Boards think in terms.

The President has to think in decades.

How does this affect football in ten years.
Will this leave the system stronger or just quieter for now.

Being a bridge in times of tension

Football always has fault lines. Metro and regional. Junior and senior. Elite and community.

The President cannot remove these tensions. But they can prevent them becoming fractures.

Leadership sometimes means helping different parts of the game understand each other, not just argue past each other.

Protecting fairness and process

Trust in football depends on people believing processes are fair and independent.

The President helps ensure that complaints, disciplinary matters and decision-making pathways are clear, consistent and free from influence. Fair process protects people and it protects the game.

Remembering leadership is temporary

Power in sport can become sticky.

No one is indispensable.

Part of the role is preparing others, encouraging new leaders and ensuring the organisation is not dependent on one personality. That includes actively mentoring future leaders and ensuring governance knowledge is passed on, not lost when individuals step away.

Healthy systems outlast individuals.

And yes, I would care

Not about status.
Not about titles.

About the game.
About the people who give their time to it.
About the kids who just want to play.

Care is what stops decisions being made purely for optics or politics.

The bigger picture

The President cannot fix everything.

But they shape the environment in which everything happens.

They help decide whether football feels political and heavy, or stable and supported.

That influence is quiet, but it is enormous.

All This, So We Can Play 90 Minutes on a Saturday - NPL Transfer Window

What You Don’t See on a Team Sheet

Every week people see names.

Who is in.
Who is out.
Who signed.
Who didn’t.

What they don’t see is the regulatory machinery sitting behind those names.

And during a transfer window, that machinery is running at full speed.

Our NPL transfer window closes at 5pm on Tuesday 10 February. To most people, that sounds like a football date. To clubs, it is a compliance deadline.

Football loves an acronym, and there are plenty in this space. I’ve included a simple glossary at the bottom if any of the terms are unfamiliar.

The Forest, Not Just the Trees

At NPL level in Tasmania, a club is not just picking players.

It is operating inside a layered governance system.

At the top sits FIFA. That’s where international transfer rules and player status definitions live. If a player has previously been registered overseas, international clearance is required. No clearance, no registration.

Below that is Football Australia. They apply FIFA regulations here and add national ones. That includes the National Registration, Status and Transfer Regulations, prescribed professional contracts, and the Domestic Transfer Matching System (DTMS). Even a domestic move involving a professional player can sit inside a FIFA-based transfer platform.

Then comes Football Tasmania. Here is where squad construction rules apply. Player Roster Principles (PRPs). Squad size limits. Visa limits. Goalkeeper nationality restrictions. Age eligibility rules. These are not suggestions. They are compliance requirements.

And then there are the competition rules. Match sheets. Registration categories. Technical area identification. Match day requirements. Media and signage obligations. A player can be legally registered but still ineligible if these layers are not met.

All of this must line up before kickoff.

A System That Evolved - The Player Points System

For many years, NPL clubs operated under the Player Points System (PPS).

Instead of just saying “name 23 players,” the PPS gave each player a points value based on experience, background and playing history. Clubs had to build a squad that stayed under a total points cap.

It was designed to prevent wealthy clubs stacking experienced players, protect competitive balance and encourage youth development. In practice, it meant constant calculations, classifications, and discussions about how players were categorised.

I can remember sitting around the table trying to work out when a player first played for us. What counted. What didn’t. What it meant if they had left for a year, like Nick my step son did when he signed for Melbourne City. Did that change their category? Their points? Their status? Their loyalty? There was a lot of memory involved in that system.

That system has now moved to Player Roster Principles (PRPs). Instead of a numerical points cap, PRPs focus on roster structure — squad size, visa limits, youth eligibility and similar controls. The aim is still competitive balance and development, but the mechanism has changed.

Different system. Same compliance layer.

The Transfer Window Is When It Compresses

A transfer window is not just a period to sign players.

It is a deadline for contracts to be completed, statuses to be correctly classified, documents to be lodged, systems to match information between clubs, registrations to be approved and clearances to be received.

If a player is classified as professional, that triggers a different set of obligations. Prescribed contracts. Additional documentation. DTMS processes. It is not just ticking a different box.

If a player has played overseas, there may be an international clearance in another time zone, in another federation, on another schedule. (ITC)

And all of this is happening while coaches are training, players are asking questions, and matches are approaching.

This Isn’t Just “Typing Names In”

At this level, football admin sits inside global rules, national regulations, state roster controls and competition operations.

Each player is a small compliance project.

One contract.
One status decision.
One registration.
Possibly one DTMS process.
Possibly one international clearance.
One roster inclusion.

Multiply that by a squad.

Thank goodness this isn’t my area of expertise. We are incredibly lucky to have Rick, our Registrar, who actually understands this world. Every club has someone like Rick - the quiet expert making sure the paperwork matches the rules so players can actually play.

Why It Exists

There are good reasons for this structure.

Fair competition.
Player protection.
Youth development pathways.
International order in a global game.

But the work required to satisfy that structure lands at club level. Often on volunteers or people already wearing several hats.

When a Name Appears - or Doesn’t

Sometimes a player isn’t missing because a coach changed their mind.

Sometimes they are waiting on a clearance.
Or a system step.
Or a document.
Or an approval.

That part isn’t visible from the sideline.

But it is very real.

All of this governance, paperwork, systems and approvals - across FIFA, national rules, state regulations and competition requirements - sits there quietly in the background.

All so a group of people can legally play 90 minutes of football on a Saturday.

That’s the bit most people see.

The rest is the invisible work that makes it happen.

Glossary — Football’s Favourite Acronyms

FIFA – World governing body of football.
FA (Football Australia) – National governing body for football in Australia.
TMS – Transfer Matching System used for international transfers.
DTMS – Domestic Transfer Matching System for professional player movements within Australia.
NRSTR – National Registration, Status and Transfer Regulations.
PRP – Player Roster Principles governing squad construction.
PPS – Player Points System, the previous NPL squad control model using a points cap.
NPL – National Premier Leagues competition tier.
ITC – International Transfer Certificate for international clearance.
DTC – Domestic Transfer Certificate generated in DTMS.
DRIBL – Match day team sheet and match data system.
Play Football – National online player registration platform.
AFC / OFC – Asian and Oceania Football Confederations (visa player category).

This Little Blog Has Turned Into Something Much Bigger Than Me

Ken and I at Spurs stadium in October. Yes, they were playing NFL there.

When I stepped down from the presidency at South Hobart, I felt a shift.

For years I had carried responsibility. Every word mattered. Every opinion had weight. There were things I thought but could not say. Things I saw but had to hold back on. That is part of leadership.

Stepping aside did not mean I stopped caring.

It meant I finally had space to think out loud.

And to say some of the things that had lived quietly in my head for years.

This blog started in that space.

It was not a strategy. It was not a plan. It was simply a place to put the football thoughts that had nowhere to go anymore.

It has become something much bigger.

A new chapter I didn’t see coming

My first post went up on 8 December.

Since then, 2.9K people have visited the website, with more than 5.1K post views.

That honestly blows me away.

I did not start this to build numbers. I started it because my head was still full of football. Stories. Ideas. Frustrations. Memories. Questions.

Writing gave all of that somewhere to go.

What I did not expect was how much I would love the process.

Why I knew people were interested

I had a hint that people cared about football stories long before this blog took off.

For years I had a little hobby of taking photos at games. Training. Sidelines. Celebrations. Moments that might seem small but mean everything to the people involved.

I uploaded them to Flickr simply to store and share them.

Over two years those photos have had 4.2 million views.

That was not one viral moment. That was steady interest from people who care. Parents. Players. Coaches. Friends. Local football people looking for faces, memories and moments.

It told me something important. People want to see and remember this game in all its detail.

And yes, I am quite sure at least 100K of those views were Ken.

Learning something completely new

I built the website myself on Squarespace.

That sentence still makes me laugh.

A few months ago I would not have known where to even start. There were moments I felt slow, frustrated and completely out of my depth.

But I stuck at it.

I learned about structure. Headings. Flow. How to shape a piece so it actually says what I mean, not just what falls out first. I draft, then amend, then rethink, then craft again.

And yes, I had help.

ChatGPT has been like a patient tutor sitting beside me. It helped me understand writing structure, think through ideas, check my flow, and sometimes do research that sent my brain off in new directions. I regularly remind it that NZ grammar and spelling matter to me. Yes, I was born in New Zealand.

But the stories, the opinions and the experiences are mine. The words come from my life in football. This tool helped me learn how to shape them.

It stimulates my thinking. It keeps me energised. It gives my football brain a place to work.

The people who said yes

A special thank you to the football people who have said yes to being interviewed.

That generosity matters more than you might realise.

When someone shares their story, their pathway, their doubts, their memories, it changes how we see them. The coach on the sideline is no longer just the coach. The referee is not just a whistle. The volunteer is not just a name on a committee list.

They are people with history, setbacks, turning points, family influences and moments that shaped them.

I have about ten interviews from all around the state on the go right now, so keep an eye out for more football people and their lives on and off the field.

The people behind the scenes

A big thank you to Nikki, who so generously arranges the photos with each interviewee and then travels around to take their portrait.

Her care and patience add another layer to these stories. A face, a moment, a presence that brings each piece to life.

She often sends the photo through with a little note like, “What a nice bloke,” or, “I took so many photos and they were all great, he takes a great photo.” Those small comments say a lot. They remind me that these are not just interviews. They are people, and good ones.

A thank you as well to Matthew Rhodes for allowing me to share the interviews on Tassie Football Central. That helps these stories reach further than my own little corner of the internet, and gives Tasmanian football people the visibility they deserve.

What people are actually reading

It has been interesting to see what has resonated most so far.

The Stop Telling Football People to Be Grateful series, especially Part 3, OMG the Money, has been widely read as has “If I were the CEO”.

And the interviews.

Hundreds of people are reading those conversations with football people from all parts of the game. That tells me something important. People do not just want scores and ladders. They want context. They want to understand the people inside the game.

I am also learning that Facebook likes do not necessarily translate into blog posts being read. The quieter numbers, the people who actually click through and spend time reading, tell a much more meaningful story. For example 700 people have read James Sherman’s interview so far.

A small apology

If you have struggled to find posts by category lately, that is a Squarespace issue, not me.

They have said they are working on it. Hopefully it is fixed soon.

Keep the ideas coming

If there is a person, story or topic you think should be covered, please use the contact page and let me know.

This space is growing because football people keep giving me things to think about.

This blog might have started as something for me.

But it is very clearly becoming something for the football community too.

And that is the best outcome I could have hoped for.

Thank you for reading.

From Preston Streets to Tasmanian Touchlines

Jon Fenech photographed by Nikki Long

An interview with Jon Fenech, Sporting Director and NPL Men’s Head Coach, Kingborough Lions United

Some football journeys are planned.
Some just never really stop.

When you speak with Jon Fenech, you get the sense his path into coaching in Tasmania is simply the latest chapter in a life where football has always been present, shaping decisions long before they looked like decisions.

Growing up in football

Jon grew up in Preston in the north-west of England, with a Maltese father and British mother. Football was everyday life. Streets, parks, local pitches on weekends, usually with his dad and brother.

At 13 he was scouted by Blackpool Football Club and joined their academy, later becoming a young professional. At 17 he represented the Malta national football team at youth international level.

His journey then took him through Malta and southern Europe before returning to the UK to complete a Business and Economics degree at Durham University, playing semi-professionally alongside study.

One memory still sits high. Watching Roberto Baggio at the 1994 FIFA World Cup, sitting with family and watching his father ride every emotion as an Italy supporter. That moment cemented his love for the game, not just the football itself, but what it means inside families and across generations.

He later moved to Brisbane to help grow a property recruitment business with a university friend, while staying involved in football through playing and coaching in the lower leagues in Queensland. Football never really left. It simply shifted shape.

From player to coach

Jon began his coaching badges while still playing. As injuries and life commitments increased, he realised he could no longer give playing what it demanded.

Friends working at the highest levels of the professional game encouraged him back into football through coaching. That shift allowed him to combine leadership and management skills from business with his first love, football. He has always enjoyed analysing the game and helping players improve. Coaching felt like a natural evolution rather than a replacement.

Life beyond the pitch

There is, by his own admission, not much time outside football.

Alongside his role at Kingborough Lions United Football Club, Jon is completing a postgraduate degree in football management and sporting directorship through the Professional Footballers' Association, and has recently started his A Licence with the Asian Football Confederation.

Any spare time is spent with his daughter, and thanks to her, he has developed a surprising passion for jigsaw puzzles.

Coaching philosophy

Forward. Outwork. Together.

That is how Jon sums it up. Attack with intent, outwork the opposition and compete as one team. For him, progressing and creating matters more than playing safe. It is a mindset as much as a tactic.

His three non-negotiables sit clearly underneath that.

Courage to play forward, because growth requires risk and a willingness to take the game on.
Honest work rate, meaning effort, reactions and discipline in every moment, not just when things are going well.
Team-first behaviour, where decisions and standards must serve the group, not individuals.

At their best, his teams are high-energy and proactive. They press aggressively when appropriate, attack with speed and intent, and fight for each other in every moment of the game. What he describes is not only a style of play, but a behavioural standard that runs through the group.

Why Tasmania, why now

Jon describes his move as the right leap at the right time. He had built a corporate career he genuinely enjoyed and was proud of and left a great company in capable hands, but it felt like the moment to try something new.

When the opportunity arose at Kingborough Lions United Football Club, it immediately felt right. From his first conversations and time spent around the facilities, he saw a club committed to building something sustainable. Not just chasing short-term success, but creating a long-term future for players and the community. He also notes he is fortunate to have excellent facilities at Kingborough, even while recognising the broader challenges across the state.

Tasmania itself stood out. He talks about a strong football community, passionate people, and real potential. On any given weekend you see people from different clubs turning up to watch other games, catching up in clubrooms and supporting the game beyond their own team. That sense of connection is something he believes is not always present in bigger football markets.

What surprised him

One of the most pleasant surprises since arriving has been that connectedness. Junior nights at the club. Match days where familiar faces keep turning up across different grounds.

He was also struck by the scale and speed of change. Tasmanian football is moving quickly from community participation models towards demands for performance pathways, which are still very limited. Clubs are growing. Facilities are improving. Operational demands are increasing. Yet much of the work is still carried by volunteers and overstretched staff. The ambition is strong. The infrastructure and systems are still catching up.

And still, cold winter nights, lights on, a handful of people in jackets along the fence and great football moments. Environment is not just facilities, it is people.

Where Tasmania falls behind

Infrastructure depth is the biggest gap. Facilities, pitch availability and training environments are under pressure as demand at junior and youth level rises rapidly.

Operational systems are another challenge. Many clubs are still transitioning from volunteer-run models to more professional operations, which are far more established in Queensland and the UK.

There is also inconsistency in development environments. Not every player trains within a structured pathway. For Jon, this is not about talent. It is about systems, volume, and environment quality.

How Tas teams compare nationally

When asked how Tasmanian teams would translate into other competitions, Jon does not focus first on talent. He focuses on environment.

He believes a mid-table Tasmanian NPL side would likely compete in FQPL 1 in Queensland, while the top Tasmanian teams would compete in NPL Queensland. The difference, in his view, is not simply ability. It is squad depth, professionalism and the ability to maintain standards across a long, demanding season.

For Jon, it is not about the best eleven players. It is about the environment that supports them week after week.

The biggest myth

Jon believes the biggest myth Tasmanian football tells itself is that it is further behind than it actually is. That belief, he says, limits ambition before the work even begins.

In his view, Tasmania has the quality to aim higher, but it needs to start building with national relevance in mind rather than constantly comparing itself from a position of deficit. For Jon, mindset is part of the system, not separate from it.

Coaching in Tasmania

There are some very strong coaches operating at senior NPL and WSL level. The biggest opportunity lies in youth and women’s football, where coaching is often volunteer-led and knowledge does not always filter consistently down from senior environments.

Coaching is strongest where clubs have clear structures and alignment between youth and senior football. It is weakest where coaching is disconnected from club-wide planning and environments remain purely participation-driven without development frameworks.

Better support for grassroots coaches, male and female, is a key step. Jon adds that he would love to appoint more female coaches at Kingborough, but finding them is the hardest point.

Coach education, Jon says, should be about standards, not labels. He speaks positively about the work of David Smith and Football Tasmania, but believes real development happens beyond certificates, through workshops, mentoring, collaboration and shared learning environments. The best coaches never stop learning.

What governing bodies should focus on

Jon believes Football Tasmania should increasingly shift from administration toward enabling growth.

Advocating for statewide infrastructure, particularly more artificial surfaces, supporting clubs with increasing operational demands, strengthening long-term player pathways and leading statewide conversations about football’s future are all central.

What should be avoided are short-term decisions that undermine long-term development, leaving clubs to manage rapid growth without adequate support, duplicating efforts, or alienating clubs. Strong clubs, he believes, ultimately drive strong football outcomes statewide.

Three changes to lift standards

If he could lift standards in three years, Jon’s answers are straightforward but closely connected.

Facility upgrades across the state for year-round access, because consistent environments underpin consistent development.

Stronger alignment between youth and senior football, so players move through connected pathways rather than isolated teams and programs.

Improved operational and administrative support at clubs, because as expectations grow, clubs need systems that can carry the load rather than relying on overstretched volunteers.

For Jon, standards do not rise through words alone. They rise when the environment makes higher standards normal day to day.

His message to players and coaches

Jon’s message to players and coaches who want to improve is simple. Seek environments that demand more.

From his own journey, leaving England, transitioning out of playing and later stepping away from the corporate world, Jon says his biggest growth moments came when he chose environments that challenged him.

Improvement comes from training consistently in structured, competitive environments, being accountable for your own development, understanding that higher standards require sacrifice, particularly in semi-professional settings and adopting a growth mindset that recognises progress is often gradual.

The hinge point

Tasmanian football sits at a hinge point.

Ambition is rising. Expectations are rising. The standards players want to reach are rising. But systems, infrastructure, and support are still trying to catch up. It is not a talent problem. It is an environment problem. That is where he believes the real gap sits.

Those who lean into higher standards now will not just improve themselves. They will help shape what the game here becomes next.

And that is the real work.

Playing Up in Football: Development or Status?

It’s a Saturday morning.

Parents line the fence. Coffee cups. Folding chairs. A game that looks like every other junior game.

Then someone says it, loud enough for a few people to hear.

“She should be playing up.”

It’s said with pride. Sometimes with frustration. Often with pressure.

Playing up has become a badge. A signal. A marker that a child is ahead.

But in football development, things are rarely that simple.

Because the question isn’t just can a child play up.

The real question is:

Is it helping them grow, or just helping adults feel reassured?

What does “playing up” actually mean?

Playing up simply means a child trains or plays in an older age group.

A 10-year-old in Under-11s.
A 13-year-old in Under-14s.

It is an age decision, not a talent certificate.

Playing up is a tool, not a trophy.

A personal example

My son Max was always tall for his age. He was born in March.

At one junior tournament we were asked to show his birth certificate because officials assumed he must be older. He simply looked more physically mature than the other boys.

It felt amusing at the time, but it was also a reminder of something important.

In junior sport, we often mistake early physical development for advanced ability.

Some children grow earlier. They are taller, stronger, faster sooner. Others catch up later. That timing difference shapes how kids are selected, coached and perceived.

The Relative Age Effect

There is another layer to this that many parents don’t realise.

In youth sport, children are grouped by calendar year. That means in one team, there can be nearly twelve months difference between the oldest and youngest players.

At age 10 or 11, twelve months is huge.

The child born in January can be almost a full year older than the child born in December. They are often bigger, stronger and more coordinated simply because they have had more time to grow.

Research calls this the Relative Age Effect.

It shows that players born earlier in the selection year are over-represented in junior teams and representative programs. They look more “advanced” when, in reality, they are simply older within their age group.

This doesn’t mean they aren’t talented.

But it does mean that what looks like ability can sometimes just be timing.

And later, as puberty evens things out, those early physical advantages often disappear.

Early advantage is often just early growth.

Why age groups don’t tell the full story

Within one age group, some children are nearly a year older, some hit puberty early, some much later.

Those differences can look like talent when they are really just timing of growth.

When playing up can help

Playing up can be useful when it stretches a player without overwhelming them.

Older games usually mean faster decisions, less time on the ball, more tactical demands and greater physical pressure.

That can accelerate learning if the player is ready.

In strong development environments, playing up is usually used part-time, not permanently.

A player might train with older players sometimes, play some matches up and still play in their own age group where they can lead, express themselves and build confidence.

That balance is where development tends to thrive.

But harder does not automatically mean better

If the challenge gap is too big, ball touches drop. Creativity disappears. Confidence shrinks. Enjoyment fades.

A child surviving is not the same as a child developing.

Development happens when challenge is balanced with confidence.

The child’s experience

A child playing up doesn’t think, “This is a good development stimulus.”

They think,
“I hope I don’t mess up.”
“I hope I’m good enough.”
“I don’t want to let people down.”

When challenge turns into fear of failure, learning slows.

Research consistently shows that loss of confidence and enjoyment, not lack of ability, is one of the biggest reasons young athletes leave sport.

Ball touches matter more than status

A child who touches the ball often, makes decisions and learns from mistakes may develop faster than a child who rarely sees the ball while trying to survive in an older game.

Exposure is not the same as development.

Football age is not just physical age

Some players can make a mistake and move on. Not be the best player on the field. Take feedback calmly. Stay confident when challenged.

Others are still learning those skills.

Emotional readiness is often the real divider.

Is it for the child or for the parent?

Let’s be honest. Sometimes it’s one, sometimes it’s the other.

When it’s for the child, you see freedom in their play. They still demand the ball. They try things. They leave the field talking about moments in the game.

When it’s about status, the focus becomes the label. Comparisons start. The child becomes quieter, safer, more cautious. The personality in their football shrinks.

Kids care about involvement.
Adults care about advancement.

Those are not the same.

What coaches see over time

After years in youth football, patterns appear.

Early playing up kids are not always the ones still playing at 17. Late developers often surge when puberty evens things out. Confidence and love of the game predict longevity more than early physical dominance.

Football development is a marathon. Playing up can’t be the trophy at the first checkpoint.

The goal is not to raise the best 11-year-old.

The goal is to raise the best 18-year-old.

Fast forward six years

Puberty has levelled the field. The early physical gap has closed.

What’s left?

Decision making.
Confidence.
Resilience.
Love of the game.

Those are the things that last.

Why coaches sometimes say “not yet”

When a coach says no, it may be about protecting the player, physically, emotionally and socially and keeping development steady rather than rushed.

It is not always a lack of belief.

At MSS and SHFC, our starting point is always a player’s true age group. That gives us a stable base for confidence, involvement and leadership opportunities. From there, we watch closely. We assess how a player copes with challenge, how they respond to mistakes, how they handle physical pressure and how they behave emotionally in games. If a player consistently shows they are ready for more, we may introduce opportunities to train or play up. But it comes after observation, not assumption.

Playing up is something earned through readiness, not awarded as a status symbol. coaches sometimes say “not yet”

Every parent feels this

The quiet worry that your child might fall behind. The urge to see them recognised. Progressing. Challenged.

That instinct comes from love.

The key is recognising when pride and comparison start driving decisions more than development.

Final thought

One day your child won’t remember what age group they played in.

They will remember whether they felt confident. Whether they felt capable. Whether football still felt fun.

Playing up is a tool, not a trophy.

Because we are not trying to win childhood.

We are trying to grow footballers who stay in the game.

If the NPL Shrinks to Six Teams, How the Pyramid Actually Works - Part 2

I do not claim to be a competition design expert, but I have spent enough time inside football to see how structures affect players, clubs and volunteers. I hear football people talking and, often, complaining. This is an attempt to start a practical conversation about what might actually work better.

I have sat in workshops where football has paid professionals to spend entire days, at considerable cost, discussing competition structure.

On one of those occasions, the outcome was the idea that all games should be played at the same kick-off time.

That was not something clubs had been asking for.

Yet it was presented as what the game supposedly wanted.

The result was a season of smaller crowds, fewer shared matchday experiences and an inability for people within football to support other clubs once their own game finished.

It was a reminder of something important.

Structure decisions shape the lived experience of the game. When those decisions miss the mark, the consequences are not theoretical. They show up in empty sidelines and disconnected competitions.

That experience has stayed with me.

Because it highlights why conversations about league design cannot just be abstract exercises or consultant reports. They need to reflect the reality of how football actually functions here.

Bigger Does Not Automatically Mean Stronger

Before getting into structure, there is a deeper assumption that needs to be addressed.

In Tasmania we often equate a bigger top tier with a stronger competition. More teams at the top can be presented as growth. It sounds positive. It signals inclusion. It is easier to explain to government and stakeholders.

But bigger does not automatically mean better.

League strength is not measured by how many teams are included. It is measured by how competitive the matches are, how intense the environment is week to week, how well players are developed and how strong the overall standard becomes.

When the player pool is spread too thinly, expanding the top division can actually lower the average level. Gaps widen. Uneven games increase. Survival football replaces performance football. The league looks larger, but the competition inside it becomes flatter.

Growth in numbers and growth in standard are not the same thing.

Sometimes concentrating quality lifts the whole system faster than spreading it.

That is not shrinking the game. It is strengthening it.

So if we are serious about the idea raised in Part One - a six-team NPL - the mechanics have to be clear.

This is what that system would look like.

Step One - The NPL

The top tier becomes six teams playing four rounds for a 20-match season.

This concentrates quality, increases weekly intensity and provides more meaningful football.

The bottom-placed NPL club does not go down automatically. They enter a promotion and relegation playoff.

A 20-game league season combined with structured cup competitions remains a moderate player load compared to many football environments. It spreads intensity across competitions rather than compressing it into a short league window.

Opportunity is not defined by how many teams sit in the top division but by how many meaningful competitive minutes players actually get.

Step Two - The Second Tier

The second tier remains regionalised with a Northern Championship and Southern Championship.

This respects travel realities and volunteer capacity. The top tier is where the strongest clubs already travel. Regionalisation below protects sustainability where it matters most.

Each competition runs its season to determine a Champion.

NPL clubs may field teams in these leagues but those sides are development teams and are not eligible for promotion. If such a team finishes first, eligibility passes to the highest-placed independent club.

Step Three - North vs South Playoff

The Champion of the North and the Champion of the South play a home-and-away playoff.

The winner becomes the Challenger.

This connects the regions at the point where performance matters and avoids assumptions about relative strength.

If the Challenger is not competitive over two legs, the gap between levels is exposed. That is valuable information for the system.

Step Four - Promotion and Relegation Playoff

The Challenger plays a home-and-away playoff against the bottom-placed NPL club.

The winner earns the NPL place for the following season.

Some will ask why the bottom NPL club gets a second chance. This model recognises the gap between tiers and makes the final movement a sporting contest at the interface of levels. It ensures the promoted club can compete immediately and that the NPL standard is protected.

If the playoff becomes one-sided, that is still information. It shows whether the gap between tiers is closing or not.

Step Five - Promotion Is Earned Through Performance and Confirmed Through Readiness

Winning is necessary. It is not sufficient.

Clubs must meet agreed NPL standards in areas such as ground suitability, lighting, medical provision, governance, financial sustainability and squad readiness.

Standards are not about exclusion. They are about clarity of level.

If the Challenger does not meet standards, promotion does not occur that season. The sporting result of the playoff cannot be bypassed by promoting a club that did not win the pathway.

Step Six - Promotion Intent Must Be Declared in Advance

Championship clubs must declare before the season begins whether they are eligible and willing to compete for promotion.

Only clubs that have declared intent and meet baseline readiness criteria can enter the promotion pathway.

Clubs that do not declare can still compete in the Championship competition but are not eligible for the playoff. If such a club finishes in a qualifying position, eligibility passes to the next highest-placed eligible club.

This prevents a situation where a club plays through the pathway and then declines promotion, which would stall the pyramid.

Adding Football the Right Way

A six-team NPL does not mean less football.

It means a different balance between league and cup football.

A structured summer cup in the South.
A formal Hudson Cup in the North.
The Lakoseljac Cup statewide.
The League title.

That creates four meaningful trophies across the season.

Cup football adds variation, knockout pressure and different tactical demands.

Cup competitions also do something league formats cannot.

They create unpredictability.

They give lower-league or less fancied clubs the chance to make a run, create moments and capture attention. That variety is part of football’s character. It brings different winners into the story and keeps more clubs feeling connected to meaningful outcomes across the season.

True cup football is compelling for spectators, valuable for media coverage and memorable for players. It produces stories that a league table rarely does on its own.

Crowds have been good for summer cups. The Hudson Cup provided strong football. Clubs have entered both.

League plus cups is not less football. It is more meaningful football.

Cups only add value when scheduled properly and treated as formal competitions, not friendlies in disguise.

This Is Simpler Than It Sounds

The structure sounds detailed, but the logic is simple.

Win your level.
Prove you are ready.
Compete for the place.

Playoffs add only a small number of additional match weekends and are manageable within a calendar freed by a 20-game league season.

A Transitional Step

Right now, standards checks are necessary because the ecosystem is uneven.

But the aim is that over time Championship-level clubs operate at a similar baseline. As that happens, the standards check becomes less of a gate and more of a formality.

The focus shifts back to performance on the field.

This model is not about keeping clubs out.

It is about creating a system that encourages clubs to grow into the level.

How the Transition From Eight to Six Teams Works

If the current NPL has eight teams, the move to six must be handled in a way that is clear, fair and based on football, not administration.

The simplest and most defensible transition is performance-based.

In the transition season, the NPL remains at eight teams.

At the end of that season, the bottom two teams on the ladder are relegated.

There is no automatic promotion that year.

The league naturally reduces from eight to six based on results on the field.

The new structure, including the Championship playoff pathway, begins the following season.

This avoids political decisions, historical arguments or subjective assessments. Every club starts the season knowing exactly what is at stake. Ladder position decides.

It is not about removing clubs. It is about resetting the scale of the top tier to match current depth.

Championship clubs are given advance notice that the promotion pathway begins the following year, providing time to prepare for standards and readiness requirements.

This keeps the transition sporting, transparent and fair.

Commit to It

The final piece is cultural.

Whatever model is chosen, it cannot change every season.

Clubs need certainty.

They need time to adjust, plan and grow.

If a new structure is altered at the first sign of discomfort, the system never settles.

Year one will feel different. Year two will still be bedding in. That does not mean it is wrong. It means the game is adapting.

Competition structures only work when they are formal, stable and treated as important.

This model is not about tinkering.

It is about committing.

Set the structure. Make it clear. Let clubs work within it.

Standards rise over time, not overnight.

When I Said “Women Aren’t Loud Enough”

At yesterday’s club strategic planning meeting we were discussing a familiar issue.

Why don’t more women coach?

I made a comment that came out easily. Almost casually.

Women often aren’t loud or commanding enough to control a group of boisterous 11-year-olds. In junior football you have to dominate the space.

Heads nodded. It sounded practical. Experience-based. Sensible.

Then Mark Moncur, who is heavily involved in gymnastics and sits on our board, said something that stopped me.

Most of his coaches are women.
They manage large groups of energetic kids.
They cope very well.

And just like that, my confident explanation didn’t feel so solid.

Because if women can do it there, why not here?

So I’ve been sitting with what I said.

Was I describing reality?
Or was I describing football culture?

It’s uncomfortable to realise I may have repeated the same assumptions that have limited women in the game for years.

Was I wrong?

The honest answer is uncomfortable.

I wasn’t completely wrong about the environment. Junior football, especially boys in that 8 to 12 age, can be loud, chaotic, physical and full of boundary testing. You do need presence. You do need authority.

But I may have been wrong about who is capable of that.

And more importantly, I may have described the style of authority football is used to, not the only kind that works.

1. The environment women are stepping into

Coaching this age group is not just teaching skills.

It is behaviour management.
Noise management.
Parent management.

Open parks. Parents three metres away. Every instruction audible. Every decision visible.

And football is still culturally coded as male territory.

So for many women, stepping in is not just taking a role. It is stepping into a space where authority is more likely to be questioned.

A man raising his voice is often seen as strong.
A woman raising her voice can be judged very differently.

That double standard is tiring before the whistle even blows.

2. Authority is socially taught, not naturally owned

When we say junior coaching requires someone to be loud and commanding, we are really talking about comfort with visible authority.

Boys are more often encouraged to be loud, to take up space, to lead physically and verbally.

Girls are more often corrected for the same behaviour, told not to be bossy, pushed toward harmony.

So by adulthood, when someone stands in front of a group of energetic boys, they are not just coaching.

They are pushing against years of social conditioning about how much space they are “allowed” to take up.

That is not about ability. It is about confidence under social pressure.

3. Many women don’t see themselves in the role

In sports like gymnastics, netball or dance, most coaches women saw growing up were women. The authority figure looked like them.

In football, most coaches they saw were men.

So women don’t just think, Can I do this?

They think, Do I belong here?

Belonging is powerful. Without it, people hesitate.

4. Fear of judgement hits harder in football

A new male coach can be rough around the edges and it is seen as part of learning.

A new female coach often feels like she represents all female coaches.

Mistakes feel public. Visible. Attributed to gender, not experience.

Add dads on the sideline, boys testing boundaries and existing male coaches nearby and it can feel like a performance, not a learning space.

That emotional load adds up.

5. The pathway into coaching is different

Many male coaches come through a simple pathway.

I played, so I will coach.

Women’s playing pathways have historically been shorter, less competitive and less resourced.

So many women feel they did not play at a high enough level to coach, even though junior coaching is largely about communication, organisation, care and structure.

Skills many women already have, but do not recognise as coaching credentials.

6. It’s not that women can’t handle boys

It’s that the system doesn’t support them doing it

Women who do coach juniors successfully often have

A co-coach
A club that backs them publicly
Clear behaviour standards
Visible authority from leadership

When that backing is not obvious, they feel exposed.

And exposed people leave.

7. Why gymnastics looks different

Gymnastics is not quiet or passive. Kids run, fall and push limits.

But the authority style often looks different. Structured. Precise. Expectation-driven. Consistent rather than loud.

The coach doesn’t “dominate the space”. The structure does.

Football, on the other hand, has a louder behavioural environment, more public criticism culture and a higher tolerance for chaos.

So women are not avoiding coaching children.

They may be avoiding environments where authority is contested, support feels thin and mistakes feel amplified.

The shift in my thinking

Maybe the issue isn’t volume.

Maybe it is

Do we introduce female coaches with visible authority?
Do we shut down sideline interference?
Do we set behaviour standards that back them?
Do we pair them, support them, protect their space?

Or do we hand them cones, wish them luck and then judge whether they were “strong enough”?

That’s a system issue.

So was I wrong?

I was right that junior football is a demanding environment.

But I was wrong to imply the limitation sits with women.

The limitation may sit with how football defines authority and how little we have adapted that definition.

Maybe the question isn’t whether women are ready for football coaching.

Maybe it’s whether football is ready to make room for different kinds of authority.

That’s a humbling thing to admit.

But maybe that is exactly where change starts.

Why a Six-Team NPL Makes Competitive Sense - Part 1.

2025 Tasmanian NPL League Table

Yesterday our club held a Board strategic planning session.

Across a wide range of topics, one issue surfaced more than once.

Eighteen games.

Not enough football.

Not enough minutes.
Not enough exposure.
Not enough sustained pressure for players trying to develop at senior level.

It is easy to criticise structures from the outside. It is harder and more useful, to think through what the alternatives might actually look like.

That conversation made me stop and shift perspective.

Instead of pointing out what is not working, what are the practical options. What are the trade-offs. What are the uncomfortable decisions that come with designing a competition that genuinely lifts standards.

Because this is not a simple problem.

Tasmania has geography.
Volunteer-run clubs.
Travel realities.
A small player pool.
A desire to be competitive nationally.

Any structure has to live inside all of those constraints.

But constraints do not remove the central question.

If we accept that eighteen games is not enough meaningful football for the top level, what league design makes the most sense.

This is not about who belongs where.

It is about competitive design.

Reading the Ladder as a Diagnostic Tool

League tables tell stories beyond who finished first.

When recent NPL results are viewed as patterns rather than names, the competition does not look like one tight race. It looks like three distinct performance bands.

A top group separates strongly. High points totals. Large goal difference. High scoring. Few conceded. These teams are tested occasionally, not consistently.

A middle group competes tightly with each other. Balanced results. Moderate goal difference. This is where the most developmentally valuable football tends to occur.

A survival group concedes heavily and carries large negative goal difference. These teams are not simply losing. They are operating at a different depth level. In these environments teams often move into survival mode. Risk reduces. Young players are protected. Confidence erodes. Development slows.

This is not a criticism of any club.

It is a structural signal.

When a league clusters into performance bands, it suggests the distribution of talent across the number of teams may not align with the size of the player pool.

The Scale of the Gap Matters

When we look at the numbers more closely, the goal difference spread across the league was not small.

It was significant.

The teams at the top of the table were operating with very strong positive goal difference, scoring freely and conceding very little. At the other end, some teams carried heavy negative goal difference and high goals conceded totals.

That is not just variance.

That level of separation tells us the competition was not functioning as one consistent performance environment. It suggests a gap in depth, experience and squad capacity across the number of teams at the level.

When the difference between top and bottom becomes that large, several things happen.

Top teams are not stretched often enough.
Bottom teams operate in survival mode rather than development mode.
The middle of the table carries most of the genuinely competitive load.

That is not a criticism of individuals or clubs.

It is a signal that league structure and player distribution may not be aligned.

Why Blow-Outs Matter

Heavy scorelines are not moral failures.

They are indicators.

When the gap between strongest and weakest becomes too wide, top players are not stretched in certain fixtures. Coaches cannot replicate national-level intensity. Spectators disengage from predictable outcomes. The overall standard plateaus rather than rises.

Close games build atmosphere. Rivalries gain meaning. Late-season matches matter. Supporters stay engaged.

Competitive balance is not just about entertainment.

It is about whether the weekly environment resembles the level we say we are developing players for.

Two Structural Levers

There are only two ways to change this.

The number of rounds.
The number of teams.

Both influence player minutes, squad depth pressure, weekly intensity and national competitiveness.

Option One — Eight Teams, Four Rounds

Seven opponents multiplied by four equals twenty eight matches.

This increases exposure. Rotation becomes possible. Injuries do not derail development. The table reflects consistency.

This is the volume model.

But it only works if squad depth across eight clubs keeps matches competitive week after week. More games do not automatically mean more high-level games.

Option Two — Six Teams at the Top Level

Five opponents multiplied by four equals twenty matches.

Fewer total games, but higher intensity.

Stronger squads.
More top-v-top football.
Fewer survival line-ups.
More games where outcomes are genuinely in doubt.

This is the concentration model.

It assumes development comes through sustained pressure rather than pure volume.

Movement Matters

Structure alone does not lift standards.

Movement does.

Promotion and relegation introduce consequence.

Performance determines position.
Complacency has risk.
Ambition has a pathway.

A smaller top league only works if it is open.

If a Championship club wins but chooses not to go up, that is a choice about competitive level. The next eligible club progresses. If none meet standards, the NPL remains unchanged. The structure cannot bend around reluctance.

Top-tier football is a performance environment, not a participation badge.

Geography Is Real

Tasmania is not a compact metro region.

Travel matters. Costs matter. Volunteer capacity matters.

The Championship tiers are already regionalised North and South. That should remain. Geography shapes the second tier.

But geography cannot be the sole determinant of top-tier structure. That leads to fragmentation, not progression.

The challenge is to design a system that manages geography while still demanding competitive standards.

Will Players Tire of Repeated Opponents

Some will ask.

That depends on what the league is for.

Variety is a participation value.
Repeated high-level opposition is a performance value.

Repeated fixtures build tactical depth, adjustment, rivalry and psychological resilience. That mirrors higher-level football.

Retention Matters

When capable players spend seasons underfed for minutes, they drift away.

Not because they do not love football.
Because they want to play.

Structure quietly shapes retention.

A Considered View

This is not complaint. These ideas come from long involvement in the game and recent discussions with Ken, whose experience spans generations and levels.

This is not a club position.

It is a competitive one.

Where This Leads

If a call must be made based on competitive reality rather than comfort, the model most likely to lift weekly standards is clear.

A smaller, open top division.

Six teams. Four rounds. Promotion and relegation.

Not to exclude.

To concentrate quality, increase intensity, create consequence and mirror the environments players face beyond the state system.

Expansion can follow when depth supports it.

Standards rise when structure demands more.

Identifying the structural problem is only the first step.
The next questions are harder.
How promotion and relegation would operate across North and South.
What happens when clubs decline to move up.
And how standards can be protected while geography is respected.
Those mechanics matter just as much as league size, and I will look at them next.

Jan Stewart, Kingborough Lions Football Club

Jan Stewart photographed by Nikki Long

Football Faces Tasmania, recorded 2022

Why Jan matters

I used to see Jan most weekends at football.

She is one of those people who just makes you feel good. Always friendly. Always caring. The kind of person you naturally drift toward because her energy is calm, warm and genuine.

Football clubs run on people like that.

I do not think Jan is coaching at the moment, which honestly makes me a little sad. Because she is one of the kindest people I think I have known in football and that kindness is not softness, it is strength. The girls who come through coaches like Jan learn more than football, they learn belief.

Jan Stewart is one of those people who makes football feel safe.

Not safe in a soft way. Safe in the way that makes you try again. Safe enough to be new. Safe enough to be awkward. Safe enough to learn in public. Safe enough to be brave.

Football is damn lucky to have her and so are the girls coming through who do not yet know what they are capable of.

This is a Football Faces Tasmania story from 2022. Jan wrote it herself, straight from the heart. I am publishing it now so it has a permanent home.

Jan’s story, in her words

Some years ago now, I came into the game as a football mum.

My son was 7 at the time. My 10 year old daughter was watching his training session from the sidelines and said, “Mum, can I play?”

I laughed warmly.

“Girls do not play football,” I responded.

Two weeks later she was registered in a mixed team, and now at 24 she is still playing, when it stops raining in Northern NSW.

When our youngest daughters decided at 6 to play, I became a coach, and a learner player.

I was not ever very skilled in my football playing journey.

However, I did learn enough to grow my skill as a coach, and also a great love for the game.

Fifteen years later, and many, many hours on the football park coaching and playing, I finally feel like I am beginning to understand. Growing also is my confidence.

For me, this is what I want to be able to instill and grow in our youth girls.

With confidence comes strength, which empowers the players with the belief that they can achieve anything they set their mind to. It helps them find their way for their confidence and strength to shine.

It begins with them mastering the simplest of skills, such as passing.

Accurately.

Not every player knows their ability.

Not every player has a support base behind them.

Not every player knows what a football pathway is.

Not every player has good mental health.

To be someone in their lives that offers positivity and belief, and shows them what they can achieve through playing football, is so rewarding, and a great privilege.

Be brave.

Be confident.

Be strong.

This is what I wish for our youth players, and I believe that you can be powerful young female footballers.

These skills will carry you through life.

Jan Stewart

Football Faces Tasmania

Football Faces Tasmania was created to celebrate the people who shape Tasmanian football.

You know most of them. You see them at games, in the canteen, at the gate, organising the club, buying the equipment, coaching the team, managing the team, keeping the lights on, literally and figuratively.

Whatever their role, they volunteer for the benefit of many and their contribution should not be forgotten.

The questions are asked by Victoria Morton. Photos are by Nikki Long.

If you know someone whose football story should be remembered and celebrated, please tell me.

Why the Matildas Feel Safe - And Men’s Football Still Doesn’t

Photo Vogue Australia

Why Sam Kerr Is Celebrated and a Socceroo Would Still Be a Shock

We all saw the joy around Sam Kerr’s wedding.

Celebration. Pride. Love. Visibility.

She is openly gay. It was not framed as bravery. It was simply life.

Sam Kerr’s wedding showed what acceptance can look like in football. It also quietly showed us where the men’s game has not yet arrived.

Now ask yourself this.

If a current Socceroo, in his prime, came out tomorrow, would the reaction feel the same?

We know the answer.

That difference is not really about sexuality.
It is about gender, power, masculinity, and the culture men’s football still carries.

The history men’s football still carries

Ken often talks about earlier decades in football. The 60s and 70s. He says there were players “everyone knew” about. Nothing was said openly. Just whispers, sniggering, coded comments behind hands.

That silence was not acceptance. It was containment.

Then in 1990, Justin Fashanu came out in England. The first male professional footballer to do so publicly. The reaction was brutal. Media frenzy. Isolation. Stigma. His story ended in tragedy.

That moment mattered.

Men’s football absorbed a lesson, not about inclusion, but about risk. The message that travelled through the game was simple, this is dangerous.

Women’s players have faced their own battles for respect, funding and legitimacy. But the cultural fight around sexuality unfolded differently in their game. Women’s football did not carry that same public trauma point. That difference still echoes.

Cultures remember, even when they don’t speak about it.

Where I sit in this story

Andy Brennan has been part of our football life since he was four years old. My son’s best mate. In and out of our home. One of “our boys”.

He is also a very good footballer. He came through South Hobart, earned a move to South Melbourne and later played in the A-League with Newcastle Jets. He has lived inside elite men’s football environments.

When he told me he was gay and that he was going to come out publicly, my first instinct was not judgement. It was fear.

Fear of crowds. Fear of headlines. Fear of what football environments can be like and what they would do to him.

That protective, mother reaction says as much about men’s football culture as any analysis does.

Andy went on to be more resilient than I imagined. Happier. More confident. More himself. But my first response was shaped by the history this game carries.

Women’s football grew differently

Women playing football were already stepping outside traditional gender expectations. The sport developed fighting for recognition, not protecting a long-established identity.

LGBTQ+ visibility became part of the culture early. Not as a campaign, but because players existed and did not hide.

So now:

Matildas share partners on social media
Sponsorship campaigns include same-sex relationships
Fans celebrate it as normal

The Matildas have been allowed to be whole people in public. Male players are still expected to be only footballers.

That visibility does not destabilise the identity of women’s football. It fits the story the game tells about itself.

The commercial contradiction

Women’s football is marketed around authenticity, diversity, community and relatability.

Men’s football has long been marketed around power, toughness, tradition and the “alpha” image.

LGBTQ+ visibility sits comfortably in the brand story of the Matildas.

It disrupts the traditional brand story of men’s football as it has been packaged for decades.

So you see visibility in the women’s game.
And near invisibility in the men’s.

Not because gay male players do not exist. But because openness is still treated as commercial and cultural risk.

Why men’s football reacts differently

Homophobia in men’s football is rarely just about sexuality. It is about policing masculinity.

Being gay has wrongly been treated as being “less of a man.” That idea lingers in dressing rooms, terraces and commentary culture.

A gay female player does not threaten a straight man’s identity.

A gay male player challenges the narrow definition of masculinity that sport has carried.

That discomfort sits underneath a lot of reactions, even when no one says it aloud.

The role model burden in men’s football

In the men’s game, coming out rarely stays a private act.

A player does not just remain a winger, a defender, a teammate.

He becomes “the gay footballer,” a spokesperson, a symbol, a headline.

His identity becomes part of his public job, whether he wants it to or not.

That is exhausting.

Women’s football has reached a point where sexuality is increasingly just part of who someone is, not the defining narrative. In men’s football, the story still attaches itself to the person.

That added pressure, media attention and expectation to represent a whole community is another reason some players stay silent.

Silence in men’s football has often been less about shame and more about survival.

Crowd culture matters but not in the way people think

Go to a Matildas game and you will see just as many men as women. Dads. Brothers. Young boys. Older men. Hardcore football fans.

Men who support the Matildas. Men who take their daughters. Men who cheer openly for gay players without hesitation.

So the issue is not that men cannot accept gay athletes.

It is that men’s professional football has historically built a performance culture in its terraces where aggression, banter and intimidation are part of the ritual. That culture developed over decades in men’s leagues.

Women’s football crowds grew in a different way. Not softer, but less tied to proving masculinity through confrontation. That difference shapes what behaviour feels normal in the stands.

It is culture of environment, not gender of spectators.

Progress, but slow

Things are changing. Younger players grew up in a different world. Many dressing rooms today are more open than they were even ten years ago.

Clubs talk more about inclusion. Teammates often privately support each other more than people realise.

But football is tradition-heavy. Culture change often arrives with a generation, not a policy.

So progress exists. But for the individual player considering coming out, “things are better now” still does not feel like certainty. It still feels like stepping into the unknown.

That gap between progress on paper and safety in practice is where hesitation lives.

Why this matters

Somewhere there is a young girl watching the Matildas and seeing herself reflected.

Somewhere there is a young boy in football who still feels he must hide.

The difference is not talent.
It is culture.

And culture can change.

Before we hear personal stories, we need to understand the environment those stories sit inside.

James Sherman: Coming Home With New Eyes

James Sherman - Another terrific photo by Nikki Long

Season 2026, Glenorchy Knights FC

James Sherman is one of those coaches who makes you feel optimistic about football.

Not because he talks loudly, or sells himself well, but because he is thoughtful, grounded, and serious about the work. James loves football, and you can tell quickly that the game still excites him, not just for what happens on a Saturday, but for what can be built over years.

James coached Glenorchy Knights from 2019 to 2024, then stepped away to work in Singapore in a player development role. Now he returns for the 2026 season as NPL Head Coach and in a broader technical leadership position across the club.

As part of my own written record of Tasmanian football, it felt important to capture James’s thinking in his own time, because coaches like this shape far more than just one team.

What follows is James Sherman’s reflection on football, coaching, Singapore, and what Tasmania needs to do if it wants to genuinely improve.

A football beginning

James’s earliest football memory is simple.

Kicking the ball with his mum in the backyard at home.

He says most sports were interesting as a child, but football just clicked, and it was easily accessible. There was always a ball nearby, always a game to be found. Once the love of it landed, it never really left.

When playing ends and coaching begins

Like many players, James expected to play for as long as he could.

But football has a way of forcing decisions on you. In pre-season 2016, he began having serious Achilles issues. It became apparent things weren’t going to improve much, and that got him thinking about what happens after playing.

That same year, he completed his C Licence.

Things progressed from there.

The people who shape you

When James talks about influence, he does not begin with elite programs or famous coaches.

He starts with family.

His mum and brother shaped him more than anyone. He also speaks with deep appreciation about the Armstrong family, who took him in as a sixteen-year-old straight out of Tasmania.

He was fortunate to have what he describes as stellar teammates, men who might be considered old school today, but who valued standards, care, and looking after each other.

That experience carries into the way he leads.

There are things that just matter, he says, and people caring about the small things makes a difference.

Small things add up.

Flexibility is not weakness

James is open about early coaching mistakes.

In 2019, Glenorchy Knights went through the middle of the season with six losses in a row. He reflects that they were trying too hard to match teams that were stronger.

In the final round of fixtures, they made a change.

They played deeper, stayed organised, and played on the counter.

They finished fifth.

The lesson stayed with him.

Flexibility isn’t weakness.

That is as much a leadership philosophy as a tactical one.

Building Glenorchy Knights beyond the first team

James’s years at Glenorchy were not only about the NPL side.

At the end of 2018, the club set up the Academy. He credits Dale Itchins with growing it strongly, and later James returned to the Academy Director role himself.

At the time he stepped in, the club had one state representative player across all youth teams.

Now, he says, that is drastically different. Glenorchy Knights consistently have female and male players in representative squads.

He highlights one example with pride.

Ebony Pitt, an Academy graduate and current WSL player, selected in a Junior Matildas training camp after a recent National ID tournament.

That is real development, not just talk.

Every year is a big year

James is clear that 2024 was a big year, but he also says every year is a big year, with or without silverware.

It is always demanding, and he says he would not change a thing.

The fun, for him, is in the small details. Keeping people engaged, fresh, always looking for a bit more.

How can we be better.

After six years as NPL coach and two years before that as an assistant, he needed a reset, not from football, but from the intensity of first team management.

Singapore and the value of procedure

James chose Singapore because he needed something new.

Staying in Tasmania would not have allowed him to do that. The chance to work abroad and experience new environments was refreshing, and working specifically in player development gave him time to improve his coaching.

He describes Singapore as an amazing country.

Education is paramount. Military service has a significant influence on society. Procedure is valued and prioritised, often.

He found the players and parents extremely open to development and supportive. He believes Singapore has real potential for rapid football improvement, given its geographical location, dense population, and strong resources.

We are guessing

In Singapore, James worked in a development environment and was struck by the importance of collaboration across all levels of football.

Discovering and monitoring players, communicating with clubs and coaches consistently, and using clear evaluation metrics, while also being willing to question those metrics.

He worked alongside talented colleagues and saw huge progress made in a short time with players aged between eight and eleven.

That reinforced something important.

We are guessing.

Every estimate or evaluation can never be claimed as a guarantee. That is simply the truth.

Success leaves clues

James does not say Singapore transformed him as a coach.

He says it reinforced what he already believed.

If things can be done simply, then that is good.

He enjoys being part of teams that are great on and off the pitch, and he enjoys creating challenging and dynamic environments that lead to good things.

Success leaves clues.

That phrase says a lot about his approach. Watch, learn, observe, build.

Returning to Glenorchy Knights in 2026

James does not describe this as a return.

He describes it as a new job.

That, he says, is good for him, good for the players, and good for the club.

He sees the challenge and believes the opportunity is there to improve quickly.

His role will support not only the NPL side, but also WSL, Under 21, Championship, and Under 18 coaches across men’s and women’s football.

For him, there is more to football than the outcome of a Saturday or Sunday afternoon.

How can staff challenge, stretch, and support players at every opportunity.

How can coaches deliver great sessions.

How do people learn best.

What do we need to do to deliver well across the board.

A playing model and coaching framework

The club’s aim is to create a clear playing model and coaching framework that everyone can see and work towards.

James’s role is to facilitate that, then work with senior staff to implement it.

A major focus is pedagogy.

Not just running sessions, but thinking critically about how sessions are designed, how players learn, and how coaches improve every year.

His day to day will involve team analysis, session review, and sharing content with coaches.

He also says the retention and recruitment of senior coaches this year is the best the club has had.

It is an exciting time.

Transparency, consistency, clarity

James’s non-negotiables as a coach are simple.

Transparency. Consistency. Clarity.

Stick at it, and good things will happen.

Guidelines, not rules

When asked about leadership, he says something that stands out.

Don’t make rules. Use guidelines instead.

Stick to process. Focus on what is within your control. Prioritise what is beneficial for the group.

Remain positive.

And play to win.

Coach education is the gap Tasmania cannot ignore

If Tasmania could change one thing to produce better players and coaches, James goes straight to coach education.

He means conferences and presentations, not just licence courses.

Bringing in presenters, and having local coaches share knowledge.

He believes Tasmania is miles off providing that for the people trusted with developing the game.

There are very good coaches locally, he says, and that knowledge should be tapped into for the benefit of all.

There is no excuse not to close the gap with other states. Tasmania should be able to box above its weight in professionalism and innovation in player development.

So why hasn’t it changed.

Because knowledge sharing hasn’t been consistent. It can’t be a token event to tick a box.

It needs to be purposeful and interesting.

Build it, and the progress will be obvious.

Final reflections

There is a freshness to James Sherman.

Not because he is new, but because he genuinely enjoys football, believes in learning, and cares about building environments that help players and coaches improve.

He talks about football as work worth doing.

In Tasmanian football, that matters.

When Diagrams Start Driving the Story

Screenshot Win News interview

I watched the Football Tasmania CEO on WIN News this morning.

Thank you to Brent Costelloe and WIN News for covering football in Tasmania. It matters that our game is part of the public conversation.

What struck me, though, was not what was dramatic.

It was what had shifted.

Because the tone was confident.
Optimistic.
Forward-looking.

But underneath that, the negotiating position of football felt… different.

“I’ve seen the plans and it’s not as big as other stadiums.”

That was the explanation for why Macquarie Point now feels workable for football.

Not participation data.
Not football venue design principles.
Not surface or sightline analysis.

The key reassurance was size.

The stadium is smaller than expected, so football can “fit”.

That is a very specific kind of argument.

It is about accommodation, not design.

A football pitch fitting between boundary lines is not the same thing as a football venue.

Football venues are built around proximity to the touchline, sightlines, acoustics, technical areas, warm-up space and the way the game is experienced. That is the difference between being designed for and being made to work.

Those are not minor details. They shape how the sport lives in a space.

Rectangular Became “Later”

For a long time the language around football infrastructure has been clear.

Football needs a rectangular stadium.
Football deserves infrastructure designed for the sport.

Now the position sounds like this.

Macquarie Point could be a win-win.
The stadium needs content.
Football wants an A-League team.
We can play there.
And eventually we can still work toward a purpose-built rectangular ground.

Eventually is doing a lot of work in that sentence.

Tasmanian football has heard “eventually” before.

On the Agenda Is Not a Plan

Expansion was described as “on the agenda”.

There is no set timeline.
No stage markers.
No stated benchmarks.

In governance language, that is not a project. It is a direction of travel.

Tasmanian football has travelled in hopeful directions before. Often with energy, goodwill and belief, but without the structural anchors that turn hope into delivery.

Optimism is important.
Structure is what turns it into reality.

Content Versus Code

One framing stood out.

The stadium needs content.
Football can help provide it.

That is different from saying football needs a home designed for football.

One positions the sport as a solution to someone else’s infrastructure equation.
The other positions football as a code with its own structural requirements.

When a sport signals it can adapt to infrastructure not designed for it, the urgency to build infrastructure designed for it usually drops.

That is not emotion. That is how policy environments work.

The Summer Calendar

Confidence was expressed that there is space in the summer calendar for an A-League side.

That is probably true.

But calendars do not build teams.

Facilities do.

Training environments.
Change rooms.
Medical spaces.
Admin areas.
Match-ready surfaces.

Those things come from infrastructure planning, not gaps in scheduling.

Home of Football

The most concrete part of the interview was the Home of Football.

Design funding secured.
Early-stage work underway.
A larger build cost flagged.

That sounds like a structured project.

But it also highlights the scale of the journey ahead.

Drawing plans is one stage.
Delivering major infrastructure is another.

In that context, Macquarie Point becomes the near-term solution, while football-specific infrastructure sits further down the road.

Tasmanian sport has seen temporary arrangements become permanent before.

That is why sequencing matters.

“Scrounging” for Fields

The comment was made that during the Hobart Cup, organisers “scrounge around” for enough grounds.

Large tournaments stretching field availability is not evidence of poor organisation. It is evidence of demand outgrowing infrastructure.

Southern Tasmania does not have a pitch quality problem.
It has a pitch quantity problem.

Upgrading a single site improves quality at that location. It does not create more rectangular surfaces. It does not expand capacity. It does not solve scheduling pressure across the system.

That distinction matters when we talk about football infrastructure.

Infrastructure Is Lived, Not Abstract

Infrastructure decisions here are not theoretical.

They shape travel times, volunteer load, access to training spaces and the weekly rhythms of clubs. They affect how families move, how programs run and how sustainable participation really is.

On paper, diagrams can look persuasive.

On the ground, systems are held together by people navigating those realities every week.

When Language Shifts, Pay Attention

This interview was not confrontational.

It was careful.
Measured.
Pragmatic.

That is exactly why it matters.

Because the story may be shifting in small, reasonable-sounding steps.

Rectangular became later.
Purpose-built became eventual.
Football-first became win-win.
Need became fit.

None of those words sound unreasonable.

But together, they tell a story about compromise arriving before foundations are secured.

Tasmanian football has always been good at being reasonable.

History suggests we should also be careful.

The Australia Cup Just Got More Australian, and More Dangerous for the A-League

Something important just happened.

It looks like an administrative tweak.

It isn’t.

From 2026, the Australia Cup will no longer include Wellington Phoenix or Auckland FC. The competition becomes fully Australian, aligned with AFC requirements, and the Darwin playoff system is gone.

On the surface that is tidy governance.

Underneath, it shifts the competitive balance of the Cup in a way that matters deeply for NPL clubs.

Less “extra”, more pathway

Two New Zealand professional clubs are out.

In their place, more spots flow back through the state federations. There are now 21 qualification places distributed across Member Federations.

That is not just a numbers shuffle.

That is a structural shift back toward:

• state league champions
• historic clubs
• proper qualification pathways
• the grassroots to national pyramid link

This is the Cup remembering what it was created for.

Bridging the gap.

What it means in the draw

Previously the Round of 32 mix leaned like this:

• 12 A-League clubs, including NZ sides
• NPL and state qualifiers

Now it becomes:

• 10 Australian A-League clubs
• more NPL and state entrants
• no NZ professional buffer

So the draw pool tilts further toward state league clubs.

Which means a higher proportion of ties now fall into:

• A-League vs NPL
• NPL vs NPL

That matters more than it sounds.

Because timing is everything

Here is the part people outside the system often miss.

The Cup sits in the A-League pre-season window.

For most NPL clubs, it lands in the middle of their competitive season.

That means A-League clubs are:

• building fitness
• rotating squads
• trialling combinations
• managing loads

NPL clubs are:

• match sharp
• tactically settled
• physically hardened
• in rhythm

This is not always top tier pace overwhelming part-timers.

It is often a pre-season professional side facing a fully competitive team in form.

That gap narrows fast.

This is where Cup chaos lives

Add the structural shift.

More federation entrants.
More NPL clubs.
Fewer professional sides sitting in the middle of the mix.

The format leans harder into the most dangerous scenario for A-League teams:

Away games.
Unfamiliar grounds.
In-season opponents.
Clubs treating the night as the biggest game of their year.

That is not a comfortable equation.

Why this matters to NPL clubs

For clubs outside the A-League, these ties are not just romantic stories. They are strategic moments.

They bring:

• broadcast exposure
• big home gates
• sponsor leverage
• relevance beyond your postcode

A night under lights against an A-League club can do more for a community club’s profile than ten routine league games.

The pathway to those nights just widened slightly, while the competitive conditions are slightly more favourable.

That is built into the Cup.

The competition moves closer to its purpose

When the FFA Cup launched, the idea was simple.

One competition where:

the local club
the historic club
the volunteer-run club

could share the same draw as the professional tier.

Over time, formats get layered and systems drift.

This change feels like a correction.

Less cross-border complication.

More national identity.

More direct connection between state football and the top.

And from the A-League side

This is not easier.

It is more dangerous.

More NPL entrants.
More in-season opponents.
More grounds that do not feel like controlled stadium environments.

The Australia Cup has not become smaller.

It has become sharper.

And that is exactly what a knockout cup should be.

Uncomfortable.

Unpredictable.

Alive.

Who Football Chooses to Honour

Every so often football celebrates one of its leaders.

A medal.
An award.
A formal citation.

Words like service, leadership, contribution, legacy.

And each time, something interesting happens.

The people at the top nod.

The people at the bottom go quiet.

Not angry.
Not outraged.
Just… tired.

Two different footballs exist at the same time

There is the football of boardrooms, strategy documents, governance reform and executive titles.

That football speaks the language of impact, systems, growth, sustainability and national pathways.

It is structured.
It is reportable.
It is visible.

That is the football awards are built to see.

Then there is the other football.

The football that doesn’t appear in citations

This football looks like line marking at 7am, fixing nets with cable ties, chasing unpaid fees and calming upset parents.

It looks like running canteens, cleaning changerooms, writing grants at midnight and finding a fill-in keeper when someone doesn’t turn up.

It looks like turning up week after week, season after season.
Knowing families, players and volunteers across generations.
Making sure every child is accounted for at training and matches.
Holding teams together when numbers drop and seasons get hard.

This football does not have job titles.

It has people.

Recognition flows one way

In our game, recognition usually travels upward.

Formal honours go to executives, administrators and system-level leaders.

Meanwhile responsibility flows the other way.

Downward.

To volunteers.
To clubs.
To community football.

They implement.
They comply.
They absorb costs.
They absorb pressure.
They absorb fallout.

And they do it for free.

Community football also runs on a long-standing expectation that people will give endlessly and ask for little, because it is “for the love of the game”.

That culture of gratitude is powerful. It keeps the game alive. But it also helps explain why visibility for this kind of service has historically lagged behind.

What took so long

It is also worth pausing on something else.

Football built competitions, pathways, executive structures and governance systems long before it built formal ways of honouring the people who sustained the game locally.

Systems to regulate clubs came before systems to recognise community service.

The fact that local halls of recognition are such a recent development says something.

Not about individuals.
About priorities.

Community contribution existed long before formal recognition structures did.

Football has always relied on it. It just did not always record it.

Visibility versus reality

The football that is visible at national level is structured and measurable.

The football that keeps the game alive is messy, human and constant.

It does not have KPIs.
It does not come with tenure.
It does not produce glossy reports.

It simply turns up, every week, every season, for decades.

Moments of high-level recognition often highlight the gap between the football that is visible and the football that is lived.

Who is missing

There is another pattern that is harder to ignore.

Women have driven enormous growth in football in recent years. Junior participation, girls’ pathways, safeguarding, club administration, community engagement, retention. Much of that work has been led or carried by women.

Yet formal recognition structures still struggle to reflect that reality.

That is not about whether any individual deserves an honour. It is about the pipeline that leads to recognition.

Historically, men have occupied more of the titled, visible leadership roles that honours systems recognise.

Women have often done the organising, sustaining and fixing.

One type of contribution has tended to be recorded as leadership.
The other has often been absorbed as support.

The absence tells its own story.

What football chooses to honour tells us something

Awards are not just about individuals.

They are signals.

They show which forms of service the system sees most clearly.
Which roles carry prestige.
Which types of impact are considered leadership.

Volunteers notice that.

They see the structure being celebrated.

They live the substance.

And sometimes that creates a quiet sense of distance, a feeling that the version of football being recognised is not quite the one they experience every week.

Both things can be true

Professional administrators matter.

So do volunteers.

National leadership matters.

So does the person who unlocks the shed every Saturday morning.

Recognition at one level does not cancel out contribution at another. But when visibility consistently sits in one place, it is worth reflecting on what that says about how the game understands value.

The quiet truth

Grassroots football does not run on honours.

It runs on obligation, love of the game and people who simply keep turning up.

No medal required.

And perhaps the next step for football is not to question who is recognised, but to keep widening how we define service, leadership and legacy, so that the full shape of the game can be seen.

The Night We Almost Shocked Sydney United 58

Photo of Brayden Mann - Getty Images

Some matches stay with you because they were beautiful.

Some stay with you because they were brutal.

This one was both, in the worst possible way.

In August 2015, South Hobart travelled to Sydney to play Sydney United 58 in the Round of 32 of the FFA Cup.

We went close.

Painfully close.

And then we lost on penalties, for the second year in a row.

A heavyweight draw

Sydney United 58 weren’t just a Sydney club.

They were Sydney United 58.

A club with history, presence, and a ground that felt like a fortress the moment you walked into it.

This wasn’t a polite cup tie.

This was a proper away day.

The kind where you know from the minute you arrive that you are not home.

The lead, then the swings

We scored first.

Chris “Rex” Hunt in the 27th minute, and suddenly it was real.

Not fantasy. Not hope. Not let’s just compete.

We were in front.

Brayden Mann made it 2–0 early in the second half, and at that point people started to sit up. This wasn’t a token Tasmanian appearance. This was South Hobart playing fearless football, in Sydney, against a club with pedigree.

Then Sydney United hit back.

They always do.

They scored three times and suddenly we were 3–2 down and staring at another brave effort story.

But then came Alfred Hess.

Late.

86th minute.

3–3.

For a second, everything lifted. Noise, belief, disbelief, all at once.

A goal that still makes you inhale when you replay it in your mind.

Extra time

And then it went to extra time.

The kind of extra time where nobody is fresh and every decision feels heavy.

It wasn’t glamorous.

It was exhausting.

It was survival football.

Bodies were cramping. Shirts heavy. Every run felt like a decision.

It finished 3–3 after extra time.

And then we went to penalties.

A shootout, again

The second year in a row.

That part matters.

Because once you’ve lost on penalties, you don’t walk into the next one clean. You carry memory.

We lost 3–1 on penalties.

There is no soft way to say it.

It was awful.

Exhausting.

Hard to take.

A match we were good enough to win, and close enough to steal, but still ended up walking away empty handed.

A ground that said something

The pitch was artificial.

Not the luxury FIFA kind.

A bit tired, a bit worn, but still doing its job.

The grandstand was the same.

Not flash. Not new.

But solid. Permanent.

And I remember sitting there thinking something I did not expect to think on a night like that.

If only we owned a grandstand like this.

Because in football, infrastructure is not just comfort. It is power. It is belonging. It is permanence.

One arrival, one message

We were dropped at the back gate.

No front entrance.

No greeting.

No President stepping forward to welcome the away club.

We found our own way in.

At the time, it didn’t irritate me.

It was more an eye opener.

A quiet lesson in how football culture works at that level. You are there to play, not to be hosted. Respect is earned on the pitch, not given at the gate.

The message was clear.

The invaders from the Apple Isle were nothing special.

Rudan’s relief

After the game, Coach Mark Rudan went over to Ken and said,

“We got out of jail with that one, Kenny.”

He didn’t look like a man who had cruised through a cup tie.

He looked like a man who knew how close they had been to going out.

That reaction tells the story better than any headline.

Sydney United did not feel comfortable that night.

South Hobart made them work for it.

Post-match hospitality

After the game came the hospitality.

Dry buns.

Leftovers.

Food that stuck in your throat a bit.

And maybe it wouldn’t have mattered on a win.

But after extra time, penalties and that kind of loss, it felt even more unpalatable.

Not because it was bad food.

But because everything feels harder to swallow when you’ve just come that close.

Hostile, right to the end

Even the penalties carried an edge.

Hostile kids behind the goalkeeper.

Trying to rattle.

Trying to tip the balance.

And when you’ve travelled across Bass Strait and dragged a giant to extra time, that kind of atmosphere doesn’t just sting.

It hardens the memory.

A Tasmanian reality

Tasmanian clubs don’t get many chances in national competitions and when we do, they come with travel, cost, fatigue and a subtle message that we’re lucky to be included.

That night in Sydney felt like that.

And yet, we still took them to extra time.

We still equalised late.

We still pushed a giant to the edge.

A night to remember

The Cup sells romance.

Magic.

Fairytales.

Sometimes that is true.

And sometimes the magic is not in winning.

Sometimes the magic is in getting close enough that the big club feels fear.

We didn’t win.

We didn’t get the storybook ending.

But we went to their place, in their environment, with everything against us and we nearly knocked them out.

There are losses that shrink you.

And there are losses that confirm what you are capable of.

This one did both.

And that is why it still sits in the body.

The flight home felt longer than the trip over.

A night to remember.

For all the right reasons, and all the wrong ones.

Hope, Under Pressure: Inside Football’s Deadline Day

Deadline Day Is Not Normal Life

For most people, it’s just another week in January.

For football people, the transfer window is open and nothing feels normal.

The English winter window opened on 1 January and slams shut on 2 February. That stretch of weeks is its own universe. Phones buzz constantly. Rumours fly. Group chats explode. Everyone is “just checking something”.

Deadline Day smells like coffee, stress and stale office air. Phones on charge. Laptops open. Someone pacing.

And if you know an agent? Forget it.

Our English player agent friend Mark says it best, deadline day is frantic, so if you send him an email, don’t expect a reply. He’s not ignoring you. He’s juggling clubs, contracts, player decisions, paperwork, travel, medicals and someone chasing a signature in another city.

This is the part fans see as drama. Behind the scenes, it’s organised chaos.

Transfer windows are football’s way of putting order around chaos. Without them, the richest clubs could just keep buying all season.

Why This Window Feels So Big

January is the hardest window.

Good players are under contract.
Prices are inflated.
Clubs are fixing problems they didn’t plan to have.

And this year feels even bigger because of what’s at stake. In England, staying up or going down is everything. Survival moves. Promotion pushes. Squads reshaped with urgency rather than patience.

This is where long-term planning collides with short-term panic.

One signing can mean a promotion charge, avoiding relegation, covering an injury crisis, or a season slipping away if a deal collapses.

That’s why people like us are glued to it. It’s not gossip. It’s consequences.

And fans live every rumour like it’s personal, refreshing feeds, convincing themselves one signing will change everything.

If You’ve Watched Sunderland ’Til I Die, You Get It

Anyone who’s watched Sunderland ’Til I Die will remember the transfer window scenes.

The phones.
The waiting.
The uncertainty.
Deals hanging by a thread.

You see directors and staff trying to hold everything together while the clock ticks down. It’s not glamorous. It’s tense, emotional and messy. That’s what Deadline Day really looks like.

It looks glamorous on Sky Sports. It feels like paperwork and pressure.

And that’s why people like Mark go missing. It’s not rudeness. It’s survival mode.

The Scroll Is Part of It Now

Deadline Day used to mean TV coverage and club statements.

Now it lives in your hand.

I still peek at X. I loved Twitter once, but since a certain person bought it, it’s less palatable. So like a lot of football people, I follow Fabrizio Romano everywhere else.

And when it comes to transfers, Fabrizio just knows.

The notifications. The “here we go”. The constant refresh. It’s part of the ritual now. Fans track deals in real time while clubs are still negotiating them. Rumours move faster than paperwork.

The window isn’t just happening in offices.

It’s happening on timelines.

The New Deal Sheet Twist

Now even more drama has been added.

The EFL, the English Football League, which runs the three divisions below the Premier League, Championship, League One and League Two, has introduced deal sheets, like the Premier League uses. If a deal is agreed but paperwork is running late, clubs can lodge a form before the deadline and get extra time to finish the admin.

It sounds technical. It’s huge.

It stops transfers collapsing just because a form was late or a printer jammed somewhere.

It won’t stop the panic.

It just moves the chaos from 7pm to even later.

The Risk No One Talks About

Deadline Day isn’t just exciting. It’s risky.

Clubs are overpaying because time is short, rushing medicals, gambling on short-term fixes, and making decisions under pressure.

That’s why so many January signings don’t work. For every signing that saves a season, there’s another that quietly disappears by April.

And somewhere in all of this is a player waiting to find out where they’re living next week.

Why We Love It Anyway

The clock becomes the main character. Every minute louder than the last.

It’s unpredictable.
It’s tense.
It’s full of possibility.

Deadline Day is football’s version of the final minute of a grand final. Anything can change.

The window might look like theatre on TV, but at every level of the game it’s really about one thing, trying to give your team a fighting chance.

The scale changes.

The stress doesn’t.

Deadline Day isn’t about money.

It’s about hope, under pressure. ⚽

Danny Linger - The Accidental Football President

Danny Linger photographed by Nikki Long

Community football in Tasmania runs on volunteers who often arrive as parents, then slowly find themselves carrying whole clubs. Danny Linger, President of Launceston City FC, is one of those people. His story is practical, personal and at times blunt, especially when it comes to the demands placed on Tasmanian clubs and the gap between national expectations and local realities.

How Danny found football

Danny’s first involvement in football was not as a player or a coach.

It was as a parent.

When his son Jarrod started playing with his mates from school, Danny found himself at the sideline. He thinks it was around 2006, although he says he should check. Football, still referred to as soccer across most of the country, was not his first choice. He is more aligned to motorsport. But he could see the benefits of a “non-contact” sport and he jokes that it was probably more the mums who liked that part.

What struck him early was how enjoyable it was for all participants, even the parents. He remembers the smiles on those little faces and says that alone was reward enough.

In those early days he even thought it was great to get an early game on a Saturday at Churchill Park, because it left the rest of the weekend free to do all manner of other activities.

Little did he know that would soon change once they moved into senior football.

From there, joining Westside Devils felt natural. It was the power of numbers, all the boys from school joining the same club. For those not in the know, Westside Devils Junior Football Club was the junior feeder club to Launceston City FC, the senior counterpart based out of Prospect Vale Park.

Danny says he feels very fortunate and extremely proud that circumstances ensured he became part of such a fantastic club.

Why he still shows up

Jarrod has long since moved on with his life in Queensland but Danny is still deeply involved.

He says the question of why he keeps doing it could involve a very long winded and in-depth answer, but he tries to keep it as concise as he can. After working so many hours at all manner of tasks and club positions, he says the real answer is a sense of social responsibility to do as much as he can in this space.

Even now, he gets a huge amount of satisfaction seeing all the juniors running around in their treasured City tops each week. Whether that is normal team training or as part of the Juventus Academy, he says it really is a great sight.

He takes great pride in seeing junior and youth players develop into genuine respectful adults. Regardless of whether they continue in the sport or not, he says if that is all they achieve then they have succeeded.

The second part of the answer, he says, is a determination to continue developing the facilities.

He is careful here. He says his next comment is not intended to upset any other clubs because everyone has a passion for their own home base, but he firmly believes that, in general terms at least, Prospect Vale Park is right up there with any other football facility in the state, at least on field.

The pitches and the overall available space are right up there.

Off field, he says, they are lacking. Things are moving, but as everyone knows it is a slow burn and they need to keep pushing for what they deserve. With almost 900 members, he says four change rooms just do not cut it.

He says it has been a long road, but they are slowly making ground. They have also worked very hard to build relationships with major partners, mainly The Australian Italian Club and Meander Valley Council.

What a club President actually does

Danny says his day-to-day tasks have changed over time.

In the early days he was setting up on game day, acting as NPL team manager, something he says he really enjoyed, driving the bus and generally communicating with members, Football Tasmania and council.

During COVID, he describes it as a big year, with many early mornings trying to produce all manner of documents so everyone could get back on the park. He says he was exhausted after that.

In later years he says he has mainly dealt with infrastructure, senior committee matters and of course the various NPL regulatory requirements.

He does not think he would be too different from many other volunteers, but he believes most people outside club management would be shocked at how many hours volunteers dedicate to their club, to the point of it almost being a second job. He points to volunteers who are at the club multiple times per week to ensure everything is clean, tidy and runs smoothly on game day.

His message is straightforward.

Do not sit back and think it all just happens.

Roll up your sleeves and help, even if it is only for an hour.

You might actually enjoy it.

The hardest part nobody sees

Danny says straight up that volunteers do not do this for any accolades or thanks.

That is not it at all.

In saying that, he says it is nice to hear compliments instead of complaints, but at the end of the day they do the best they can with the time they have available, they really do try.

He often admits they do not always get it right, but he says the column with the ticks is much longer than the one with the crosses. They do make a difference.

He says the hardest part is not having enough time and energy to devote to getting things done. He always feels there is more to do and so little time to make it happen. He says it can be frustrating getting bogged down in official red tape.

Standards he will not compromise on

Danny says that in the last few years the club has really developed its management structure, especially since the amalgamation with the junior club back in 2019.

They are always aiming for best practice in all areas and he says they are proud of their work in achieving national Club Changer accreditation and all the work that went into it. He says the recognition from Football Australia reflects that work.

If he has to pick a standard that is non-negotiable, he says it is their child protection framework, ensuring they value and protect their junior members.

That is something, he says, they cannot and will not compromise.

How do you balance being welcoming and inclusive with lifting standards and performance?”

Danny says this is a very difficult question and he is not sure he can answer it without writing a novel.

He points to the scale. More than 70 teams, from U6 to WSL to NPL.

He says they have highly valued and smart professionals working at the club, much smarter than him, and each person makes a commitment to ensure the club aligns to its values without compromise.

What junior football should be about

Danny says his view is probably already evident.

He believes junior football should be about developing respectful well-balanced adults.

To some degree the rest is secondary.

By the time players get to senior football, he says winning becomes part of life and something they strive for each day.

The biggest structural weakness in Tasmanian development

Danny is blunt.

An 18-game senior NPL roster.

He says it is embarrassing.

He asks how this happened. He asks how Tasmania can possibly expect to develop and compete on the national stage when the competition is so short. He acknowledges finals exist, but he points out not all clubs will reap any benefit from those extra games.

He then compares it to other states. He says NPL Victoria plays a roster of 26 games while NPL New South Wales ends up with a 30-game roster, and he asks you to check that.

The true cost of facilities

Danny explains that Launceston City is in a unique position.

The club facilities are located on private land they lease, while the pitches are owned by Meander Valley Council. The location brings certain advantages, but it also carries a huge burden as they develop their infrastructure.

He says they are extremely grateful to council for the work they have done and continue to undertake to develop the on-field facilities, but as the club increases its investment off field it comes at a cost, and he suggests asking the finance department.

He says they are starting to see an increase in external entities wishing to utilise Prospect Vale Park, which is exciting, but to make the most of those opportunities they need to invest even more money.

His wish is to finish stage 2 of their development, but he fears that is a long way off and the cost is growing each year.

Where clubs are carrying too much

Danny laughs and says, oh boy, this is a good one.

He says the short answer is he finds it incredible that in a state of a little over 550,000 people, about the same as the population of the Gold Coast for instance, clubs are expected to meet the same criteria as every other NPL club in the country.

He says some of this has meant clubs have stepped up and improved, but when clubs are expected to meet the same infrastructure requirements as mainland NPL clubs, he feels it goes too far. There is just not the money available to invest.

He says certain entities forget they are all volunteers working their butts off just to put teams on the park. At the end of the day, he says it is the volunteer clubs that have the most to lose financially, and they are not given enough credit for all that hard work.

If Football Tasmania handed him the pen

Danny’s answer is short and sharp.

Listen and engage with your stakeholders.

Do not just nod and smile.

Actually act on the feedback provided by the major stakeholders, and he says he does not mean cherry pick what suits a pre-set agenda.

He says between the clubs across the state, the level of expertise available is immense, something any national organisation would cherish, yet he does not feel it is tapped into too wisely.

The best decision he made, and what he would do differently

Without doubt, Danny says the best decision would be pushing ahead with the junior and senior amalgamation in 2019.

He says it had been spoken about for some time, and the opportunity arose due to the senior club needing to update its 40-year-old constitution and the fact the junior club did not have one at all.

He says they discussed it with the junior committee, and then Alex Aylott, Junior President at the time, and Danny exchanged letters of intent. They worked at it during that year and took it to a Special General Meeting.

He says it was almost an anticlimax with a unanimous vote, but it was a great feeling to finally get it done.

Since then, he says, the club has gone from strength to strength. They have a board in place overseeing various committees and he says it seems to be working well.

He is careful to add they would not be where they are today without the commitment of previous committees. He does not want to take away from what people did over the years to establish the club in the first place.

On regret, he says he is not sure there is anything in particular. He says maybe over the years he could have spent less time on the day-to-day stuff and concentrated on moving the club forward, but it is not really a regret as such.

The brutally honest message to councils and government

Danny says football is here.

Football is growing.

And it is not about the shape of the ball.

He says football deserves better and government and councils should come along for the ride, not sit back and watch.

He adds, and remember, we vote too.

If he stepped away tomorrow

Danny says the club is currently undertaking refurbishment of nearly 50-year-old original change rooms thanks to a Federal Grant on the back of Play Our Way funding.

Construction is due for completion around April, but it still only gives them four individual change rooms. For a club of their size, with both male and female teams, he says they really need at least six, along with the additional storage that comes with that.

He says he is proud of the Peter Mies Pavilion, but they still need another $2 to $3 million to complete the development. He jokes that other than selling kidneys on the black market, he is not sure when or how they can gain that funding, and says they will just keep pushing.

He says council is working on an upgrade to their access off Westbury Road and they are collaborating on a lighting upgrade that is long overdue.

Watch this space, he says.

Finish this sentence honestly

Tasmanian football won’t truly improve until we actually come together as one.

Danny says that means grass roots, clubs and all participants have a voice that is heard, actually listened to and given a real chance to collaborate on the future of the sport. That voice needs to be clearly heard and understood from all key bodies.

Football Tasmania, Football Australia, and most of all politicians.

He says they should be seen all year round at games and events and collaborate to enrich the game, participation and the lives of young people. He says he does not mean show up when it is convenient, he means actually listen and act to make change.

He says they do not want to just see politicians at election time, although to be fair there are some that show up more than just every three years and that is appreciated. They know who they are.

He then returns to governing bodies. They say they are consulting and listening. He says he is yet to be convinced on that point and he will just leave that right there.

The final word

Danny adds something he wants included.

How much the club values volunteers and sponsors.

He says Launceston City and in fact all clubs, cannot function without them. Together they provide a community service that is quite often undervalued.

Launceston City really does have the best support, he says.

And he cannot thank them enough.

Max Clarke: Home, But Not Home

Max Clarke - Photo courtesy of Northcote City

Tomorrow my son Max will walk back into Darcy Street, not as South Hobart’s coach, but as the opposition.

That sentence still feels strange to write.

Last season, Max coached South Hobart. He didn’t just coach us, he led the club through one of those rare seasons that supporters remember for years, a League and Cup double and a team identity that people genuinely connected with.

Now he is returning with Northcote City.

Different badge.

Different changeroom.

Same ground.

Same faces.

And for me, as his mum, it’s an odd mix of emotions, pride, sadness and the quiet reality of what ambition looks like in football.

Tasmanian football is small enough that nothing is anonymous.

When someone leaves, everyone has an opinion.

When someone returns, everyone reads meaning into it.

But most of the time, the real story is not drama.

It is growth.

It is the emotional cost of choosing a pathway.

And it is the complexity of holding two things at once, love for your home club and the need to keep moving.

I wanted to capture this moment properly.

Not as a match preview.

Not as a headline.

But as part of the written record I am building about football in Tasmania, what it asks of people, and what it gives back.

So I asked Max to reflect honestly on returning home, and on leaving home.

Coming back with a piece of home intact

Max said the return feels exciting.

Not loaded.

Not bitter.

More like pride.

A chance to share his hometown and his home club with his new team, and to show how he has evolved as a coach.

“It doesn’t feel like a return with bad blood,” he told me.

“It feels like coming back with a piece of home still intact.”

That line stayed with me.

Because it is possible to leave without rejecting where you came from.

And that is not always how Tasmanian football reads it.

Home, but not home

Darcy Street will feel familiar.

But Max will not be walking into the home changeroom.

He will walk in, take in the place that still holds memories, and then step into the away changeroom and flick the switch.

He described the contrast perfectly.

Walking into Darcy Street will feel like home at first.

But the moment he steps into the away changeroom, it becomes business.

He has never experienced that contrast before.

And he is curious about how it will land in the moment.

That is the reality of football.

The same ground.

The same smell.

The same people.

But suddenly the emotional context is different.

The decision to leave

When a coach wins a double, people assume they will stay.

Comfort is seductive.

Success makes you want to settle.

Max didn’t.

He said leaving South Hobart was the hardest part.

Not because the club was failing.

The opposite.

It was because the club felt like family and was genuinely growing.

But ambition outweighed comfort.

He was careful about choosing his next environment.

He wanted the right next step, not just the next step.

And he is confident he got it right.

That matters to say.

Because too many people interpret leaving as an insult.

Sometimes it is simply a coach being honest with themselves about their pathway.

The emotional cost people don’t see

This is the part many football people pretend isn’t real.

They talk about “opportunities” like the human being is not attached.

Max described the emotional weight clearly.

He said people judge these decisions at surface level.

What they don’t see is the emotional cost, the sacrifice, the uncertainty, and the loneliness that can come with football.

That loneliness is real.

Leaving familiarity.

Leaving daily support systems.

Leaving identity.

Football is a career pathway, but it is also a constant dismantling and rebuilding of self-belief.

Especially for young coaches.

And especially when the football world is watching, even if it doesn’t understand what it is looking at.

Why he came back last year

There is another piece of the story that matters.

Max returned to Hobart last year after being in Melbourne.

He said he recognised football is built on connections as much as qualifications.

Coming home gave him stability, support, and familiarity.

It gave him the kind of environment where he could work clearly.

While there were other opportunities, he said Northcote felt right and allowed him to build with confidence rather than rush the next step.

That’s maturity.

Not taking the first offer.

Not chasing status.

Building carefully.

The double wasn’t the real prize

The trophies mattered.

They always do.

But Max said the bigger achievement was rediscovering his confidence and passion as a coach.

That is not a line you hear often, but it is the truth behind most successful seasons.

Coaching is exhausting.

It is exposure.

It is giving everything, and being judged anyway.

The double did more than fill a cabinet.

It solidified identity.

Max said South Hobart built an identity in how the team played and carried itself, and that clarity has shaped the way he coaches now.

When you watch coaches closely, that is what separates them.

It is not tactics alone.

It is identity.

What he is proud of, beyond trophies

When I asked Max what he was most proud of from his season at South Hobart that had nothing to do with trophies, he didn’t hesitate.

He said he was proud of the collective.

The identity the group built.

The behaviours they lived by.

The way players grew into new roles.

He said the togetherness of the group and the bond they shared across the season is something he will always value.

That is a coach speaking about leadership, not results.

The coaching evolution, what has actually changed

It is easy for coaches to say they have “evolved tactically”, but Max went a step further.

He said he is more adaptable now and manages games better.

He has clearer principles around his style of play, and a better understanding of when adjustments are needed to get results.

He is also more conscious of selecting players based on what a game requires, not just who looks best on paper.

Then he gave a specific example, and I appreciated the honesty.

Looking back at his last away game at Heidelberg with South Hobart, he felt he was probably too stubborn and didn’t respect how strong they were.

Now, he said he would approach that game with more balance and pragmatism.

That is real coaching growth.

Not the tactical diagram stuff.

The psychological stuff.

The humility to learn.

The Northcote project

He is excited about Northcote’s potential.

He described a club with strong history, ambition, and a willingness to do things properly.

He said the challenge has been quickly reacquainting himself with the league, and that has meant leaning on staff and players.

That line matters too.

Young coaches often think they have to prove themselves by doing everything alone.

Max is learning how to lead, and how to trust.

And that builds teams.

Family clubs and professional programs

Max’s perspective on environments was balanced.

Some clubs are exceptional at building a family culture, which matters deeply to him.

Other clubs have resources that allow for sustainable, professional programs.

He said he has learned from both.

That is football in Australia.

Especially in states like ours.

We do not all have the same foundations.

We do not all have the same money.

But the love of the game is not the only ingredient.

Structure matters too.

Tomorrow at Darcy Street

I asked Max what will be the hardest moment tomorrow.

His answer surprised me.

He said he doesn’t think there will be a hard moment.

He tries to enjoy games for what they are.

And tomorrow will be about appreciating a good contest with familiar faces and two teams trying to play the right way.

That is not a defensive answer.

It is a grounded one.

It shows how he’s processing this return, not as drama, but as football.

Although everyone else will probably still feel the emotion.

What he would tell his younger self

This was the line that wrapped the whole thing into one truth.

Max said he would tell his younger self to do it anyway.

Growth is uncomfortable, but necessary.

Leaving doesn’t mean disloyalty.

It means being honest about your potential.

And trusting that the relationships that matter will endure.

Final thoughts

Tomorrow’s match will have its own story.

But this post is not about the score.

It is about the complexity that sits underneath the surface of football in a small community.

Ambition has a cost.

And in Tasmania, where football is tight-knit and long-memoried, that cost is amplified.

But people don’t leave because they don’t care.

Often, they leave because they do.

Because they are trying to become something.

And because deep down, they trust that what mattered will still be there when they return.

Even if it is with a different badge.

It All Started at Meercroft Park

Danelle Last. It all started at Meercroft Park.

Danelle Last: Devonport Junior Soccer Association

I have known Danelle Last for many years, and I have lost count of the times I have called her for advice.

Usually it has been around the messy, high-pressure stuff, administering big junior events like the Hobart Cup, sorting systems, schedules and solving problems before anyone else even realises they exist.

Danelle is one of those people who makes junior football work.

Not with noise.

With competence.

With care.

And with a steady hand.

Football Faces Tasmania interview -

I love stories like Danelle Last’s because they are so recognisable.

Not the “born with a football at your feet” stories.

The real ones.

The ones where football comes barging into a family’s life, almost by accident, and then never really leaves.

Danelle didn’t grow up in football.

She grew up in an oval shaped football family, which is Tasmania in a nutshell.

But once her boys stepped onto the grass at Meercroft Park, it was over.

Saturday mornings became the rhythm of their family.

And eventually, so did committee meetings, team management, state team travel and all the invisible work that holds junior football together.

Since this interview was first done, Danelle has stepped away from her formal role at Devonport Junior Soccer Association, but in the way that so many good volunteers do, she hasn’t stepped away from the people.

She continues to mentor those who have taken on the roles behind her and she is still right there in the background, supporting her family as they chase their own sporting journeys.

That says as much about her as anything in this interview.

First football memories

My first football memories came from my boys.

Growing up we were an oval shaped football family. I knew absolutely nothing about the round football.

When our children got to an age where they could participate in a team sport, our first chose football.

In 2007 our Saturday mornings at Meercroft Park started with one playing and the other three following in the years to come.

My husband was always involved with coaching one of their teams.

Who instilled my love of football?

Most definitely watching my four boys play.

How long have you been involved and what roles have you played?

My personal involvement started in 2013.

It was the first year of the new Port Sorell Primary School and I was asked to coordinate the school teams. A joint role at the time with Ian Davies.

In 2014 I was asked to attend a Devonport Junior Soccer Committee meeting.

In 2017 I stepped into the role of Secretary, knowing I had big shoes to fill with the amazing job my predecessors, Marlene Crabtree and Bonnie Phillips, had done.

As my boys reached high school, I also filled roles as team manager for Youth Strikers teams.

What was football like in Tasmania when you started, and how has it changed?

I knew nothing about football when our boys started to play.

But in the time I have been involved, I have seen lots of good progressions and a few regressions.

The development and priority of women and girls has been encouraging.

There is now, for most people, a bigger emphasis on development.

How has football affected you and your family?

When football came along and became such a big part of my life it was quite a surprise.

The people who are now lifelong friends.

The DJSA committee (former and current) that are, in my biased opinion, the best committee in the state.

Friendships made at the Strikers, other associations, the boys state teams and through Football Tasmania.

Regardless that two of our boys have eventually chosen different sports, football has been a big part of all their lives.

Playing, reffing, coaching, state teams, the year of travelling to Hobart two to three times a week.

The friendships, the mentors, the coaches, the managers.

The people that have supported, encouraged, celebrated, and commiserated.

Which Tasmanians have affected your involvement in football, on and off the field?

When I saw this question, my thoughts went to the people that have made me want more for the game, more for Devonport, and made me want to be a part of the progression.

They have become my close friends, the people that have shared so much of this football journey with me.

Richard and Jayne Bidwell.

The other person is someone who has always been there for Justin and myself as a go-to person for advice, but more importantly as a mentor and role model for my boys.

Chris McKenna.

If you could change anything in Tasmanian football, what would you do?

Playing, training, coaching, refereeing would be accessible and welcoming to everyone.

Looking back, what do you think your legacy might be?

I hope it is a while before I leave a legacy as such!

I have been fortunate that football has enriched my life personally and as a Mum.

So many highlights, proud moments, and experiences.

Those first under six games to NPL and everything in between.

Standouts being, a manager for a team DJSA took to the Kanga Cup in Canberra, watching my eldest son coach my youngest and a special recent NPL game.

But it all started for us at Meercroft Park.

I would hope that I have helped make a difference in ensuring that each and every player, coach and referee attend on a Saturday morning and at the Devonport Cup, feeling safe, supported, included, and looking forward to the fun they will have.

I cannot take credit for the success of Devonport Junior Soccer Association, but I can be proud to be part of such a great team.

Glen Roland and the Fight Clubs Shouldn’t Have to Have

I have been thinking about Glen.

Not just about the shock of his death, but about the conversations.

The football conversations.

Because Glen didn’t talk football like small talk.

He talked football like someone trying to build something that would last.

And in the last couple of years, that meant one thing in particular.

Glen was trying to get South East United into the State League, the NPL, the highest level of club football in Tasmania.

He wanted his club to be stronger

Glen and I talked about football, clubs, ambition and growth.

He wanted South East United to be stronger.

Not just for the current players.

But to build something with real pathways, something that made sense, something that gave kids a chance to climb.

He loved talking football with Ken

One thing I always noticed.

Glen loved talking football with Ken.

Not politics.

Not drama.

Not the noise.

Football.

He wanted to learn.

He wanted to compare ideas.

He wanted to understand what “good” looked like.

And he wasn’t offended by standards.

He wanted standards and he wanted to meet them.

He rang me for advice

During the State League application process, Glen rang me for advice a couple of times.

He didn’t call to complain.

He called to understand.

To check what he might be missing.

To make sure he wasn’t walking into a dead end.

I told him what I knew and I said it plainly.

Because Glen could handle plain.

He wanted clarity, not comfort.

He didn’t even know he could appeal

And I still remember this part clearly.

Glen didn’t even know he could appeal.

It was me who told him to.

That fact alone says a lot.

Not about Glen.

About the system.

If the pathway is clear, people don’t need to be told the rules by someone else who has been around long enough to learn them the hard way.

What is CLAS, and why it matters

For readers who aren’t immersed in football governance, CLAS is worth explaining.

CLAS stands for Club Licensing and Accreditation Scheme.

It is the framework clubs must meet to participate at higher levels.

In simple terms, it is a set of standards and compliance requirements that clubs must satisfy in areas such as:

• governance and administration

• finance and reporting

• child safety and member protection

• coaching and technical programs

• facilities and match day requirements

• strategic planning and club operations

In theory, this is a good thing.

Standards should exist.

Licensing should exist.

No one wants chaos, poor governance or unsafe environments.

The issue is not that standards exist.

The issue is what happens when the system becomes unclear, inconsistent, or subject to shifting interpretation.

He did what clubs are told to do

Glen worked out what the requirements were.

He worked out what the boxes were.

And then he set about ticking them.

He looked at the CLAS categories, what was needed, what evidence was required, what the pathway looked like.

He worked hard.

It wasn’t a casual ambition.

It was proper.

He didn’t just say his club wanted to go up.

He tried to do it the right way.

He thought he had met the standard

Glen genuinely believed they had done what was asked.

That they had met the requirements.

That if you do the work and you meet the standard, you get the opportunity.

That is how sport is supposed to work.

Then Football Tasmania said no

Football Tasmania said no.

So Glen appealed.

Because he was determined and because he believed he had met the standard.

And when it went beyond Tasmania, Football Australia ultimately found in his favour.

They were in.

That should not be how clubs find certainty.

Not in a system that claims to be transparent.

Not in a system clubs are expected to trust.

Competition structures should not be this hard

This is the part I keep coming back to.

Competition structures should not be this hard.

Clubs should not have to fight for clarity.

Clubs should not have to fight for certainty.

Clubs should not have to feel like they are on shifting sand every season.

And it is not just the big licensing decisions.

It is the constant churn.

The constant changes.

The constant re-explaining.

Explaining change is exhausting.

It drains volunteers.

It burns clubs out.

And it makes the game feel unstable.

We still don’t know next year’s structure

And here we are again.

We still don’t know next year’s competition structure.

Clubs are expected to plan budgets, recruit coaches, recruit players, support juniors, build pathways, schedule training and match days and retain volunteers.

Yet we are not given the certainty that any well run system would provide.

Did clubs get a say?

Were clubs consulted?

Or do we find out when we are told?

Football Tasmania must work for its members. Us.

Competitions should be Football Tasmania’s number one priority

I have harped on about this before and I will keep saying it.

Competitions should be the number one priority of Football Tasmania.

Not branding.

Not performance.

Not endless frameworks.

Competitions.

Because when competitions are clear, predictable and stable, clubs can breathe.

And when clubs can breathe, they can build.

And above all, supporting clubs and volunteers with clarity and consultation, instead of constant change and confusion.

Glen deserved better than a fight

Glen did what clubs are told to do.

He worked hard.

He was ambitious.

He wanted to build something good.

He should not have had to fight for certainty.

He should not have had to navigate a maze.

His story should be a warning.

Not about ambition.

About governance.

What I want to say, simply

Glen cared.

He cared about his club.

He cared about pathways.

He cared about standards.

And he cared enough to do the work.

That matters.

That is leadership.

And that is why his absence will be felt deeply across Tasmanian football.

Vale Glen Roland.

I’m glad we spoke about football. I’m glad Ken spoke with him. I’m glad he kept pushing.