Who Gets Tapped on the Shoulder?

A $95,000 role.
No advertisement.
No process.
Just a tap on the shoulder.

I read the article this week about the Tasmanian ambassador appointment and kept coming back to that phrase.

Tapped on the shoulder.

Because that phrase tells you everything.

There was no public expression of interest.
No visible selection criteria.
No explanation of why this person, for this role, at this time.

Just a decision.

Made somewhere.
By someone.
About someone.

And then announced as something we are all supposed to get excited about.

Not personal

This isn’t about the individual.

By all accounts, he’s a good operator.
Well liked. Successful.

That’s not the issue.

The issue is the process.

When something isn’t advertised, when it isn’t tested, when it isn’t opened up…

It stops being a selection.

It becomes a choice.

The tap, and the rules that allow it

The contract sits just under the $100,000 threshold.

Which means it didn’t have to go to open tender.
Which means it didn’t have to be tested.
Which means it could be hand-picked.

We’re told all appropriate procurement processes were followed.

That may well be true.

But following the rules is not the same as testing the decision.

This wasn’t just a tap on the shoulder.

It was a tap made possible by the rules.

The context

This was announced in the same period as 250 job cuts in the same department.

Maybe the $95,000 “would not even save one job”.

But it might still deserve scrutiny.

Because public money, regardless of amount, carries an expectation.

Transparency.
Clarity.
Accountability.

What are we actually buying?

The role itself is broad.

Speaking engagements.
Awareness.
Promotion.

Delivered in partnership with Brand Tasmania.

All worthwhile.

But also hard to measure.
Easy to announce.

What exactly is this role meant to achieve?

And how will we know if it has?

Outcomes should be clear.
Measurement should be visible.
Otherwise, it’s just a title.

Perfect, compared to who?

We’re told he is “perfect for the role”.

But perfect compared to who?

Because there was no one else in the process.

The quiet system

This is how decisions get made in small systems.

Quietly.
Internally.
Within familiar circles.

Visibility matters.
Proximity matters.
Being known in the right rooms matters.

And if you’re not in those rooms, it doesn’t matter how much you’ve done.

You’re not in the conversation when the tap happens.

The sport outside the room

Football is the most played sport in Tasmania.

By participation.
By reach.
By community footprint.

Thousands of kids every weekend.
Hundreds of teams.
Clubs in every corner of the state.

The participation is here.
The voice often isn’t.

And when it comes to influence, visibility, and moments like this…

It rarely feels like football is in the room.

Close enough to see.

Not close enough to be asked.

On the couch beside me

Because sitting on the couch beside me is someone who has lived in Tasmania for 40 years.

Someone who came through Manchester United.

Someone who has coached across countries, systems, and generations of players.

More than 50 years in the game.

Someone who understands this place.

Someone who would share his knowledge tomorrow if anyone asked.

When I mentioned the role, he laughed and said, “$95K… pick me, pick me.”

A joke.

But also, not really.

He doesn’t lack experience.

He lacks an invitation.

Most of the time, he doesn’t even get asked.

Not by government.
Not by the broader sporting system.
And, if we are being honest, not often enough by football’s own governing body.

So perhaps this isn’t surprising

Because once you understand how these decisions are made…

Who is in the room.
Who is visible.
Who is already part of the conversation…

The outcome starts to make sense.

But it should

That’s the uncomfortable part.

This isn’t about one role.
Or one sport.
Or one person.

It’s about a pattern.

Public decisions made through closed processes.

Local knowledge overlooked.

Experience sitting quietly on the sidelines while we look elsewhere.

Before the next tap

Before the next announcement.

Before the next contract.

Before the next moment where we are all expected to nod along and celebrate.

Maybe just one question.

Who didn’t we ask?

Or more to the point…

Who was never going to be in the conversation?