Live Streaming, Empty Stands and the cost of convenience

Not that many years ago, no one filmed local football.

If you wanted to watch a game, you turned up. You stood on the sideline. You rugged up. You bought a pie or a coffee. Clubs lived and died on who came through the gate, because gate takings mattered. Attendance mattered. Being there mattered.

Streaming wasn’t part of the conversation. Football was something you experienced live, together.

When the Question Was First Asked

I remember a considered conversation with Damian Gill, who at the time worked for Football Tasmania and is now CEO of AFL Tasmania. We were discussing whether our FFA Cup match against Tuggeranong United should be filmed. At the time, it felt like a genuine fork in the road.

My concern wasn’t technical. It wasn’t about cameras or production. It was cultural.

I worried that if people could watch from home, many would choose to do exactly that. That cold nights, travel, inconvenience and habit would slowly give way to comfort. That people would sit at home in slippers with a cup of tea rather than stand on a sideline on a Friday night.

At the time, that concern felt theoretical.

It doesn’t anymore.

Where We Are Now

Today, an AI camera is being installed at Darcy Street. Games across Tasmania are routinely live streamed. This isn’t being done by clubs or volunteers. It is delivered centrally, filmed by contractors engaged by Football Tasmania.

In many ways, this is progress.

Families who can’t attend can still watch. Interstate relatives can follow along. Players can review matches. Sponsors get exposure beyond the fence line. Football becomes more accessible to people who otherwise miss out.

These are real benefits, and they shouldn’t be dismissed.

But change always comes with trade-offs, and it’s the quieter ones that often go unexamined.

What We’ve Gained

Live streaming has undeniably expanded access.

It allows parents to watch when work or distance gets in the way. It gives visibility to competitions that once existed only for those who turned up. It offers sponsor value in a digital world. It creates an archive of games that previously vanished the moment the final whistle blew.

For governing bodies, it also provides consistency, quality control and scale that clubs alone could never deliver.

All of that matters.

What We’ve Lost Along the Way

But there is another side to this shift.

Clubs once relied heavily on gate takings. Attendance wasn’t just about atmosphere, it was income. Canteens, bars, raffles and community presence were part of a fragile ecosystem that helped keep clubs afloat.

Now, many people choose to watch from home. The weather doesn’t matter. Travel doesn’t matter. Habit changes.

Even Ken and I don’t go to many night games anymore. We used to go to them all.

This isn’t a criticism of supporters. It’s a recognition of human behaviour. If watching from the couch is an option, many people will take it.

The question is whether we have fully reckoned with what that means for clubs, particularly at the community level.

Who Carries the Cost

Football Tasmania pays the streaming costs. Clubs receive some sponsor exposure in return. That arrangement is often presented as a fair trade-off.

But is it?

Gate revenue doesn’t disappear evenly. Some clubs absorb the loss more easily than others. Some grounds are easier to attend than others. Some communities are more digitally engaged. Some clubs rely far more heavily on match-day income to survive.

These differences matter.

Streaming is centrally controlled, but its impacts are felt locally. And while the technology has moved quickly, the conversation about revenue, sustainability and unintended consequences has lagged behind.

The Direction of Travel

There is also a broader shift underway.

Live streaming appears to be increasingly centralised at a national level, with Football Australia taking on a role that state federations once held. At the same time, rapid advances in AI technology mean cameras can operate without crews, and commentary can be delivered remotely, sometimes from hundreds or thousands of kilometres away.

From a technical perspective, this is impressive. The quality improves. The costs reduce. The reach expands.

But it also further separates the product from the place.

When games are filmed automatically, commented on remotely, and consumed primarily from home, the connection between football and its local environment weakens. The ground becomes a backdrop rather than a gathering point.

For professional competitions, this may be an acceptable trade-off. For community clubs, it is far more complex.

Clubs do not exist on broadcast metrics. They exist on attendance, on canteen sales, on bar takings, on the habit of people turning up week after week. These are not nice extras. They are often the difference between breaking even and falling short.

As technology accelerates, it is worth asking whether the economic realities of community clubs are keeping pace with the direction of travel.

Nothing Beats Being There

None of this is an argument against streaming.

But it is a reminder that nothing quite replaces live football. The noise, the conversations, the shared frustration and joy, the sense of belonging that only exists when people turn up together.

Football was never meant to be consumed entirely from a distance. It is a community sport, built on presence.

Streaming adds something. It should not quietly replace everything else.

Questions Worth Asking

As live streaming becomes the norm rather than the exception, there are questions worth asking, calmly and honestly.

How do we support clubs who lose gate income as viewing habits change?
How do we balance access with attendance?
Who measures the long-term impact on club finances and community engagement?
And how do we ensure that convenience doesn’t slowly erode the very culture that makes football matter?

Technology moves fast. Culture shifts slowly.

If we don’t stop to ask these questions, we may only realise what we’ve lost once it’s already gone.