Apparently I Whinge
Photo courtesy of the Mercury
Apparently I whinge.
At least that's what I've been told from time to time.
Victoria is whinging again.
Victoria is stirring things up.
Victoria should stop complaining.
Perhaps.
But before we go too far, let's put something in context.
Sixteen years of keeping quiet
For sixteen years I was President of South Hobart Football Club.
Not for six months.
Not for a season.
Sixteen years.
During that time I attended more meetings than I can remember. I sat through governance discussions, strategic planning sessions, disciplinary matters, financial reviews, club licensing processes, facility developments and countless football debates.
I spent weekends at grounds.
Evenings answering emails.
Mornings solving problems.
Family dinners interrupted by phone calls.
Holidays spent checking messages.
Countless hours dealing with issues most people never saw.
Like thousands of volunteers across Australia, I simply got on with it.
I also followed an unwritten rule that many football administrators understand.
Don't publicly criticise the game.
Don't embarrass the game.
Don't bring football into disrepute.
So for a very long time, I kept many of my opinions to myself.
Not because I didn't have them.
Not because I wasn't paying attention.
Because I believed my role required restraint.
Being a woman in football
I also happened to be something of a novelty.
A woman leading a football club.
Thankfully that is becoming less unusual today than it was when I first became President, but there were not many of us around at the time.
There were plenty of meetings where I was the only woman in the room.
That wasn't unusual.
Whether people realise it or not, that comes with expectations.
Be diplomatic.
Be measured.
Be careful.
Represent the club.
Represent the game.
For many years I accepted those expectations because I understood the responsibility that came with the role.
But leadership and silence are not the same thing.
And neither are professionalism and agreement.
Stepping away doesn't mean stepping out
When I stepped away from the role, something occurred to me.
Stepping away from a position does not mean stepping away from football.
I still volunteer.
I still run football programs.
I still watch football.
I still spend most days thinking about football.
I still care deeply about where the game is going and how it can improve.
Since stepping away from formal club leadership, I have continued working in football, running football programs, leading the CRJFA and organising the Hobart Cup.
Writing simply became another way of staying involved in the conversation.
Not because I think I have all the answers.
But because football matters to me.
So when people suggest that because I work in football I should somehow be disqualified from expressing opinions about football, I find that a curious argument.
Surely the people who dedicate years of their lives to the game have earned the right to talk about it.
In fact, I would suggest they have a responsibility to.
Questions are not complaints
The irony is that most of what I write isn't complaining.
It's questioning.
Why do we do things this way?
Could we do them better?
What are other places doing?
What can we learn?
Where is the money going?
What outcomes are we achieving?
How do we grow participation?
How do we improve facilities?
How do we support volunteers?
Those are not attacks.
They are questions.
And football should be strong enough to handle questions.
Healthy organisations welcome discussion.
Healthy organisations welcome scrutiny.
Healthy organisations welcome different viewpoints.
You don't have to agree with me.
I'd be worried if everyone did.
But disagreement is not the same thing as disloyalty.
Service earns a voice
The criticism I struggle with most is the suggestion that people who have spent years serving football somehow lose the right to comment on it.
Those pointing the finger might pause for a moment and consider their own contribution.
How many years have they given?
How many weekends?
How many committee meetings?
How many volunteer hours?
How many difficult decisions?
How many problems have they quietly solved for the benefit of others?
It is easy to label someone a whinger from the sidelines.
It is much harder to spend sixteen years carrying responsibility and then be told you should remain silent.
One observation I have made is that much of the criticism directed at me appears to come from men.
Perhaps that's coincidence.
Perhaps women are criticising me too and simply doing it somewhere I don't see.
Or perhaps they have chosen not to read my articles in the first place.
I genuinely don't know.
What does interest me is the irony.
Some of the loudest complaints seem to come from people complaining about someone they believe complains too much.
There is a certain irony in that.
Before pointing the finger, it might be worth looking in the mirror.
Football belongs to all of us.
Not just those currently holding positions.
Not just those making decisions.
And certainly not just those who agree with each other.
Don't like it? Don't read it
The other thing that amuses me is that many people who claim not to enjoy my writing seem remarkably well informed about everything I write.
In fact, some appear more up to date than my supporters.
There is a very simple solution.
Don't read it.
Nobody is forced to click.
Nobody is required to agree.
Nobody has to come back tomorrow.
Life is too short to spend it reading things you don't enjoy.
Why I'll keep writing
Football has given me far more than I could ever give back.
Friendships.
Opportunities.
Experiences.
Memories.
A community.
I didn't spend sixteen years volunteering for football so that I could stop caring about it now.
I care about the game.
I care about the people in it.
I care about where it goes next.
So I'll keep asking questions.
I'll keep sharing opinions.
I'll keep celebrating what football gets right and challenging what I think it gets wrong.
The title is gone.
The passion isn't.
And I don't intend to apologise for caring.