No One Puts Baby In A Corner
This is a more realistic image of the facilities of football in Tasmania
Thanks to those who took the time to read my early morning writing yesterday.
The April Fools piece clearly struck a chord.
Why That Piece Landed
I didn’t expect it to land the way it did.
But it has.
By some margin, it’s the most read thing I’ve written.
Which makes me stop for a moment and ask why.
It wasn’t the writing
It wasn’t particularly clever.
It wasn’t breaking news.
It wasn’t even true.
And yet, people read it.
Shared it.
Talked about it.
Some believed it.
Some wanted to believe it.
That probably tells you everything.
Did it reach anyone who matters?
I’ve been asked that a few times.
Did any politicians read it?
I know a couple of former politicians did.
But what about the ones making decisions now?
Did it make you stop and think?
Not about the article.
About what it would mean to so many Tasmanians connected to this game to feel invisible.
Because that’s what this is
Everyone wants to be represented.
Everyone wants to feel like they matter.
To feel like someone is paying attention.
To feel like someone cares.
And I’ve asked this before, and I’ll ask it again.
Who will be our champion?
What gets noticed
Football in Tasmania rarely makes the front page.
And when it does, it’s not for the right reasons.
A punch.
Inappropriate behaviour.
Dog poo on a ground.
That’s when we’re visible.
Not for participation.
Not for community.
Not for the thousands of people involved every weekend.
What gets ignored
The rest of the time, the game just gets on with it.
Quietly.
Volunteers.
Parents.
Kids.
Clubs.
Week after week.
And somehow, despite being the most played team sport in the state, it still feels like it sits outside the conversation.
Insignificant.
Not worth the time.
It felt possible
That’s the part I keep coming back to.
The piece wasn’t outrageous.
It wasn’t unrealistic.
It didn’t ask for everything.
It asked for something that felt… reasonable.
A fairer share.
A shift in thinking.
A recognition of what already exists.
And that’s what people connected with.
Not the joke.
The possibility.
A habit of being ignored
We’ve become used to being ignored.
So used to it that it’s become a habit.
We’ve adapted.
We’re resilient.
We’re self-sufficient.
We operate in isolation.
We make our own news.
We build our own connections.
We make sure our voice is heard, internally.
But not externally.
And that’s the difference.
Thousands of children playing every weekend.
Across grounds all over the state.
And still, somehow, outside the conversation.
While the biggest decisions about sport in this state are made loudly and publicly,
the biggest participation sport continues quietly on the margins.
At some point, you want someone to step in.
To say, in the immortal words of Patrick Swayze, “no one puts baby in a corner”.
Because right now, that’s exactly where we are being kept.
Not by accident.
By design.
Or by neglect.
Because without one, nothing changes.
And again, I’ll ask it.
Who will be our champion?
Because this is not complicated
We’re not asking to be the biggest.
We already are.
We’re asking to be seen.