The Quiet Conversation about Player Payments

Paying Players: The Conversation We Avoid

There is a strange discomfort around player payments in Tasmanian football.

It’s often spoken about in hushed tones, behind closed doors, or not at all. When it does surface, it can feel loaded with judgement. As if paying a player to play is something shameful, something to deny, or something that shouldn’t exist in a community game.

And yet, it does exist.

Everyone knows it does.

What Happens Elsewhere

On the mainland, this conversation isn’t nearly as fraught.

Across Australia, in National Premier Leagues and senior state competitions, players are routinely paid. Not full professional wages, but compensation for their time and commitment. Training three nights a week. Playing on weekends. Giving up paid work, family time and recovery days.

There are sign-on fees. Match payments. Win bonuses. Goal bonuses. Clean sheet bonuses. Sometimes accommodation or travel support. Sometimes nothing more than a modest weekly amount that acknowledges the reality of what players are asked to give.

This is not unusual.

It is the accepted model of semi-professional football.

Tasmania is not unique in paying players. It is only unusual in how uncomfortable we are talking about it.

The Reality at Home

Players are paid in Tasmania. Some clubs pay more than others. Some offer cash. Others offer support in different forms.

Registration fees covered.
Training gear provided.
Match kits supplied.
Gym access.
Strength and conditioning.
Physio.
Boots.
Meals when travelling.
End-of-season events.

Support that reduces the personal cost of playing at a high level.

Is that payment?

Or does it only count if money changes hands?

These questions matter, because they reveal how narrow our definition of “being paid” often is.

A Small Community, an Open Secret

Tasmania is a small football community.

Players move between clubs. Clubs lose players to other clubs. Everyone knows why, even if no one says it out loud.

Yet when the subject of payments comes up publicly, it is often met with outrage or denial. As if acknowledging reality somehow damages the integrity of the game.

What actually damages the game is pretending something doesn’t exist.

Silence creates suspicion. Rumour fills the gaps. And instead of having a mature discussion about what is fair, sustainable and transparent, we default to judgement and whispering.

If payments exist, pretending they don’t doesn’t protect the game.

It only erodes trust.

“Left for the Money”

It often surfaces in throwaway public statements.

“He left for the money.”
“She left for the money.”

The words are delivered like a verdict, as if that alone explains everything, and as if it should be a source of shame.

This feels particularly stark in the women’s game, where monetisation is only just beginning and payments are modest at best. Support is framed as greed. Practical assistance is framed as moral failure.

Rarely do we hear the full context. What was offered. What was needed. What a player was giving up to keep playing.

Players make choices based on work, study, injury risk, travel and time. Money is rarely the only factor, but it is often the easiest one for outsiders to point at.

The judgement lands anyway, and the conversation moves on.

Contracts, Control and Consequence

There is another layer to this conversation that is often overlooked.

Tasmania’s senior competitions are considered professional under Football Australia regulations. Clubs contract some or all players. Those contracts bind players to clubs. They can only move during transfer windows. Parent clubs can request transfer fees if another club wants to sign them, provided the player is contracted.

That is not amateur football.

If we are comfortable with professional contracts, transfer windows and compensation mechanisms, then we need to be honest about what that actually means.

You cannot treat players as professionals when it suits governance, and amateurs when it suits public perception.

Why This Feels Like a Dirty Word

Part of the discomfort comes from values.

Community sport prides itself on volunteerism, loyalty and local identity. Money can feel like it threatens that.

But part of it also comes from inequality.

Not all clubs can pay the same. Not all clubs have the same sponsor base. Not all clubs choose to prioritise payments in the same way. That imbalance creates tension, and tension makes people uncomfortable.

So instead of addressing it openly, we pretend it isn’t there.

What Players Actually Give Up

Players at this level are not getting rich.

They are training around work. Turning down shifts. Managing injuries without the safety net of full-time employment. Travelling. Recovering. Performing in public. Living with the pressure of selection and results.

Payment, in whatever form it takes, is often less about reward and more about recognition.

It says: we understand what you are giving up.

A Conversation Worth Having

This isn’t an argument that every club should pay players, or that payments should increase.

It is an argument for honesty.

If players are being paid, let’s talk about it openly.
If clubs choose to support players in non-cash ways, let’s acknowledge that too.
If the system creates inequality, let’s name it rather than pretend it doesn’t exist.

And if we want football to be sustainable, let’s stop treating money as a moral failure rather than a practical reality.

Football has always been about people. Players, volunteers, supporters and communities.

Paying players does not automatically undermine that.

Avoiding the conversation doesn’t keep football pure.

It just keeps it dishonest.