Growing up on the sideline.
I spent many Sunday afternoons watching my father play rugby league. As a young girl I learned my place was on the sidelines and never the pitch. The recent conflict arising from the Manly Sea Eagles “Pride” jersey has me questioning whether the game has evolved past relegating people to the sidelines.
I love rugby league. Thursday and Friday night and Sunday afternoon, you will find me in front of the football. I love the South Sydney Rabbitohs. I also hate Manly. The only time I will barrack for the Manly Sea Eagles in a match is if they are up against the Cronulla Sharks. Because under no circumstances will I ever back the favourite team of that walking human stain, the former prime minister Scott Morrison. Sporting parochialism runs strong in my veins; I will fight anyone who disparages the QLD State of Origin team.
But I can honestly say that I have often felt as though rugby league never really loved me.
During the local season, most weekends you would find the younger me on the sidelines watching my father play rugby league (and sometimes union). He was pretty fast in his day, but often ended up getting the shit kicked out of him. I worshipped him, especially when he would come home with a new war wound. Mum was less impressed. But to me, he was a hero. And this instilled in me an absolute love for the claret. To this day, I thrill to see blood on the pitch. The ferocity of the State of Origin decider this year was proved by the smear of blood down the referees own jersey.
Sitting on the sideline, I learned that blood and beer were the foundations of football. I also learned that the role of women in football was to staff the kiosk, serve the beers, and wash the blood out of the jerseys. I learned to stand behind these bloodied and muddied men as they celebrated a win or marked their loss. Women didn’t referee, they didn’t play. But some carried their own bruises too. In this hyper-masculine world domestic violence was present, not that I understood the meaning behind the averted gazes or hushed whispers at the time.
For the record, Dad never told me not to play football, he never told me women couldn’t or weren’t good enough. But when I was a kid, there were no competitions for girls or women to join. Even touch football was a predominately male affair. There was no place for girls but on the sidelines. That was where we belonged.
Women have played rugby league over the years. From 1920 to 1923 Metropolitan would occasionally play Sydney until the competition was disbanded after only five matches. In the 70s, a women’s league launched in Western Australia, and a team from New Zealand toured Australia in 1976. The 1990s saw various national championships, as well as a state-based tournament between QLD, WA, ACT, and NSW. The inaugural Nellie Doherty Cup kicked off in 1999, which QLD won over NSW 16–14. And throughout the 2000s world cups, national tournaments, and various interstate matches were held. But beyond the occasional exhibition match, they were never advertised or televised; it was almost as though they never happened.
It wasn’t until 2018 that women finally ran onto the pitch in the first ever women’s NRL competition. There were only four teams in the competition, the spectators were few, and the pays for players negligible compared to the seven figure contracts the top male players were signing. But the footy played was fast and hard, testament to the dedication of players who did not enjoy the luxury of being able to train and play full time with a livable salary and sponsorship deals. Local competitions are now popping up everywhere, and girls are no longer relegated to the sidelines. Women are no longer stuck in the kiosks or behind the bar. And now they’re washing the blood and mud out of their own jerseys. There is still a long way to go, but there are women playing football who have become household names.
Meanwhile, in the entire history of the NRL there has only ever been one male player in the first grade competition who was publicly open about being gay. Ian Roberts played for Manly as well as the Rabbitohs, the Cowboys, and the Wigan Warriors in the 80s and 90s. He represented Australia on the international stage. Although he was arguably the greatest front rower in the game in his day, he did unfortunately play for NSW (you can’t win them all!). He came out as gay in 1995, three years before injuries spelled the end of his over two decades long playing career. Roberts was one of the first high profile Australian sports people and the first rugby league player in the world to be open about their sexuality whilst still playing in first grade.
In an interview with the Star Observer, Roberts detailed how he received homophobic abuse from spectators, and from some of his own teammates, one of whom reportedly stated their discomfort over rooming with Roberts “because he’s a [f-slur].” He was also assaulted, once when walking along Sydney Harbour and again by a spectator at halftime during a match between Manly and St. George.
Roberts is not the only gay man to have played rugby league, and he will not be the last. But he remains the only player to have publicly declared themselves as being gay whilst playing in the men’s NRL first grade. The culture of rugby league is still one of invisibility for gay men. Even women still face backlash. In 2018 couple Karina Brown (QLD) and Vanessa Foliaki (NSW) kissed after the State of Origin Match. When the image was published by the NRL on social media there was significant backlash, to which the NRL replied in support of Brown and Foliaki. This followed the NRL receiving a Pride in Sport award, as well as attending the Sydney Gary and Lesbian Mardi Gras the same year. The NRL may be generally speaking supportive of the community but the culture of rugby league is still struggling to catch up.
This week the Manly Sea Eagles launched their jersey for Thursday’s match against the Roosters, as part of the women in league round. It features small lines of rainbow in place of the traditional white stripes, representing groups who are marginalised and face discrimination including the LGBTQIA community. Football jerseys have long been used to mark specific events or communities, including Indigenous Round and for matches played on Anzac Day. Altering jerseys is not new. However, the Pride jerseys are facing opposition from within the ranks of the players, with seven players threatening to boycott Thursday’s match due to religious and cultural objections regarding the LGBTQIA community. The jersey is specifically designed to promote inclusivity and diversity in football; for these seven players who are all Christians, that is unacceptable on the football pitch.
What has become acceptable on the pitch, however, has been prayer and public declarations of faith before, during and after games. Religious players are frequently seen praying prior to kickoff. Strapping tape around wrists is often adorned with crucifixes or references to religious scripture. Players are seen pointing skywards thanking “god” after a try. And prayer circles where members of both teams join together to pray post-match occur after many games. Josh Aloiai, devout Christian and one of the seven Manly players threatening to boycott the game over the jersey, has said: “A big part of what I’m trying to do now is incorporate my faith into my footy, a lot of people don’t understand how that works but it works awesome for me. God has given me a gift so I’m trying to use it through rugby league and glorify His name.”
Whilst being a member of the LGBTQIA community is still relegated to the cultural sidelines of rugby league, religious belief and doctrine has found a home without resistance right on the pitch itself. To the extent that any attempt by a club to move in a more inclusive direction for the LGBTQIA community is met with push back by players of faith. The same players, it must be said, who are happy to wear jerseys adorned with the logos of gambling organisations or to play at stadiums named for alcohol companies. The same players who are part of a competition that for decades has grappled with a culture of misogyny that not only kept girls and women on the sidelines for so long but also glorified players who were rapists and spousal abusers. But a rainbow stripe on a jersey is where they draw their line in the sand.
The hypocrisy is staggering.
Yet again I find myself at odds with the game I love so much. Because these seven will be allowed the boycott the match to avoid wearing the jersey but they will not suffer significant penalties as a result. They won’t be fined and their contracts will not be cancelled. They will still be glorified for their playing skills. In fact, as I write this article Manly coach Des Hassler has issued those seven players an apology for not consulting with them over the jersey. And their right to freedom of belief will be used as a justification not only for proselytising on the pitch but also for the continued push towards legal religious protections that will be used to discriminate against the LGBTQIA community.
Where does this leave young gay men looking towards a future in the sport they love, knowing that they will be facing opposition on the pitch not just in the game itself but from the religious and cultural beliefs of their opponents and teammates also? It relegates them to the sidelines, whilst faith is given the right to run onto the pitch ahead of them.
I am reminded of the feelings I had as a young girl, sitting in admiration watching these men I looked up to as gods. Hearing the thud of bodies hitting the earth, the grunts and swearing, the cheers when fights would break out or claret was spilled. It was thrilling. Hours of my life were spent looking on from the sidelines, followed by the jarring realisation that these same gods would never see me. That the culture was inherently exclusionary. That the sport was not for me.
The NRL has work ahead of it, to guarantee no one is left on the sidelines.
