High Sobriety

by Jill Stark

  Alcohol is often used as a way to pump money back into local sports clubs, through sponsorship and selling grog at fundraising events. At his former rugby league club in Brisbane, Brent recalls ‘horn and prawn’ nights at which, for $100 a ticket, players and supporters would pack into an industrial shed to enjoy seafood, booze, and strippers. It proved to be a successful revenue raiser until the events became rowdy, fights broke out, and community members objected to the overall unseemliness, and they were shut down. While back then, in his twenties, it was ‘a bit of a laugh’, as the father of a ten-year-old girl, he now views it with regret. Brent thinks that these days local rugby clubs are less reliant on alcohol, and he knows players who don’t drink at all during the season — but there’s no doubt that he learned to drink by being involved in sport.

  So why was alcohol such an integral part of his rugby-playing experience, I wonder. ‘The social aspect’s quite important: there’s a lot of bonding that’s done over it. It’s all very fraternal,’ he says. ‘But I suppose it’s just all around you. The Australian cricket team drink VB. I’ve been at the cricket that many times where by lunchtime you’re that boozed, you wouldn’t have a clue what’s going on. You go to the races and you watch the first couple, and for the rest of the day it’s a social thing and there’s a horse race in the background. It’s become such a big part of our culture. Alcohol seems to be sport’s vice.’

  MY DILEMMA ABOUT whether to drink if Hawthorn won the premiership was short-lived: a last-quarter capitulation against Collingwood saw us lose the preliminary final by three points in the dying minutes. I hadn’t been that devastated by a sporting catastrophe since Hearts lost the Scottish premier league and cup double in the space of a week, at the end of the 1985–86 season.

  After the Hawks went down, I walked back from the MCG in the rain, through a sludge of bullish Collingwood fans, and got home in time to hear our coach, Alastair Clarkson, tell a press conference that the boys just weren’t good enough. ‘We had them on the ropes and we didn’t finish them off,’ he said glumly.

  Losing was awful. I could only imagine how bad the players felt. After a gruelling six-month season, slugging it out in one of the most physically challenging competitions in the world, they had nothing to show for their efforts but battered bodies and dented pride. It should have been no surprise that some of them went off the rails when it was over.

  Whether it’s the pressure of the spotlight or the thrill-seeking nature of athletes, who spend their lives pumped with adrenaline, some footballers can’t seem to help getting into trouble when they drink. This year started with Brisbane Lions star Brendan Fevola being arrested for drunken bad behaviour; it wasn’t his first boozy night of shame. Then in April, Melbourne vice-captain Brent Moloney celebrated his best-on-ground performance in a win over Brisbane by getting so drunk that he was thrown out of a nightclub at 3.00 a.m., just hours before he was due to turn up for training. In 2010, a magistrate had warned Collingwood’s Heath Shaw that he was putting his career at risk after he twice got behind the wheel after drinking, despite a court-enforced order that he be completely sober when driving. It followed an incident two years earlier, in which he and teammate Alan Didak were nearly sacked following a boozy night out that saw him crash into several parked cars. In 2009, Essendon rising star Michael Hurley assaulted a taxi driver at 5.30 a.m. in a dispute over a fare, after a night spent drinking at Channel Nine’s The Footy Show end-of-season revue after-party.

  ‘Mad Monday’, the traditional end-of-season piss-up, is also notorious for bad behaviour and excessive drinking. Wary of the publicity and more mindful of their duty of care to the young men in their charge, clubs now manage these events tightly so that players get into less trouble than they once did. But every year, without fail, there will be at least one player who ends up getting arrested for urinating in public; drink-driving; getting into a brawl with a punter; or somehow embarrassing themselves, the club, and the AFL on an alcohol-fuelled night of temporary madness. It’s not easy to rein in a group of young men who spend most of the year adhering to a strict training and nutritional regime, and by season’s end are raring to cut loose.

  A 2009 study in The Medical Journal of Australia found that 54 per cent of AFL players drink at levels likely to cause long-term harm during the two weeks following the season’s end, and 41 per cent drink that way during vacation times. The same year, Pippa Grange, a psychologist who worked with the AFL Players Association, told me in an interview that nightclubs encouraged this type of drinking, putting on bar tabs for high-profile players to allow them to drink for free to a set limit. ‘Sometimes those drink cards can be ridiculously big — as high as $1000. Venues want the footy stars in there because they attract a particular crowd of young people. Because the drinks are free, it’s like a smorgasbord — you’re just going to keep going back until you’re totally over-full or too drunk,’ she said.

  For the same story, I spoke to former footballers from the 1970s and 1980s, all steeped in a heavy-drinking culture that made getting on the piss an unquestioned part of the game, even during the season. After the final siren, players would share beers in the changing rooms. ‘Recovery’ sessions the following day were also often boozy affairs, where hardened drinkers were viewed as legends.

  For the most part, modern-day players wouldn’t dream of binge drinking during the season. Former Western Bulldogs star Scott West — who was dumped by his club at the end of the 2008 season, and later admitted to going on a month-long drinking binge to cope with the sudden end of his career — told me that he didn’t advocate a return to those days, but argued that today’s young footy stars need to be given more leeway. ‘The demographic of the player now is between 18 and 23, and if you have a look at society, at that age they’re all going out and having fun and probably getting into fights, but they’re not getting on the front page. The expectation on the players is they’re professional 24/7 these days. But there should be room for players to have their time and enjoy themselves.’

  In 2009, the AFL and the Players Association launched a formal alcohol policy in a bid to clean up the game’s image and create a more responsible attitude to grog. Measures included a crackdown on Mad Monday rituals such as drinking games and pub crawls; the introduction of player education on the harms of binge drinking; and responsible-service-of-alcohol policies at best-and-fairest dinners, presidents’ lunches, and corporate functions. But while health experts welcomed the move, saying that it went further than any other sporting code’s, they pointed out that it was inconsistent with the league’s acceptance of an estimated $5 million in annual sponsorship from alcohol companies — particularly as a 2008 New Zealand study found that athletes whose sports were sponsored by alcohol companies were more likely to binge drink. The study of nearly 1300 sportsmen and women from a range of codes, including rugby, soccer, and cricket, showed that nearly half received free or discounted drinks. Research from Deakin University released earlier in 2011 found similar results, with the authors claiming that athletes may drink more than they would if they were sponsored by non-alcohol brands because they feel indebted to their sponsors, and are exposed to more pro-alcohol messages on uniforms, stadium hoardings, and club merchandise.

  At the end of the 2008 season, just a few months before the AFL’s new alcohol policy was due for release, Brendan Fevola — who played for Carlton at the time, which was then sponsored by Carlton Draught — was pictured enjoying end-of-season celebrations at Melbourne’s Federation Square. He was drunk, wearing a pink nightie, and had a dildo protruding from his pants. When I pointed out to Pippa Grange that this suggested she had her work cut out for her trying to change footy’s boozy culture, she reminded me that Fevola was only one of 850 AFL players, the majority of whom are perfectly well behaved.

  As the 2011 grand final between Geelong and Collingwood approaches — a contest I’d be happy for both teams to lose — I wonder how many players will
get into trouble at this year’s after-parties.

  When game day arrives, I’m buzzing, ready to party, and soaking up the atmosphere as the television coverage kicks off with the traditional North Melbourne grand-final breakfast. I’m actually quite looking forward to not drinking, given that some of the worst hangovers I’ve had have followed these matches.

  Unfortunately, my day turns out to be a disappointment. Not because I can’t drink, but because I have to work. At midday, I’ve just stepped out of my apartment with my four-pack of ginger beer, on the way to what promises to be a cracking party with a giant projector screen, when my editor calls to tell me the news. Ironically, I will be kept from the festivities by my own football club’s president. There’s a story about Hawthorn president and former Victorian premier Jeff Kennett, and his role with the national depression agency beyondblue, that just can’t wait.

  Ten hours later, I finish it. I contemplate going to my friend’s party, but I know by that stage things will be very messy. I’m too tired and sober for messiness.

  The next day, at a recovery session in the pub, everyone looks unwell — except for Loretta and Tim, two die-hard Cats fans, who are grinning as they bask in the glory of their team’s ninth premiership. They danced till dawn and shared tequila with strangers in the street. I find out that fans were well behaved at the game, with just 14 arrests in a crowd of nearly 100,000. It’s hard to imagine a similar result if Scottish football fans were allowed to drink at matches.

  Days later, the premiership cup has barely left the engravers when Carlton & United Breweries release a limited-edition, blue-and-white Geelong-themed slab, with 24 commemorative AFL-endorsed cans wrapped in the triumphant team’s photo. Around the same time, Lion release a similar special-edition Tooheys slab in Manly Warringah Sea Eagles colours, celebrating the rugby league team’s premiership success. In a country where sport is a national religion, cashing in on that passion is a sure-fire money-spinner.

  And it’s no longer just the traditional blokey sporting codes that are being propped up by booze. At the start of the year, I visited the Australian Open for the first time in five years. A lot had changed since my last outing. It seemed that for some visitors, tennis was now much further down the list of priorities than getting wasted. As my friend Nat and I stood at the front of a queue outside Margaret Court Arena at 7.00 p.m., a group of boys staggered over. The one at the front was not in good shape: his eyes were glazed over; his once-white T-shirt was smattered with stains. ‘We’re at the front of the line,’ he yelled into his phone, a fug of musty beer breath wafting an unwelcome path towards me.

  ‘Actually, you’re not at the front of the line,’ I pointed out. ‘You’ve just cut in. The back of the queue is there.’ I gestured to the 30 people lined up behind us.

  Oblivious, he swayed, shifting the weight of his gangly frame from one foot to the other. The warm evening breeze seemed enough to knock him over. But he was bulletproof. ‘We’re at the front of the line,’ he hollered again. His height gave the illusion of maturity, but he couldn’t have been more than 17 — 18 at a stretch. His spotty friends, less vocal but similarly under the influence, looked even younger. They were sunburnt and shit-faced. The steward, trying to manage the growing queue for the match between Ukrainian Illya Marchenko and my fellow countryman and fifth seed Andy Murray, was struggling to control them. Eventually, security moved them on. They loped off, perhaps in search of one more for the road. And they wouldn’t have had far to stagger.

  There’s no shortage of opportunities to buy alcohol at the Australian Open. Don’t get me wrong — I don’t think we should deny tennis fans the pleasure of a cold beer or a glass of wine in the summer sunshine while watching some of the biggest names in the game take to the court. It’s one of the few sporting events that sees tourists from all over the world converge on Melbourne to cheer on their homeland heroes. This carnival atmosphere has earned it the title of the ‘friendly’ slam. But a shift is taking place. When the over-abundance of alcohol starts to alter the atmosphere and it feels like Melbourne’s King Street on a Saturday night, something’s wrong. Packs of shirtless young men staggering around, clutching pots of beer and turning the air blue with obscenities, is not a pretty sight.

  Judging by the logos and branding hung from every lamppost, flagpole, and awning, Jacob’s Creek and Heineken are bigger names at Melbourne Park than Federer and Nadal. The sponsorship of these global brands has no doubt allowed the Open to grow, pouring more cash into the event’s coffers and getting more people through the gates, but at what cost? The beer garden has become so enormous that calling it a garden is a bit like calling the Titanic a dinghy. On the Thursday night we visited, there was a queue to rival any city nightclub just to get in. Inside, there were bars, deckchairs, live music, and takeaway outlets selling the sort of overpriced, deep-fried food best consumed after several pints; it was an environment engineered to give visitors no reason to leave. Some of the people I spoke with confessed that they hadn’t seen one stroke of tennis since arriving at the bar, directly from work. Despite the two giant screens, they couldn’t even tell me if home-crowd favourite Sam Stosur had won her match. For these visitors, coming to the tennis was all about drinking.

  Organisers have to take some responsibility for reinforcing this association. What used to be called ‘Super Saturday’ — the biggest day of the tournament’s first week, allowing the public the chance to see some of the best players for the cost of a ground pass — has been renamed ‘Heineken Saturday’. On the front page of the Australian Open’s website, an article in which Heineken was named 13 times appeared to be little more than an advert for the Dutch beer company. Writer Matt Trollope enthused: ‘Assigned with the task of writing about Heineken Day, I meandered over to Grand Slam Oval at 15 minutes past noon. The first thing that stood out was the queue. Hundreds deep, it proved that the Heineken Beer Garden was the place to be.’

  With my beer goggles removed, I can see the inherent absurdity in the fact that alcohol underpins practically every social pastime that our culture values. It seems as if our enjoyment of the game — whether it’s tennis, cricket, rugby, or football — can only be complete by adding alcohol. Having a few drinks as you watch sport can be fun, but it will be a shame if the Australian Open ends up like Melbourne’s Spring Racing Carnival — an event now synonymous with epic levels of binge drinking, where the sight of punters passed out, facedown in the Flemington turf, is not uncommon, and thousands of racegoers are lucky to get within 100 metres of a horse.

  Drinking is an intrinsic part of our sporting culture. It’s tied up with notions of coming of age, male bonding, and community cohesion, particularly in small country towns, where the local sports-club bar is a central meeting point. Run well, sports clubs can be the lifeblood of communities, providing purpose for young people and allowing families to spend time together at the weekends. But there’s growing evidence that the link between these clubs and drinking is causing damage. Studies carried out by the Australian Drug Foundation found that almost a third of 13- to 17-year-olds had participated in unsupervised drinking at a sports club. Most were not asked for proof of age. Twenty per cent of 18- to 20-year-olds drank ten or more drinks every time they visited the club. Across members of all ages, more than half drank at hazardous levels on each visit.

  This culture of heavy drinking can spill over into violence. In 2009, 37-year-old Nathan Alsop died after being punched in the head by teammate Daniel Singleton at a party to celebrate East Geelong Football Club’s grand-final win. Alsop was estimated to have drunk 39 drinks over 13 hours at the team’s clubhouse before the altercation. At a later trial, Singleton was acquitted of manslaughter. A week before Alsop’s death, New South Wales rugby league fan Geoff Larnach died, after suffering a cardiac arrest and suspected brain damage following an all-day drinking session that started at the Bathurst Panthers Leagues Club. The 27-year-old is believed to have scul
led half a bottle of rum to mark the team’s season-ending loss. He was described by one of the club’s players as their ‘number one supporter’.

  But what happens if you take grog out of sport? Would, as the alcohol industry claims, grassroots clubs fold? Across Australia, more than 4300 sports clubs have discovered that far from going under after kicking alcohol out of the game, they’re thriving. The clubs, all members of the Australian Drug Foundation’s Good Sports program, which aims to turn around sport’s heavy-drinking culture by promoting a more responsible approach to alcohol, are seeing the benefits, both on-field and off, of reducing the influence of booze in their game. The program was set up in 2000, after Victoria Police asked the ADF for help in reducing the high rates of underage drinking, violence, and drink-driving associated with the boozy culture in community sport. Under the scheme, clubs achieve accreditation for meeting standards around the use and management of alcohol. Measures include banning post-match beers in the dressing room, along with alcoholic raffle prizes and rewards for on-field performance. Sponsorship from pubs or alcohol companies is not accepted. More soft drinks and low-alcohol alternatives are offered at the bar, and meals are served in a bid to attract more families. Club-wide policies that make sure staff, players, and supporters are on board have seen drink-driving, as well as underage and risky drinking, plummet.

  At the North Eltham Wanderers Cricket Club in Melbourne’s northern suburbs, alcohol sales dropped by 30 per cent when they signed up to Good Sports. But the losses were offset by greater spending in the club canteen, as families previously deterred by the ‘boozy boys’-club culture’ returned. On-field performance also improved. An analysis of Good Sports clubs earlier this year found that, on average, there were 36 per cent fewer people drinking at risky levels than in clubs not affiliated with the program. Most importantly, many clubs have seen sponsorship dollars grow by getting rid of alcohol sponsors, as organisations previously unwilling to be associated with clubs notorious for heavy drinking have backed the new-look teams. One club has cleaned its image up so much that it’s now sponsored by a local church. Perhaps calling last drinks doesn’t have to mean game over.