There are many ways a person can lose their sanity. Some choose existential philosophy. Others choose assembling IKEA furniture without instructions. I, however, have chosen the far more destructive path: trying to understand the AFL “stand rule.”
There were two matters that infuriated me on Anzac Day over and above the disgusting behaviour of a minority group of “citizens” who thought it appropriate to boo during the Welcome to Country at both the Sydney and Melbourne Anzac Day Dawn Services. Faith was somewhat restored when the 92,1342 strong crowd at the MCG gave Uncle Colin a warm, overwhelming and resounding applause at the conclusion of his Welcome to Country during yet another moving Anzac Day pre-game ceremony. I love the New Zealand National Anthem!
Back to the footy and my first matter to which I will not dwell. It concerns the Essendon FC full back. Like most Almanackers I have seen plenty of football over the last six decades. But never have I witnessed such an insipid, weak kneed, uncompetitive performance from a key defender the size of this lad. Looks like Tarzan plays like Jane. The lack of body contact in the air and intensity at ground level is astonishing. Surely, he’s injured. At one point he clapped the spoiling effort of a co-defender whilst the ball was still in play resulting in yet another final quarter Collingwood goal.
The poor boy played like a deer in headlights. When ball was in hand (which was rare) the Essendon fans collective hearts must have been in their mouths and with good justification. His performance reminded me of a time I asked my father to describe a young lumbering Hawthorn ruckman in the 1960’s. “He’s like a boarding house cup of tea son,” he said. Confused I asked what that meant. “Big and weak!” Enough said.
I recall watching black and white television clips of VFL footy in the late 50’s and 1960’s. In those days it was permissible to return the ball to an infringed opponent by tossing it back along the ground – very unsportsmanlike but within the rules of the day.
Then the VFL introduced a rule whereby the ball must be returned on the full and fair enough. By the 1980’s the wily Kevin Sheedy came up with a tactic where players were instructed to return the ball in a high looping action, to the left-hand side and at head height for right footers and the opposite for left footers. His theory that the precious split seconds it took for the ball to return would give time for players behind the ball to man up on opponents, flood back and provide some respite.
Not to be outdone the VFL introduced a rule to prevent such a tactic (slowing the play down) by extending the penalty for the slow return of the ball from 15 metres to 25 metres. It morphed to 50 metres in recent times into what we have today. Let’s speed the game up and keep the ball in motion at any cost.
Now for the main item of this narrative. For the uninitiated the stand rule is a simple concept in theory: when a player takes a mark or free kick, the opponent on the mark must stand perfectly still. Not sway. Not blink too aggressively. Not even entertain the idea of lateral movement. Just stand there like a department store mannequin who’s been warned their job is on the line. Fail to comply? Congratulations you’ve just gifted the opposition a 50-metre penalty, also known as “the fastest way to turn a mild inconvenience into a guaranteed goal.”
Now, in a vacuum, this sounds manageable. But we don’t live in a vacuum we live in the chaos of the Australian Football League football led by Dillon, Harley, Swann and Kane, where 36 blokes are sprinting around like caffeinated pugs, and the umpire is suddenly pointing, shouting “STAND!” with the urgency of someone trying to stop a toddler from licking a power point.
Let’s ponder the plight of the Gold Coast Suns and Messrs Wicks, Ugle-Hagen and coach Hardwick who looked to be hyperventilating in the coach’s box. Apparently, Demon Max Gawn was in the same predicament the night before at the MCG.
The problem begins with one deceptively simple question: who exactly is “the man on the mark”?
Is it the player who was closest? The one who thinks he’s closest? The one who made brief eye contact with the umpire? Or is it the poor unsuspecting soul who just wandered into the general vicinity and is now being screamed at like he’s been personally responsible for every breakdown in civilisation including the US/Iran war?
You’ll often see three players hovering around the mark like confused shoppers at a Woolworths self-checkout. The umpire yells “Stand!” One player freezes instantly. Another takes a cautious half-step sideways, like he’s avoiding a puddle. The third just keeps jogging past, blissfully unaware that he’s about to become the central figure in a 50-metre morality tale.
Then comes the communication or, more accurately, the interpretive dance of confusion. The umpire points vaguely. “You! Stand!”
Which “you”? There are 36 “yous” on the field, and at least half of them look guilty. The chosen player now has approximately 0.3 seconds to realise he’s been selected, halt all bodily functions, and assume the posture of a garden gnome. If he so much as adjusts his footing to avoid standing on a teammate’s shoelace whistle! Then 50 metres. Off you go. Enjoy your guided tour to the goal square.
And the best part? The punished player always reacts with the same expression a mix of betrayal, confusion, and the realisation that he has just been penalised for failing to interpret telepathy.
“Was that me?” his contorted face says. “Yes,” says the umpire, already marching him downfield like a disappointed parent.
From the stands or the couch, you begin to unravel. You start pausing the replay, rewinding, analysing angles like a forensic investigator. “No, no, look he wasn’t the man on the mark. It was clearly the other bloke! It was the first gamer Jamarra. Or was it the skipper Jarrod? Or maybe it was both? Can you have a co-mark situation? Is this a shared custody arrangement?”
Before long, you’re yelling at the television, explaining the rule to nobody, constructing elaborate theories about spatial awareness, umpire psychology, and the philosophical concept of “standing.”
And don’t even get me started on the micro-movements. A player flinches; back you come 50 metres. A player leans; 50 metres. A player dares to exist slightly adjacent to where the umpire imagined he should be, you guessed it, 50 metres. At this point, we’re one eyebrow twitch away from a full-field escort.
At his post-match press conference, a composed Damien Hardwick described the 50metre penalty as “baffling.” According to Damien his charges had no idea who was expected to stand the mark and when Wicks backed off bang-50 metres. “Someone with common sense needs to sort this confusion out; umpiring is hard enough as it is.” Over to you (yet again) Swanny or as Gerard Healy has conveniently dubbed him “The Sherriff”- ride into town and fix another problem.
At the very least Sherriff reduce the severity of the penalty; the punishment needs to fit the crime. If a player/players transgress reduce the penalty to 25 metres at the very least. There will be rioting in the streets if a grand final was decided by the current implementation of this polarising, stricter enforcement of something I’m not sure fans want.
The stand rule, in its purest form, has turned our players into statues under duress, umpires into abstract mortals, and fans into twitchy conspiracy theorists. It is less a rule and more a social experiment designed to test footy fanatics across the nation on how to endure low-grade confusion before collectively losing its grip.
Next week the throng of footy fans from across the country will return for another round of AFL footy. Watching. Hoping. Wondering.
“Surely this time,” they will say, “we’ll understand who’s on the mark.”
Or will they?
Read more from Richard Griffiths HERE
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