The fan’s genuine power is as consumer only

"In footy clubs, the members control the club. The club does not control the members…We used to have a democracy of sorts at Carlton, as we do at most other footy clubs.’’  Tom Elliott, on 3AW.

In truth, there’s precious little democracy at AFL clubs. Carlton under the leadership of Mark LoGiudice isn’t much different to Richmond, Collingwood, Hawthorn, Geelong, Essendon, St Kilda or indeed, any of the traditional clubs, in terms of where the power resides.

None of these clubs are controlled “by the members’’. Few of those who sit on the boards of those clubs have faced a contested election. They’re usually appointed to fill a “casual vacancy’’, or elected unopposed.

Democracy in footy? Ha!

Egon Zehnder, the corporate recruitment firm, has more say on the composition of some club boards than the membership.

Richmond, remember, was facing tumult in 2016, when the footy team was failing and a sizeable portion of the fans wanted Damien Hardwick removed. At least two sets of supporters planned either to overthrow the board (“Focus on footy”), or perhaps negotiate themselves seats at the table (the Malvern Hotel plotters).

What happened? Richmond’s hierarchy listened to these agitators, ignored them and went on and appointed a couple of new directors, who did not have to face an election. That there were up to three sets of potential challengers actually helped Peggy O’Neal’s administration, since it created the impression that these wannabe challengers were more like the Judean People’s Front on the Life of Brian - squabbling factions incapable of governing themselves.

Collingwood missed the finals for the fourth consecutive season last year. In decades past, such a run of failure would invariably trigger some kind of uprising, if not a muted version of La Bastille Day at the club.

Jeff Kennett’s second coming at Hawthorn, meanwhile, was devoid of membership input.

What happened? A couple of well-heeled supporters from the CBD Group (the corporate coterie group) made muffled noises about challenging Eddie McGuire’s board, but no one was willing to take on Eddie. The wealthy Bryan Dorman, also from the CBD Group, was appointed to Collingwood’s newly formed nominations committee, which performs a vetting process for prospective board directors (Richmond, Carlton, Essendon, Melbourne et al do the same).

Shrewdly, the McGuire board encouraged a couple of long-serving board members to step down (Alisa Camplin and Ian McMullin) and went on and appointed the ex-Copeland Trophy winner Paul Licuria, whose popularity with the masses would ensure he’d withstand any challenge, and Jodie Sizer, an Indigenous woman with a corporate accounting background.

Jeff Kennett’s second coming at Hawthorn, meanwhile, was devoid of membership input, apart from the formal show of hands at the annual general meeting. Kennett was more or less invited back by the board as a result of the botched appointment of Tracey Gaudry as chief executive and the resultant dysfunction within the club.

Essendon are among the more democratic clubs – six of the nine directors must be elected, albeit most are elected unopposed and the hierarchy seldom – actually never - fails to get their preferred man or woman up.

These clubs are democratic in theory, yet governed by their elites in practice. As they’ve become increasingly corporatised, their membership has shifted from being “owners’’ of the club to consumers. They are owners in name only.

Carlton president John Elliott enjoys a win with players in 2002.Credit: Vince Caligiuri

While it is still possible for the members to blow up the club – they can call an extraordinary general meeting and cause the board to be spilled – there has to be credible candidates ready to step in; it’s far more likely that a transfer of power will be negotiated.

The regime of Tom Elliott’s father, John Elliott, indeed, was the last to be spilled and swept from power (2002) – a revolution that stemmed from two realities: One, that the Blues were in dire shape (on the bottom, in massive debt and without draft picks as a result of salary cap cheating), and two, that John Elliott and (most of) his board were unwilling to cede control.

Privately, clubs will acknowledge that, while they are member organisations, they don’t want elections, which led to people getting involved without the specific skill sets. Fans will always vote for a good midfielder who played 200 games ahead of the lawyer or businessman the hierarchy craves. On those rare occasions when there is a club election, only a small proportion of the base actually votes.

The West Coast Eagles have never had a single election in their 31-year history; all directors are appointed (ratified by the WA Football Commission). Adelaide and Port Adelaide allow a few to be elected, as does Fremantle (hence the heavier presence of ex-players on their board).

If democracy has withered to the point of irrelevance at club level, the fan still can exert influence in this way: by not showing up, by cancelling or micro-waving his membership, by phoning the club, flooding the Facebook page and perhaps ramping up the pressure on the club and its sponsors. The clubs certainly listen to the concerns of sponsors. Social media has given the fan another pressure point.

The fan’s genuine power is as consumer. Coaches are sometimes sacked when the club calculates that action is needed to stem financial losses. Clubs will take drastic (and often stupid) action in response to fans – sign a player, sack a coach, bring back a favourite son. While a president may step aside “under pressure”, the member of 2018 doesn’t vote him out.

Consumer power is more evident everywhere. Corporations haven’t simply embraced “diversity’’ and “inclusion’’ because of their inherent virtue. In part, they’ve been forced to demonstrate inclusion to customers, since the bottom line will be hit by any whiff of exclusion.

In this new game - where the club is both a company and a community - political power grows out of the wallet, not the ballot.