Another week, another incident.
This time, it’s the case involving Lance Collard, where the AFL Appeals Board reduced his suspension, citing the now-familiar reasoning: it happened in the heat of the moment.
The now sacked, Chair of the Appeals board, stated; “”It is commonplace that players can employ language from time to time which is racist, sexist or homophobic whilst on the field.”
That decision and explanation has drawn a lot of criticism, with many male players pushing back against such justification. It also highlights the anti-gay views and attitudes that are embedded within leadership and decision making across the institution of sport.
But this isn’t really about one player, or one decision. It’s about the culture those decisions create.
Because what happens in sport doesn’t stay in sport—it travels. Into clubrooms, into car rides home, into schoolyards, and into broader society. And at a time when we are already seeing a rise in anti-LGBT sentiment globally—including incidents of targeted violence such as the most recent attack in Milton Keynes (a LGBT+ night club was targeted in a arson attack)—these moments matter more than ever.
And to be clear: this should not keep happening.
The Problem With “Heat of the Moment”
“Heat of the moment” is often framed as a neutral explanation.
But it isn’t.
It’s a value judgement—one that softens accountability and reframes homophobic behaviour as emotional, understandable, and even inevitable within sport.
The issue is that homophobia in men’s sport is not spontaneous.
It is learned. Repeated. Normalised.
Language is one of the primary ways masculinity is policed in sporting environments. Homophobic slurs and comments are not just insults—they reinforce a hierarchy, positioning anything associated with being gay as weak, inferior, or unacceptable.
When decision makers and leaders lean on “heat of the moment,” they are not just explaining behaviour. They are, whether intentionally or not, legitimising it.
And if it is legitimised at the top, it will be replicated everywhere else. In research interviews I did last year with community football volunteers, volunteers highlighted that every time there is an incident of a AFL player using a homophobic slur, the use of this language by young boys and men increases.
The Conversation Problem
What follows these incidents is just as important as the incidents themselves.
Each time something like this occurs, it triggers a wave of discussion—on talkback radio, across social media, in locker rooms, and in everyday conversations between players, coaches, parents, and fans.
On one level, this can be positive. It creates space for the issue to be acknowledged.
But without clear boundaries, these conversations often don’t challenge homophobia—they can amplify it.
We’ve seen the same narratives play out repeatedly:
- “It’s just part of the game.”
- “People need to toughen up.”
Even in the aftermath of this latest decision, there has been strong pushback—highlighting that many players, commentators, and fans no longer accept these justifications.
But repetition alone does not equal progress.
If anything, repetition without consequence risks normalising the very behaviour the sport claims it wants to eliminate.
When the Conversation Changes
And yet, we’ve also seen what happens when the conversation shifts.
When a male player chooses to come out—most recently Leigh Ryswyk—the narrative changes.
Instead of reacting to harm, people begin to reflect:
- Why now?
- What has changed?
- Do players finally feel safe enough to be themselves?
The focus shifts from individual incidents to the systems and cultures that shape them.
These are two very different cultural moments—and right now, sport is producing both.
This Is Why Players Don’t Come Out
This is the connection that continues to be missed.
Players don’t come out into a vacuum. They come out into a culture.
And that culture is shaped by everything we are currently seeing:
- repeated incidents of homophobia
- decisions that minimise or excuse it
- ongoing public discourse that can reinforce harmful attitudes
- and broader societal influences, including the rise of the “manosphere” and increasingly rigid ideas about masculinity
At the same time, we know that visibility matters.
My Free to Exist research showed clearly that when LGBTIQA+ young people see themselves represented in sport, it has a tangible and positive impact on their wellbeing. It helps foster a sense of belonging, reduces isolation, and reinforces that they have a place—not just as athletes, but across all areas of sport.
But visibility cannot exist without safety.
You cannot celebrate players coming out while continuing to tolerate the conditions that make doing so risky.
A Generational Risk
There is also a broader issue at play here.
The primary perpetrators of homophobia in sport are often young men and teenage boys—groups that are heavily embedded in community and grassroots sport.
These environments are not just places where sport is played. They are spaces where norms are learned, identities are shaped, and behaviours are reinforced.
So what message are we sending?
That homophobia is acceptable if it happens in the heat of competition?
That intent matters more than impact?
Because if that is the message, it will not stay at the elite level.
It will filter down—into local clubs, junior teams, and everyday sporting environments across the country.
And it will intersect with broader issues we are already grappling with, including misogyny and gender-based violence.
If left unchecked, these attitudes don’t just persist—they grow.
The AFL’s Leadership Challenge
This is where the AFL needs to assess its current approach to addressing the problem of homohpbia.
Because this is no longer about isolated incidents.
This is a pattern.
And bans alone will not fix it.
The sporting body has made some performative commitments in this space—partnerships, public statements. But from the outside, the approach still feels fragmented and reactive.
For one of the most powerful sporting organisations in Australia, that is not good enough.
This requires leadership.
Not just in responding to incidents, but in addressing the broader ecosystem that produces them:
- the culture within elite environments
- the behaviours and norms in grassroots football
- the education of players, coaches, and officials
- and the accountability mechanisms that ensure change is actually happening
I really feel for LGBTIQA+ fans - especially the queer supporter groups. I did a research project many years ago into Rainbow Supporter groups - and it struck me how hard they worked, and how much effort goes into trying to change the culture. Fans should not have to fight to be included into a sport or club they love.
A Cultural Crossroads
We are at a cultural crossroads.
There is progress. There is visibility. There are moments that push the conversation forward.
But there are also repeated incidents, inconsistent responses, and a broader cultural environment that risks pulling things backwards.
The AFL—and sport more broadly—cannot afford to sit in the middle of that tension.
Because the stakes are real.
This is about whether young players feel safe to be themselves.
It is about whether future athletes choose to come out—or stay silent.
And it is about the kind of culture we are actively shaping through our actions, decisions, and responses.
So this is a call to action.
I urge the AFL, and senior leaders across the game, and all sports, to move beyond reactive sanctions and commit to addressing this issue properly—across the entire sport and its ecosystem.
Because the culture we allow is the culture players must come out into.
And right now, that culture is still sending mixed messages.
Republished with permission from Dr Ryan Storr's Substack The Diversity Storr
