Hi there,

I’m not going to lie — I’ve been loving rekindling my connection with Australian sport lately.

There’s something deeply satisfying about being in a friendlier time zone that lets the rhythm of sport slot back into daily life. Live games, no dodgy streams, no 3am alarms. It’s a small joy that makes a big difference.

In Australia, Magic Round just wrapped up in Brisbane, with the NRL pulling record crowds, dominating headlines, and feeling—once again—like it was on the front foot. Meanwhile, the AFL continued business as usual: packed stadiums, national reach, and total command of prime time.

And then there’s rugby union.

Is it even on? Where is it played? Who’s watching it? More importantly — who’s actually paying for Stan Sport?

There was a time when rugby union was the polished, prestige product of Australian sport. It had the star players, the media pull, and a war chest from hosting the 2003 Rugby World Cup big enough to mount a serious takeover. Two decades later, it’s tucked behind a streaming service that feels more like a rumor than a broadcast partner.

It got me thinking — how did rugby union go from being the sharpest, most polished brand in Australian sport to something that barely registers in the national conversation?

What’s happened to rugby union in Australia isn’t just the story of a sport losing its footing. It’s a case study in brand decay — how something built on pride and tradition can drift so far from its identity that even the people who once loved it most start to tune out.

And if you’re in branding, business, or leadership — what happened to union should make you sit up. Because this could happen to you.

From Centre Stage to the Sidelines

Sport has always been a central thread in Australian life — woven through schools, suburbs and weekend routines in a way that shapes more than just our pastimes. It’s part of the national identity. And for a long time, rugby union sat comfortably within that fabric.

I spent a good part of my early career working in the sports industry, starting at the Australian Rugby Union during the final years of what we now recognize as the golden era. On the surface, everything still looked solid. The Wallabies had star power, the Super Rugby competition had international appeal, the sponsors were lined up, and the jersey still carried weight.

But behind the scenes, cracks were starting to show. The connection between the game and the public, once effortless, was beginning to fray. Junior numbers were dipping. Crowds at provincial games were softening. The game was still functioning, but the pulse had slowed.

It wasn’t obvious at first. Decline rarely is. It builds slowly — through small decisions, blind spots, and missed chances — until one day you realize the momentum is gone and no one can quite explain how it happened.

One of my earliest memories from my time at the ARU was a staff Q&A with the CEO — a chance to ask questions and hear about the game’s future. A well-intentioned initiative. I asked, probably a bit too earnestly, whether we’d ever see a match between rugby league and rugby union. The answer came without hesitation:

I didn’t have the experience or standing to push back, but even then — sitting in front of spreadsheets showing Super Rugby attendances in steady decline — it was hard not to question what game he was watching.

That comment has stuck with me. Not because it was wrong, but because it revealed so much about the mindset. Inside Rugby Australia, there was an unshakable belief that the Wallabies brand would carry everything. That history, prestige and tradition were enough to keep people coming back.

It wasn’t arrogance, exactly. It was something more dangerous: a blind faith in legacy. The fatal assumption that because you mattered once, you always will.

Neglecting the Core Audience = Ignoring the Brand’s Foundation

If there’s a single point where the foundations of Australian rugby began to quietly rot, it was when the game stopped showing up for the people who built it.

While AFL flooded schools and local parks with development officers, and rugby league entrenched itself in western Sydney and Queensland, rugby union retreated inward. Funding flowed up, not out. Elite pathways were prioritized. Private schools — always part of the fabric — became the whole garment.

The results speak for themselves. In 2023, the Australian Sports Commission reported just 145,000 adults and 95,000 children playing rugby. That’s less than a quarter of AFL’s participation numbers — and behind not just football, rugby league, and cricket, but also basketball, badminton, and rock climbing.

Yes, you heard that right. Badminton!

Community clubs were left to scrape by. Volunteers burned out. Junior participation in public schools and country regions dried up. Entire competitions vanished without replacement.

Inside Rugby Australia, the thinking remained stagnant. Instead of confronting the shrinking footprint, leadership doubled down on prestige. Rugby didn’t try to meet the new Australia where it was growing. It tried to preserve a version of itself that fewer and fewer people outside its inner circle recognized.

In branding terms, it was a textbook collapse of market relevance. When a brand confuses exclusivity for loyalty, it mistakes shrinking attention for refinement. It stops asking how many people feel seen, welcomed, and valued — and starts viewing its own shrinking community as proof of authenticity.

Rugby didn’t lose Australia overnight. It lost it through small, daily acts of insularity.

The Brand Lost Its Meaning

The Wallabies haven’t held the Bledisloe in over two decades. They haven’t won a World Cup since 1999. They’re currently ranked ninth in the world, behind nations with smaller populations, tighter budgets, and fewer pathways.

And yet, for years, the Wallabies brand still carried weight. There was a time when Australia had a clear on-field identity: smart, attacking rugby. A unique style. The Wallaby Way.

It wasn’t just a tactical approach — it was a brand promise. Guts. Intelligence. Belief. These attributes gave people something meaningful to connect with. That identity helped the Wallabies punch above their weight and win hearts at home.

But that promise has eroded. Tactics flip year to year. Selections shift with every press conference. Every campaign is pitched as a fresh start, but none feel connected to anything larger. There’s no story holding it together — just marketing noise.

In branding, consistency is currency. It’s how people build trust, belief, and loyalty. When you lose that, you lose emotional investment. The jersey still matters, but now it leans more on nostalgia than relevance.

And that’s the problem. Brands are built on meaning. When you stop standing for something, people stop standing with you.

Brand Stretch Without Strength

After the success of the 2003 Rugby World Cup, rugby had the chance to consolidate. To build stronger roots in existing markets. Instead, it went wide.

The introduction of the Western Force and Melbourne Rebels wasn’t driven by genuine demand. It was branding theatre — an attempt to appear like a national game without doing the necessary groundwork to become one.

The talent pool stretched too thin. Interest flickered but never truly caught fire. The expansion looked impressive on paper — but lacked the long-term brand loyalty needed to sustain it.

In branding, scale without depth can’t hold. It dilutes the core. And when pressure comes, it inevitably cracks.

Strong brands grow from strength, not hope. Rugby chased a bigger map when what it really needed was a stronger foundation.

The Product Stopped Delivering

You can have history, values, tradition — but if your product fails to connect, none of it matters. That’s true for brands and equally true for sport.

Rugby hasn’t delivered on-field entertainment for years. Games have become increasingly difficult to follow. Flow is constantly interrupted. Rule interpretations — especially around high tackles — shift weekly. What’s legal one match can get you red-carded the next.

Fans haven’t tuned out because they don’t care. They’ve tuned out because they don’t understand what they’re watching. Loyal fans feel lost. Casual fans don’t even attempt to engage.

The numbers confirm this reality. Rugby’s revenues sit at just 14% of the AFL’s. Its modest $30 million broadcast deal with Nine and Stan is completely overshadowed by the NRL’s $400 million rights deal for 2025. That’s not just a commercial gap, it’s a fundamental demand gap. In brand terms, the product simply isn’t compelling enough to command attention, let alone money.

This is a classic brand problem. When the experience becomes confusing, people stop showing up. The product generates no energy. The game tells no story. There’s no fire, no tension, no sense of occasion.

In the market’s eyes, rugby has faded to background noise. And in branding, if you’re not memorable, you’re invisible.

Leadership Drift, Brand Drift

From the boardroom to the coaching box, rugby in Australia has become a textbook case of organizational churn.

Since the early 2000s, Rugby Australia has bounced from crisis to cleanout and back again. No long-term vision. No stable leadership. Just a revolving door of CEOs, chairmen, consultants, and endless strategy resets.

The Eddie Jones saga wasn’t the exception — it was the norm. A high-profile mess simply layered on top of a culture already allergic to stability.

When leadership loses clarity, the brand does too. Internally, no one knows what direction they’re heading in. Externally, fans lose trust.

You don’t need one catastrophic collapse to kill belief. You just need enough drift until no one feels in control. That’s exactly where Australian rugby stands today.

Rebuilding a Brand Starts From the Bottom Up

Rugby doesn’t need another rebrand. It doesn’t need a new logo, a clever tagline, or yet another campaign promising a return to glory.

What it needs is a complete reset of meaning.

Because when a brand drifts this far from its audience, the fix isn’t cosmetic — it’s foundational. You don’t rebuild trust with marketing gimmicks. You rebuild it by consistently showing up and proving the game still stands for something real.

That starts at the grassroots. Not as a PR exercise, but as core strategy. Strong brands are built from the bottom up. Rugby must reconnect with the people and places that once carried it: the dedicated volunteers, the country competitions, the schools where kids no longer own Wallabies jerseys. That’s where true identity takes root. And that’s precisely where it must be restored.

It also means clearly defining what the product is, how it’s played, and what makes it distinctive. Confused brands don’t grow. They get ignored. Rugby needs a recognizable style, a compelling story, a genuine reason for fans to show up and care again.

And finally, it requires leadership that stops chasing quick optics and starts building lasting substance. Brands recover when they align inside and out — when the internal culture authentically reflects the external promise. Right now, rugby has neither.

This won’t be quick. It won’t be easy. But it can be done.

Because branding isn’t about managing perception, it’s about creating connection. And that connection can always be rebuilt, if you’re willing to do the hard work.

Ad Vault: NRL

“Simply the Best” (1991)

Back in the day when durries were smoked at half-time and mullets weren't ironic, the NRL dropped what's still one of the greatest sports campaigns of all time.

Tina Turner's "Simply the Best" became more than a soundtrack—it became the soul of the game. Raw, emotional, and full of grit, the campaign reframed rugby league as more than just a tough bloke's sport. It gave it heart, drama, and an anthem that still gives you goosebumps. It was a cultural moment.

The Winfield Cup era captured something that most marketers still haven't figured out. Great campaigns don't sell products. They sell emotion. That montage of mud-splattered players in slow motion, paired with Turner's powerhouse vocals, created an emotional connection that transcended the sport itself.

Simply the best, indeed.

Code Wars: NRL vs AFL

Two tech titans. Two wildly different takes on the future of work. Who’s building it right?

NRL: Blue-Collar Magic

The 2014 "That's My Team" campaign captured what league has always understood—identity runs deeper than reason. Players covered in mud. Families huddled under umbrellas at suburban grounds. Weathered hands clutching scarves that have seen decades of heartbreak and triumph. The campaign wasn't selling a product—it was reflecting a life already lived.

AFL: The National Narrative 

While NRL embraced its heartland, AFL's 2018 "Don't Believe in Never" campaign went big. Cinematic. Aspirational. Strategic inclusion of diverse communities across the country. Where league doubled down on authenticity, AFL crafted a careful story about who we could all become together.

The contrast is undeniable. NRL campaigns hit you in the chest. AFL campaigns invite you into a carefully constructed world.

One proudly wears its working-class heritage. The other builds bridges to new territories.

Two codes. Two brand strategies. Which connects deeper?

Lento Vibes

A bit of random inspo from around the grounds:

• Zuck’s AI Power Play: Meta’s moving fast to bake AI into Facebook ads—automating creative, copy, and audience targeting. The robots are officially running the media plan. Read More →

• Bombay Sapphire Goes Full Sensory: Step into the blue—literally. The gin brand’s latest campaign invites viewers into a fully immersive world of texture, colour, and sound. A reminder that good branding hits all senses. Watch the Spot →

• Margs at Work? Kinda: This cheeky campaign for MSFW drops a Safe-for-Work Margarita - served with subtle packaging and even subtler branding. A fun take on blending work culture with actual flavour. Check It Out →

• Dairy Queen Goes Beast Mode: The Texas chain goes full chaos with its new campaign - over-the-top, absurd, and dripping in honey butter chicken biscuit energy. One for the weird file. Watch It Here →

• Podcasters Get Closer to Brands: Podcasts aren’t just media, they’re brand partners. A sharp look at how creators are diving deeper into long-form, narrative-led sponsorships. Read the Breakdown →

• The Ordinary Trolls Celebrity Pricing: In a New York pop-up, The Ordinary puts price tags on celebrity skincare endorsements—and shows just how inflated those numbers really are. Take a Look →