By Kate Holland
AFL Masters is saving men’s lives, offering connection, routine and a reason to move at the very age when mates drift, bodies protest and loneliness quietly peaks.
My husband reckons he could fill a coffee table book with the excuses he’s heard for not signing up. Many of them are probably fair. By the time you qualify for AFL Masters (35+), chances are you get twinges getting out of bed from time to time, let alone giving a footy match a go. But he returned to footy at the ripe old age of 45, after a hiatus of close to 25 years, and the camaraderie it delivers makes every muscle ache worth it.
According to 2024 research by the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare, across all age groups, the rates of men experiencing social isolation were higher than those for women.
Masters football offers something rare: a proven, weekly, community based circuit breaker that keeps men connected, moving and mentally well, from 35 until the body gives a definitive no.
Riverland resident Robbie Johnstone is still waiting for that moment to come at the age of 83. Not a typo. The Paringa beekeeper went from training with the Superdogs to playing during his mid-70s, inspired by an 83 year old Japanese man on television playing touch football.
Last year, he captained the SA side in the Priscilla Cup, gave an inspirational speech about hitting the target at three-quarter time, then took his own advice. Along with the second oldest guy out there, he kicked the winning goals. A copy of the score now lives in his wallet.
Footy gives him a buzz he can’t quite explain, connections he couldn’t live without (training helped him through the loss of his wife), and an excellent reason to stay fit.
“Masters are the pick of society,” he says.
I believe him. In the wake of Jaryd Dawson’s death, my husband’s coach implored the team to check in on each other regularly. When they arrived back from a road trip, there was a chorus of cans being crushed underfoot while backs were being slapped and warm congratulatory speeches delivered, laced with affection-fuelled ribbing.
Mid-week training brings lightness amid the demands of adult life and endless responsibilities. Those who are injured often turn up for the drink that follows.
And in case you’re wondering, like the 12 year old who quizzed me, Masters is not a walking version of the game. In fact, they all get a bit of white line fever and forget their age. Skilled umpires keep it friendly.
The routine proof of life photo I get not long after the final siren is a moment I savour. Not just because my life partner (now nudging 50) is still in one piece, but because there’s a gigantic smile on his dial. Every. Single. Time. Later that night, he groans with every move, like Eeyore with a megaphone. It keeps me awake, but they, too, are proof of life. And a life being lived well.
Learn more about AFL Masters football at aflmasters.com.au
