Sport and Soul: Is This the Real Australia?

There’s an old saying that “Australia was built on the backs of convicts and cricketers.” The former spent their days in chains, and the latter are now chained to sponsorship deals, media obligations, and an unspoken rule that they are the last bastion of national unity. But what is sport really doing for Australia’s identity today? Has our entire sense of self been reduced to an obsession with who can throw, kick, or run the fastest? And, more alarmingly, what does it say about us when we hand over the task of defining our national identity to a bunch of blokes (and now, thankfully, a few Sheilas) in shorts?

Australia, a country where a rugby ball and a sunburn are symbols of national pride. We’ve come a long way since the days of colonial settlers huddling around a game of cricket to distract themselves from the fact that they lived on an island continent where everything either stung or bit. Or have we? For a nation that loves to boast about its cultural diversity and progressiveness, it’s funny how often we revert to our tried-and-true identity as a “sporting nation.” It’s almost as if the only thing that unites us more than a sausage sizzle is the fact that we can collectively shout at a TV screen during the AFL Grand Final.

Let’s dive into the so-called pillars of our “evolving” identity through sport, shall we? First, we’ve got cultural diversity. There’s nothing quite like Australia’s ability to co-opt other people’s sports, throw on a green and gold jersey, and pretend like we’ve been playing it all along. Soccer—or “football,” as the Europeans say—has seen a rise in popularity, thanks in large part to immigrant communities. It’s almost sweet how the game of the “world’s working class” has become Australia’s token gesture to multiculturalism. You can practically hear the self-congratulation: “Look at us, embracing diversity, one penalty kick at a time!”

But don’t get too excited. For every multicultural athlete we showcase, there’s a scandal about racism bubbling just beneath the surface. Remember Adam Goodes? Yeah, he didn’t get booed for his playing skills, that’s for sure. And then there’s the gender dynamics. Women’s sport is having its moment, which is great, but let’s not pretend we’re leading the world in gender equality because the AFLW exists. The sudden explosion of women’s leagues isn’t so much a societal triumph as it is a testament to the commercial reality that women buy tickets, merchandise, and want to see themselves on the field, too. Gender equality in sport? Sure, but only once we figured out that it could be monetized.

Next, we have the inevitable Indigenous representation. Cathy Freeman’s gold-medal moment in 2000 remains one of the most iconic images in Australian sport—and probably will be for another century, because we haven’t done much since then. We love to pull out Cathy’s victory every time we need to remind ourselves, we’ve “progressed” as a nation. But let’s not get carried away. Indigenous Australians make up about 3.2% of the population, yet their representation in national discussions outside of sport is almost nonexistent. It’s as though

we’ve outsourced the conversation on Indigenous reconciliation to our athletes, while the rest of us cheer from the sidelines, hoping that their success will somehow fix 200 years of history.

Speaking of which, nothing screams unity like a good state rivalry. We like to pretend that sport unites us, but if you’ve ever witnessed a State of Origin game, you’ll quickly realize it’s every state for itself. In fact, there’s probably more passion in Queensland beating New South Wales than in Australia winning on the world stage. If Australia’s identity is supposed to be one big happy family, sport does a great job of ensuring the siblings keep squabbling. But, hey, nothing like a bit of tribalism to keep things interesting, right?

And speaking of national distractions, let’s talk mental health awareness. Recently, athletes have been coming out (bravely, might I add) to discuss their struggles with mental health. And who would blame them? Carrying the weight of a nation’s expectations while trying to deal with the toxic brew of social media vitriol, 24-hour sports news cycles, and post-game commentary from Bob at the pub isn’t exactly good for the psyche. In fact, if there’s any lesson sport teaches us about Australia’s identity, it’s that we love our heroes—but only when they’re winning. The moment they show vulnerability, they’re thrown under the bus faster than you can say “Don’t cry, mate.”

Then there’s our national obsession with commercialization. If you thought sport was about athletic prowess and national pride, think again. Sport in Australia has become a corporate showcase where every blade of grass is for sale. Stadiums named after banks, logos splashed across jerseys, and players shaking hands with sponsors before they shake hands with their teammates—this is the modern sporting landscape. It’s almost comforting to know that even our sacred national BBQ isn’t immune from corporate meddling. Who knew sausages could be branded?

Let’s not forget Australia’s weird fixation on being the underdog. Whether it’s the Olympics or any other global event, we love to cheer ourselves on as if we’re some plucky battlers, punching above our weight. Never mind that we consistently dominate in swimming, cricket, rugby, and various other sports—we’ll cling to the underdog status like it’s a last-minute victory. And if we don’t win outright? No worries, we’ll just whip out the old “medals per capita” calculation and declare ourselves champions anyway.

And, while we’re on the topic of misplaced priorities, have we thought about the climate? As bushfires rage and droughts persist, we might want to pause and think about how much longer our sporting fields will last. But that’s not a conversation for now, is it? We’re too busy focusing on the Ashes or preparing for the next cricket season. Nothing like playing a few hours of cricket in 45-degree heat to remind us of the more pressing environmental realities we’d rather ignore.

Here’s the crux of the issue: Is sport really the best way to define ourselves as a nation? Sure, the tales of athletic triumph, multiculturalism, gender equality, and Indigenous representation make for great soundbites, but they mask a deeper reality. We’ve latched onto sport because it’s easy. It’s a convenient escape from the real work of national introspection. Why wrestle with questions about our role in global politics, environmental sustainability, or even our relationship

with our First Nations peoples when we can just throw our support behind the Matildas and call it a day?

As Australia “evolves” through sport, we seem content with a kind of national identity that is performative rather than substantive. It’s time we stopped pretending that a few good athletes can do the heavy lifting of defining who we are as a people. We should be more than a highlight reel of rugby tackles and cricket sixes. Because if sport is the only thing that truly unites us, then maybe we’re not as unified as we like to think.

And for heaven’s sake, if we’re going to keep pretending that our identity is inextricably linked to sport, can we at least stop calling ourselves “underdogs”? It’s getting embarrassing.