My name is Stuart McDonald. I’m a poker machine addict, and a member of the Alliance for Gambling reform. Inspired by my wonder colleague Dr Susan Rennie, who made a powerful speech at the Woolworths AGM regarding their ownership of pokies, I decided to nominate myself as a director of the Western Bulldogs Football Club. The Bulldogs operate poker machines, as do all the other Victorian AFL clubs apart from North Melbourne. I love my footy club, but I hate the pokies.
Nominating as a board member is really simple, although the club hide the information deep in their website. You just hunt around, download the appropriate form , print it out and get two fellow members to back your application. I struck a slight problem in that almost all of my friends are hippies, greenies and party animals who have no interest in football. I go to the games on my own. Luckily, the Dogs were hosting an open training session just before Christmas. I went up into the stands at the Whitten Oval and approached a couple of ladies and said ‘Excuse me, but do you like poker machines?’ No, they did not like poker machines and they happily countersigned my form. Thanks Gladys and Glynnis.
Since I was at the club’s home I dropped the forms off at the front desk, but to make sure they got them I posted and emailed them through too.
A couple of days later I received a call from the rather agitated CEO, Ameet Bains, in which he strongly discouraged me from running. His main argument was that board elections were usually uncontested, and that for me to run would cost the club $25,000. I wavered, but after I called Susan Rennie and a brief pep talk, I hardened up.I ran. It later transpired that the $25,000 had been spent on employing two scrutineers from Ernst & Young, but more of that later.
The three board nominees were myself; Chris Nolan, an advertising executive; and Matthew Croft, an ex-Bulldogs player.
I arrived at the AGM at the appointed hour. My speech was first up. The first part consisted of me reading this document , as it had originally formed my nomination pitch to members, but the Bulldogs hierarchy only allowed me to put the first two paragraphs on their website. Then I launched into a very angry speech. I told the club their ownership of poker machines was shameful and hypocritical. I detailed how gambling had affected my life so adversely. I asked for a concrete, five year plan to get out of the poker machine industry.
When I got down from the dais, there was a smattering of applause and a look of shock from some attendees, especially a group of well dressed elderly people in the front row, mouths agape. I tried to connect with some of the attendees, but many averted their gaze, and it was impossible to talk while all the other speeches were on. There were a lot of speeches. I had been told that the AGM was only going to last for an hour, and it lasted well over two.
What surprised me was that a large part of rest the AGM was devoted to little old me. I must have really struck a nerve.
The next speaker, board nominee Chris Nolan, spent the first part of his speech belittling me as a ‘single issue candidate’ who didn’t have the experience to run as a board member. He then made a very long and very boring footy club speech about how wonderful everything was at the club. He defended the club’s stance on poker machines, and told us they ‘aspired’ to get rid of them but only at a time of their choosing.
I waited for the next nominee, Matthew Croft, to make his speech but he stayed rooted to his chair. I have no idea why he didn’t speak. Did he have laryngitis? I found this strange, and I wonder if anyone else at the AGM did so too.
We then went to the vote. This process was rather quaint. Everyone was given a different coloured card with the names of the three nominees. They were asked to raise the cards with their chosen nominees above their heads, as club officials roamed around to collect them. There were lots of Matthew Croft and Chris Nolan cards, but few, if any ,for Stuart McDonald. I wonder if the ballot had been private rather than so public, would I have received any more votes? There was an unsettling element of groupthink.
Peter Gordon then talked for a very long time. I love Peter, he saved our club from extinction, but by golly he could speak underwater. He devoted several minutes of his speech to my campaign, particularly a comment I had made on bigfooty.com where I’d accused the club of ‘treating members like mushrooms - feeding them shit and keeping them in the dark' over the failed Edgewater development. I must have really pissed him off because he defended himself strongly against my attack.
The tone changed when Mr Gordon said that I reminded him of himself, and that he was ‘ambivalent’ about my stance. He got nostalgic and went back to 1988, when he became determined that our club should stay at the ancestral Whitten Oval when the then VFL wanted to move our club to Princes Park in Carlton. He reminded the listeners that he was a single-issue campaigner himself, and even though he didn’t know how to change things he formed a grassroots campaign. I get the impression that even though I’m a pain on the arse, he respects me.
After a while, it was announced that Chris Nolan and Matthew Croft were duly elected to the board. I’ll have to take the club’s word on that, as the voting tallies weren’t announced, nor was there any mention of the proxy vote. I found it a strange and amateurish method of running an election. What did the two scrutineers from Ernst & Young do to earn their $25,000? Easy money.
I had my two children, aged seven months and two years with me, who behaved very patiently for what must have been a terribly boring outing for them. I had been told that the AGM would last an hour, but two hours later, after the umpteenth speech, the kids were desperate to go home. As was I. So I left without mingling and chatting to the board and members, unfortunately.
The club's report of the AGM is here; I’ve been airbrushed out of history. Perhaps a man dressed in red white and blue will bundle me into a car one day as I’m walking down the street and ferry me to a remote Bulldogs camp for ‘reeducation’
Stuart
