The AFL investigated the Sayers pic but not the Melbourne meeting. Why?

Sachi Dade’s lawsuit against the Melbourne Football Club and two of its senior staff raises several questions, but one looms larger than the rest.

Why didn’t the AFL investigate?

Dade, the partner of retired premiership defender Steven May, is suing the Demons, coach Steven King and football boss Alan Richardson for allegedly breaching her privacy.

She says in court documents she raised her concerns about the now-infamous Microsoft Teams meeting of Melbourne players’ partners with “MFC the AFL Players Association and the AFL (including the AFL Integrity Unit). The responses by the MFC and the AFL were slow and the concerns and complaints were not resolved”.

The Demons have apologised for the February meeting at which private information relating to May and Dade was allegedly shared.

Yet despite the club acknowledging mistakes were made, the AFL Integrity Unit did not launch a formal investigation.

A senior source familiar with the case, speaking anonymously because the matter is now before the court, suggested to this masthead that Dade didn’t demand league intervention, but was adamant she wanted the AFL to facilitate a meeting between her and Melbourne to address her concerns.
That meeting ultimately never happened.

In an era where the AFL investigates everything from betting breaches to social media conduct, the decision not to launch an investigation stands out as peculiar.

At its core, the question speaks to the evolving boundaries between governance, privacy and institutional responsibility in professional sport. It is not merely a procedural query, but one that invites scrutiny of how the AFL defines its own jurisdiction in matters that straddle personal welfare and organisational conduct.

Upon receiving a formal complaint, AFLPA boss James Gallagher rang the AFL.

The integrity department routinely examines allegations involving players, coaches, officials and club staff. But when it came to Melbourne’s disclosure of sensitive personal information, the AFL elected to leave the matter with the club.

The obvious question is why?

Was it because the AFL viewed the incident as an internal governance matter rather than an integrity breach?

Was it because no individual complaint was made directly to league headquarters?

Or was the AFL wary of stepping into another private controversy after its handling of the Luke Sayers lewd photograph scandal generated criticism and a damaging court drama of its own?

Whatever the explanation, the decision has become more difficult to ignore now that the matter is before the Federal Court.

Because if the allegations are serious enough to underpin legal action alleging emotional distress, humiliation and psychiatric harm, critics will inevitably ask whether they were serious enough to warrant scrutiny from the game’s integrity watchdog.

That tension exposes a broader ambiguity in how the AFL defines its role. The league has, over time, expanded its reach well beyond on-field matters, positioning itself as a regulator of behaviour, culture and welfare across the competition. It has intervened in cases involving racism, gambling, illicit drugs and workplace conduct, often citing its responsibility to protect the integrity and reputation of the game.

This case appears to sit in a grey area. It involves alleged breaches of privacy and duty of care, but within a club environment rather than through overt misconduct that directly threatens competitive integrity. That distinction may have informed the AFL’s decision to step back, but it also raises questions about consistency.

The comparison with the Sayers episode is instructive. In that instance, the circulation of a private photograph involving the then Carlton president on his social media account quickly escalated into a league-wide issue, drawing in the AFL amid concerns about privacy, reputation damage, and governance.

The fallout demonstrated how rapidly personal matters can become issues of institutional consequence when they intersect with the public profile of the game.

It also highlighted the sensitivities the AFL faces when dealing with private information. The Sayers investigation, which cleared Sayers of wrongdoing and is now the subject of defamation proceedings brought by Luke’s estranged wife Cate, reinforced the risks associated with intervening in matters that intersect with issues of personal privacy.

Perhaps the league would say it intervened in the Sayers case because of the public nature of the post. Perhaps league officials hoped Dade’s allegations would quietly go away.

They haven’t.

The Sayers post, on X, involved a club sponsor, a club president and his marriage. The Melbourne meeting involved a player, his partner and about a dozen teammates’ partners. So why did the AFL examine one and not the other?

If the AFL is willing to investigate off-field behaviour that risks brand damage, why not examine a situation where a club has admitted to mishandling sensitive personal information? And if the league defers to clubs on such matters, what safeguards exist to ensure accountability beyond internal apologies?

There is also the question of precedent. By choosing not to investigate, the AFL may have signalled that certain categories of conduct fall outside its remit, even when they intersect with player welfare and privacy. That could have implications for how future incidents are handled, particularly as clubs increasingly navigate complex issues involving mental health, personal relationships and confidential information.

For Melbourne, the matter is now in the hands of the courts. But for the AFL, the scrutiny is unlikely to dissipate.

Ultimately, the issue is not simply whether the AFL should have investigated, but what its decision reveals about the limits of its authority and the expectations placed upon it.

And in a landscape where public trust is tied to perceptions of transparency and accountability, the AFL may find that choosing not to act can be just as consequential as any investigation it undertakes.

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