Adelaide pair Tyson Stengle (left) and Brad Crouch, and the now-retired former Sun, Docker and Demon Harley Bennell.

To be camped on the balcony above a certain Collingwood star’s apartment in the early 2000s was to risk euphoria. Not from the proximity to footballing greatness, mind you, but rather the quality of the product being inhaled and exhaled a few metres below.

Late nights out after a game with a group of Richmond players in the mid-1990s meant inebriation rituals and the occasional “colourful” nightclub incident. It was a scene replicated across every AFL club back then.

“We drank every weekend,” recalled former Carlton champion Anthony Koutoufides. “To go out and have a drink with my mates was almost like my meditation. It was an escape valve.”

My, how we’ve progressed.

Cocaine, MDMA and methamphetamines are now the drugs of choice for AFL players who want a little extra something for the weekend. No wonder; societal acceptance has grown exponentially with usage and, as playing remuneration has gone up, the price of a gram has come down.

Last year, retired St Kilda great Nick Riewoldt labelled the drug issue in the AFL playing fraternity as “out of control”. League HQ was quick to refute that claim, likewise the AFLPA, whose (unpublicised) stats consistently reiterate that gambling habits among players constitute a greater concern than drug habits.

Yet here we go again, with a player hospitalised this week after an alcohol-fuelled bender and two Adelaide players pulled over by the police and found allegedly in possession of cocaine. One can only surmise the pair wasn’t intercepted randomly.

With much to look forward to on the field as finals commence, the AFL’s image took another battering – hard on the heels of repeated hub breaches.

The AFL regularly reviews its drug policy and to be fair, it has struggled valiantly between a rock and a hard place.

On one hand, whatever policy is formulated must be signed off by the AFLPA – it is a voluntary agreement – meaning there is perhaps undue emphasis on privacy and mental health concerns.

“It’s a medical model, AFLPA chief executive Paul Marsh told “The Age” in 2019. “The players have voluntarily agreed to be a part of this. It’s not about naming and shaming.”

On the other hand, in line with certain community expectations, health concerns and the issue of performance enhancing substances, the AFL wants its drug policy to act as a deterrent.

According to Riewoldt, it is not. He said that certain players are “taking the piss”, hiding behind the confidentiality clause (only club doctors are informed of a first strike) and then claiming mental health issues to avoid further scrutiny.

No doubt the system can be gamed. Supposedly squeaky-clean Sydney went marching into self-reporting mode in the wake of its 2012 premiership to avoid strikes, with no less than 12 players admitting to using “party drugs”.

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Likewise, testing of hair strands can determine drug usage going back three months, but players do not incur a strike if found positive. Rather, the results can be employed to indicate a wider issue at clubs.

So, has progress been made?

“I never partied with any players, so I didn’t see it from other players,” said Lance Picioane, who played 77 games for Adelaide, Hawthorn and North Melbourne between 1998 and 2005.

“Testing for recreational drugs back then was used for survey purposes … used for statistics. It’s only recently that it’s become more of an illegal thing, but the AFL testing system is so far behind professional sport that it’s ridiculous.”

That assertion might have substance, pardon the pun, but clubs, medicos and the AFLPA are in a much better position nowadays to intervene when required.

Clearly, though, there are loopholes in the AFL’s policy, and cashed-up players eager for some extracurricular thrills will continue to take risks until penalties are brought in for a first strike.

Pent up frustration also plays a part.

Few of us led exemplary lives at the age of 21, so there’s a degree of understanding for those urged to keep pushing the limits of physical and mental endurance (not to mention the scrutiny that follows) who then jump at the chance to let off some steam.

There is constant temptation. Players are surrounded by those eager to associate with well-known athletes. Too much money, too much spare time and open doors to all that glitters, on the back of temporary celebrity.

So to punish or rehabilitate? That is the question, one which continues to reverberate in wider society, let alone AFL circles.

Some may take issue with the intrusion into the private lives of players, given that (from what we know) recreational drug use in the AFL is far more prevalent than attempts to use performance enhancing drugs. Furthermore, most indulgence takes place in the off-season.

But lest there be criticism of the need for drug education and assistance into health programs, the family of Chris Mainwaring might well disagree. Likewise, the Ablett, Tuck, Bennell, Yarran and Cousins families.

Lest there be concerns over intervention, it might pay to remind ourselves of ex-West Coast star Daniel Kerr’s latter-day predicament.

During his playing career, Kerr escaped sanction and went on his merry way, despite a police recording of him discussing the effects of ketamine with a drug dealer being brought to the attention of the AFL.

“Yeah, it was fucked, it turned all pear-shaped,” said Kerr. As it transpired, so has his post-AFL life.

CURRENT AFL DRUGS POLICY
Strike 1: $5,000 suspended penalty, compulsory counselling and education programs.
Strike 2: Four-match suspension, $5,000 penalty imposed. Club is notified and the suspension is confirmed publicly.*
Strike 3: 12-match suspension and $10,000 penalty.
*If the club decides to refer the player to another doctor (outside of the AFL system) who diagnoses a certain medical condition, eg. mental health disorder, the player can avoid suspension.