Is it Ethical to Feel Ownership Over the Players We Love?

In a recent article in The Guardian, Nick Tedeschi argued that the NRL's State of Origin period should coincide with a mid-season knockout competition. It covers pretty well-travelled terrain: player welfare, the quality of competition rounds without Origin players and dwindling attendance and viewership for matches.

What jumped out at me wasn't the argument itself but one of the comments. "Why can't we just move Origin to the summer? I'm totally starved of footy during that period", asked a reader.

The question, why elite athletes couldn't play one of rugby league's most physically taxing series in temperatures that average above 30 degrees and despite a season that already runs from the preseason in late February until October, typified what I've noticed as a growing sense of ownership coming from the public toward elite athletes.

This ownership takes a range of different forms: demanding players take on serious physical risks to enhance the spectacle of the game, turn down lucrative contracts in favour of loyalty and have their private medical and personal information the subject of public knowledge and scrutiny.

Usually the arguments go something like this: "Why can't we just get athletes do X? They're paid bloody well to do what they do, it's good for the game and after all, they're meant to be professionals…".

These arguments are one-directional. They come from the fans of a sport to its administrators and players – never the other way. You'll never hear a coach at a press conference say "I wish the fans would just pull their heads in a little. After all, they're not the ones out there putting their bodies on the line".

I've been a fan of sport all my life – football, rugby league, union, AFL, cricket and the rest – and I've been pretty avid at different points as well. As time's gone on though, I'm more and more getting the sense that being a punter, like everything else in life, is something we need to exercise a bit of restraint over.

To put it simply, is there something unethical about being too much of a supporter of a particular code or team? Especially if it creates a sense of entitlement over the lives and bodies of players in some of the fans.

Consider a few recent examples. Anyone who follows the NRL in Australia will know superstar Parramatta Eels recruit Keiran Foran is having a tough year. Apparently he's got gambling issues, overdosed on prescription drugs, outlets are reporting he's checked into a rehab clinic and has struggled to deal with relationship breakdown.

Reports came out some time ago he is also fighting Manly for money he claims they still owe him – news he explicitly asked not to have made public and is reportedly "devastated" to have had come out.

And a few more from the archives: before last year's AFL grand final, Sydney Swans forward Buddy Franklin's epilepsy and depression dominated the headlines. Not long after the NRL season ended last year, two Souths players were admitted to hospital after overdosing on prescription medications – a private medical matter we were informed of by the club CEO, not the players themselves.

More morbidly, a little over 18 months ago, while Phil Hughes' medical team were fighting to save his life a St Vincent's hospital spokesperson kept media informed and articles speculated about the nature of his injury.

There's an important question here: have these athletes consented to having their private medical information put into the public sphere? Or even if they have consented, whether they should feel forced to do so?

Of course, sometimes making medical information public is totally fine – when the patient consents to the release of information (think David Pocock disclosing his struggle with an eating disorder). In other cases, it's largely innocuous. If a club announces their star has torn their ACL, we were probably going to find out anyway – either by spotting them on crutches or because they'd volunteer that information themselves.

But in those cases dealing with psychological or personal matters, there needs to be a pretty good reason for going public.

A while ago I spoke to former NRL Chief Medical Officer Ron Muratore about this. He told me most players are required to sign documents permitting club doctors to discuss medical issues with the coach and club CEO. This makes sense because it's necessary to coordinate club resources.

But he stressed that "these conversations shouldn't be made public".

He said players are often unaware of their rights as patients and how these relate to their role as club employees. "There's no education at all… none of this is explained with players."

"It's wrong. That stinks. It's no one's business", Muratore concluded.

If it does stink, it's because our moral rights matter. Our rights as patients are based in much deeper rights that shouldn't be violated on a whim. If players who aren't being appropriately educated about the implications of their employment it's hard to see them as giving genuinely informed consent to have their health be public knowledge.

The 'greater good' that's being served by the dilution of patient privacy here is our enjoyment as spectators. We're eager to know who's playing on the weekend or whether our star recruit will be able to conquer his or her personal demons. It's not only because we want our team to win, but because we're genuinely invested in the champions of our sport.

Many of those reading about Foran would genuinely wish him the best. What they might be less aware of is how their being aware of his struggles might in fact be making them worse (at the least, it's hard to see how they'd be making things better). I can't imagine what it must be like to have everyone know about your mental health, family or social issues are.

The unfettered access we have to athletes' lives and bodies, the more we're able to demand of them. Remember the outrage when the NRL banned the shoulder charge or punching on the field? Never mind the growing evidence of the long-term consequences of traumatic brain injury – we punters demand a gladiatorial spectacle.

Australians are good at celebrating our cultural obsession with sport. Fox Sports tell us "we're a FOX sporting nation" and although we cringe at the brand placement, we generally agree. Australians love sport and we love our sports stars.

Of course, athletes aren't alone in having their personal lives transformed into public property – that's true for all celebrities (in fact, it might be what defines them). But most celebrities earn their status through a willing transaction – they are willing to let the public into their lives in exchange for fame.

Some athletes will fit that category – the Beckhams, for instance – but to assume that simply by choosing to be a professional athlete you've signed up to that kind of arrangement is a stretch.

It's fine to love sport and celebrate its stars, but do we really love them so much we're willing to dismiss their right to privacy and health so freely? If we're willing to elevate athletes to the status of unwilling celebrity, it's probably time to rethink the national obsession.

Dr Matthew Beard is a moral philosopher at The Ethics Centre.