“I’d rather hammer a nail through the head of my penis than watch the Matildas play. They play like Year 10 girls with all the infighting and all the friendship issues.”
Writing this piece as a woman is difficult, because it forces me to confront, yet again, the deeply ingrained sexism that continues to poison sports media. Marty Sheargold’s comments about the Matildas weren’t just offensive, they were a disgrace. Dismissing the team as “Year 10 girls” wasn’t a throwaway line; it was a deliberate attempt to undermine their professionalism, their skill, and their right to be taken seriously as athletes. It was a stark reminder that no matter how far women’s sport has come, there are still men in positions of influence who will drag it down, one degrading comment at a time.
His choice to compare the Matildas to Year 10 girls speaks volumes. It’s around the age of 15 that many girls drop out of sport. They are faced with a lack of support, dwindling opportunities, and a culture that doesn’t value their participation as much as boys’. By reducing one of the most successful women’s teams in Australia to a schoolyard dynamic, Sheargold reinforced the very stereotypes that push young girls away from sport in the first place.
Triple M has so much to answer for. This is a radio station that has long fostered an environment of locker-room talk and toxic masculinity. Sheargold isn’t the first, and likely won’t be the last, of their hosts to spew misogyny on air under the guise of “humour” or “just saying what everyone’s thinking.” This is the same network that has given airtime to countless men who have laughed along at sexist jokes, ridiculed women in sport, and perpetuated a culture where comments like Sheargold’s are not only tolerated but encouraged.
And what about the men who sat in that studio and laughed with him? The ones who chuckled, nodded, and let his words go unchallenged? They are just as complicit. Silence is complicity. It’s one thing for one man to say something reprehensible, but when those around him condone it, either through laughter or by saying nothing, it becomes a collective failure. It’s a confirmation that in the world of Triple M, misogyny isn’t just accepted; it’s rewarded.
If this is what Sheargold is comfortable saying on air, we can only imagine the conversations happening off-mic. If this is what gets broadcast to the public, what’s being said behind closed doors? What jokes are being made? What attitudes are being reinforced in these workplaces, where men still dominate the airwaves and dictate the conversation?
Triple M may have cut ties with Sheargold, but that’s not enough. Firing one host doesn’t absolve them of their responsibility for the culture they’ve cultivated. The damage is already done, and without systemic change, it will happen again. There needs to be accountability—not just for Sheargold, but for the network that gave him a platform and for the men who stood by, laughed, and let it happen.
The Matildas deserve better. Women in sport deserve better, as do the young girls listening to these conversations, deciding whether or not sport is worth their time, worth their energy, worth the fight. Right now, thanks to voices like Sheargold’s and platforms like Triple M, that fight is harder than ever.
