You know, I’ve spent years around sports clubs, both as a researcher and a former semi-pro player, and I can tell you that building a genuine, lasting culture is the hardest thing to get right. It’s not about a single winning season; it’s about creating an environment where people of all ages and skill levels feel they belong and can grow. That’s why the story of Glenunga Football Club resonates so deeply with me. It’s a masterclass in fostering a winning culture that is, paradoxically, not solely defined by the scoreboard. Their secret weapon? A profound, unwavering community spirit that binds everyone from the littlest juniors to the seasoned veterans. This isn’t just a theory; you can see its principles in action across all levels of sport, even when you look at the stark contrast in professional outcomes. Take, for instance, a recent game I analyzed from a top-tier professional league. One team, struggling near the bottom of the standings with a record of 15 wins and 37 losses, suffered a demoralizing 85-68 defeat. Their star player, a key figure you’d expect to lead a charge, was held to a mere three points and two assists. It was a beatdown, a performance that laid bare what happens when systems falter and perhaps, when that deeper cultural connective tissue is missing. That result, that 17-point margin of victory for the hosts, speaks volumes about momentum, confidence, and collective resilience—or the lack thereof.
Now, contrast that with the ecosystem at a club like Glenunga. The scoreline from that professional game represents an endpoint, a moment of failure. Glenunga’s philosophy is about everything that happens long before anyone steps onto the pitch on a Sunday. It’s about the Tuesday night training where a senior player stays late to help a nervous 15-year-old with their passing technique. It’s about the Saturday morning miniroos program, where the focus isn’t on a 10-0 win, but on the sheer joy of a four-year-old kicking a ball for the first time and being celebrated by a dozen parent-volunteers. The “winning” in their “winning culture” is multifaceted. Sure, they want their First Team to compete fiercely and lift trophies—that competitive fire is essential. But a win is also seeing a shy teenager find their voice in the team huddle, or a group of parents from diverse backgrounds becoming fast friends on the sidelines, sharing thermoses of coffee in the winter chill. This holistic approach builds a resilience that a stat sheet can’t capture. When their senior side faces a tough opponent and finds themselves down at halftime, they don’t fracture. They draw on a reservoir of trust and shared identity that’s been filled drop by drop through countless community barbecues, fundraising events, and collective ground maintenance days. They play for the badge, yes, but more importantly, they play for the person next to them, for the kids who idolize them, and for the community that wears the same colors.
From my perspective, this is where many organizations, in sport and beyond, get it wrong. They focus on extracting elite performance as an isolated product, often at the expense of the broader system that sustains it. Glenunga, whether by design or organic evolution, understands that the performance of the top team is the tip of the spear. The shaft—the thing that gives it stability, power, and direction—is the entire club community. I have a personal preference for this model, frankly. I’ve seen the burnout in hyper-professionalized youth setups, and it’s ugly. At Glenunga, a player might progress from the under-6s to the men’s or women’s first team over a decade and a half, all within the same supportive framework. That continuity is priceless. The senior player who mentors a junior was once that junior themselves, taught by a previous generation. This creates a powerful, self-perpetuating cycle of stewardship. The data might show that their senior team has a win percentage of around 58% over the past five seasons—a respectable figure—but the more telling data, in my opinion, is their 95% player retention rate from season to season and their volunteer contribution tally, which last I heard exceeded 5,000 hours annually. Those numbers tell the real story of health and vitality.
So, when we talk about a “beatdown” like that 85-68 loss, it often highlights a transactional environment where success is fragile. When key individuals have an off day, the whole structure can collapse because there’s no deeper foundation to fall back on. At Glenunga, a loss on the pitch is absorbed by a much larger, more resilient organism. It’s discussed, learned from, and then the club moves forward together, because the purpose was always bigger than just that one game. The community spirit provides a psychological safety net that allows players to take creative risks, to commit fully without fear, because their value to the club is not contingent on a single performance’s box score. This, I believe, is the ultimate competitive advantage. It’s what allows them to develop players who are not just technically sound, but are also leaders, teammates, and invested community members. In the end, Glenunga Football Club’s legacy won’t be measured in championship tallies alone, though I’m sure they’ll have plenty. It will be measured in the generations of families it has brought together, the lifelong friendships forged on its grounds, and the undeniable truth that it has created a place where everyone, regardless of age or ability, can find a home and a sense of belonging through the beautiful game. That’s a culture worth celebrating and, in my view, the only kind of winning that truly lasts.
