as
"Houdini".
"What are our options?" the President asked.
The QC was a supporter of Melbourne, and a member of the Melbourne Cricket
Club, but he relished the opportunity to represent the young Essendon champion – he
figured the case would attract tremendous publicity, the more the better. But he would
have to be smart, the odds were against them.
"We could sue the AFL for damages, but I don’t think it will
wash," he replied. "We should try and get a permanent injunction."
The President frowned. "Which means?"
"That we say they have breached the terms of the contract Evans
signed and we want them to stop it."
If only it was that simple, he thought, though his clients would never
know he had severe doubts about their chances. "We say that under the terms of the
playing contract, the AFL had to comply with and observe the Rules of the League, which
includes an obligation on the Tribunal to fairly hear the case against Evans. We’ll
tie it all to the contract, that way we avoid a lot of haggling over the right of the
courts to overturn Appeal Board decisions. We’ll say the decision of the Appeal Board
was not just wrong, but it was a breach of contract and contrary to the best interests of
the public, and that way we can also say the Appeal Board made a decision that is not
based on the evidence and it was beyond their powers."
The next afternoon the AFL’s General Manager Football Operations paced back and forth
outside the chambers of Lawrence Martin QC, known by his fellow lawyers as "Larry the
Lip" for his courtroom propensity to make a speech when a sentence would suffice.
They understood it was a tactic to unsettle his opposition – in his chambers he
tended to be concise to the point of rudeness.
When the QC arrived thirty minutes later he did not bother to apologise
for his tardiness. "Come in, gentlemen," he said, ushering the General Manager
and the AFL solicitor into the musty room. With its antique cracked leather chairs and
lithographs it reminded the General Manager of Jimmy Stewart’s doctor’s surgery
in the film "The Duellist".
Lawrence Martin poured a scotch and sat behind his carved mahogany
desk. Typically, he did not pause for pleasantries. "They don’t have a
snowball’s chance in hell."
The General Manager waited for an elaboration. "Why?" he asked,
feeling a little foolish.
Martin turned the small crystal glass in his hand. He was hoping to be
behind the wheel of his Jaguar V8 XJ before the peak hour rush. "Look, I’ll put
it as simply as I can. The only duty of the Tribunal is to act honestly, even moreso since
the advent of the Appeal Board, because the players have a second bite at the cherry.
That’s it. If the Board came to its decision honestly, they can squeal as long and
hard as they like."
"What about natural justice?" asked the AFL solicitor.
Martin chuckled. "Leave it to me, gentlemen. The Supreme Court is my
MCG."
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