Time to Kick Sam Off The Footy Show

The Footy Show (Nine Network)

While the NRL version of The Footy Show continues to record its lowest audience figures yet, especially in Brisbane, the Melbourne-based AFL variety shows little sign of imminent death.

But its glory days are far behind it, in terms of viewers and program quality.

The decline - ironically - can be traced to about the time the Nine Network, in concert with Ten and Foxtel, acquired the rights to telecast AFL matches. Before this the producers and on-air talent had to come up with at least 90 minutes (usually more) of television without the benefit of owning any of the footage of the actual games on which they were commenting.

That hurdle was removed some years ago, which, you might think, would improve the content of the show. But, oddly I think, the show continues to make little use of on-field footage, preferring its traditional format of panel chat, variety, and, where possible, comedy.

Which brings me, inevitably, to Sam Newman.

If not for the fame and riches that his TV persona has delivered him, one might feel sorry for Sam. Essentially he is a vain man in his late 50s, who has been unable to sustain a permanent relationship, lives apart from his children, and whose personal life lurches from crisis to crisis regularly.

His job on The Footy Show means striving to re-create each week an episode of the confected enfant terrible behaviour which brought him to public notice originally.

Trouble is, Sam's a one-trick pony, and the trick wasn't that good to begin with.

Sam's trick is to shock. The shock might come via a calculated insult to a studio guest, or vaudevillian antics on set, but the effect is the same. Last night he set out to nourish his notoriety by trying to upset a decorated footballer who had announced his retirement from the game. Each question was predicated on the assumption that the player had underachieved, and was intended to goad him into an angry response.

It didn't work, thankfully, so Sam was reduced to jostling for the camera's attention with his favourite playmate, Hawthorn's former captain Shane Crawford. Someone should counsel Crawford to stop making a fool of himself so publicly and so regularly. There's still time for him to salvage some dignity.

Sam, meanwhile, challenged Crawford to punch him in the stomach, whch Crawford duly did. Sam fell over backwards. Ho, ho. That Sam! He's just incorrigible!

Unfortunately Sam's ability to make people laugh seems to be evaporating. Too often now, when Sam jibes, there are gaping, puzzled silences, where there used to be uproarious audience reaction. His comments, always striving to outdo their predecessors for negativity, are increasingly arcane.

Eddie McGuire, the most sure-footed and confident MC since Bert Newton, frequently looks unsure whether to intervene, reprove, or - most frequently these days - say something amusing to break the uncomfortable hiatus.

Exit the stage, Sam. Please. There are few things sadder than a once-great footballer who doesn't realise his time has passed - a maxim that applies off the field as well as on.