You get educated enough about it—it's just a slip-up.
In the quiet aftermath of a Friday night loss, Collingwood found itself answering not just for the scoreboard but for a small, human act — two injured players reaching for their phones to reassure loved ones back home. The AFL's rules on in-game phone access exist to guard the sanctity of competition, and good intentions offer no exemption. Captain Scott Pendlebury, composed and undefensive, accepted the coming penalty as a club that understands accountability, even when the transgression feels ordinary against the weight of a struggling season.
- Television cameras caught the moment mid-game: two sidelined Collingwood players handling phones in the change room, triggering an AFL integrity review.
- The breach lands hardest not because of malice but because of carelessness — everyone at the club knew the rule, and the disruption of a missing operations manager may have left the phone box unguarded.
- With Howe facing four weeks out and De Goey sidelined by concussion protocols, a team already at 1-4 absorbs yet another blow to its available depth.
- Pendlebury's measured response — no excuses, full acceptance of sanctions — attempts to contain the damage and redirect focus toward the Anzac Day clash with Essendon.
- Beneath the compliance story runs a deeper current: Collingwood isn't just navigating a fine, it's navigating a season that is quietly becoming a referendum on Nathan Buckley's future.
Scott Pendlebury arrived at Monday's press conference already resigned to the outcome. Two of his players — Jordan De Goey and Jeremy Howe, both sidelined with injuries — had picked up phones during Friday night's loss to West Coast, and the television cameras had seen everything. The AFL's rules are unambiguous: phone access during games is restricted to ten designated people per club, a safeguard for competition integrity. Collingwood had crossed that line, and Pendlebury made clear the club would accept whatever penalty followed.
The act itself was almost unremarkable — De Goey, concussed, had grabbed two phones and passed one to Howe, who was managing a hamstring strain. Pendlebury suggested they were simply texting family to say they were okay. But intent doesn't rewrite the rulebook. He acknowledged the players knew better, offered a quiet nod toward the disruption caused by the club's operations manager not travelling to Perth, and then declined to lean on it. "It's just a slip-up," he said — the kind of thing you say when there's nothing more useful left to add.
The medical picture darkened the mood further. Howe would miss up to four weeks; De Goey at least twelve days under concussion protocols. For a side sitting at one win from five, the loss of bodies was a problem Collingwood couldn't absorb easily. Pressure on coach Nathan Buckley continued to build, and this self-inflicted compliance failure only added texture to a difficult narrative.
Still, Pendlebury pointed forward — toward Anzac Day, toward Essendon, toward the kind of football that might quiet the noise. He spoke about collective responsibility rather than crisis, framing the challenge as something the whole club owned together. The phone incident would pass. The penalty would arrive and be paid. But the real reckoning, as Pendlebury seemed to understand, had nothing to do with phones — it had to do with winning, and how much heavier every misstep feels when you aren't.
Scott Pendlebury stood before reporters on Monday morning with the kind of calm that comes from accepting the inevitable. His team had been caught red-handed—or rather, phone-handed—and there was nothing left to do but own it. Two of his players, Jordan De Goey and Jeremy Howe, had picked up phones in the change room during Friday night's loss to West Coast, and the AFL had noticed. Now Collingwood would face whatever penalty came next, and their captain was making clear the club would take it without complaint.
The incident itself was straightforward enough. De Goey, sitting out with a concussion, had grabbed two phones and handed one to Howe, who was nursing a hamstring injury. Television cameras caught the moment. What they were doing with the devices—according to Pendlebury, just sending quick texts home to let family know they were okay—seemed almost mundane. But the AFL's rules are absolute on this point: players cannot access phones during games. The league allows only ten people per club that privilege, and the restriction exists for a reason: to protect the integrity of competition.
Pendlebury's explanation carried a note of resignation. He acknowledged the players had broken a rule everyone knows exists. "You get educated enough about it," he said, "it's just a slip-up." He wasn't defensive. He wasn't making excuses, though one hung in the air anyway—that Nick Maxwell, the club's operations manager, hadn't traveled to Perth after being in Brisbane the previous week, and perhaps that disruption had left the phone box accessible when it shouldn't have been. But Pendlebury didn't lean on that. The players knew better. The club knew better. A warning would serve as a reminder; a financial sanction would send a message to the entire league.
Meanwhile, the medical news was grimmer. Howe would miss up to four weeks with his hamstring strain. De Goey faced at least twelve days out to satisfy the AFL's concussion protocols. For a team sitting at one win and four losses, losing depth was a luxury Collingwood couldn't afford. The pressure was already mounting on coach Nathan Buckley, and this self-inflicted wound only added to it.
Yet Pendlebury's focus remained on what came next: the Anzac Day clash with Essendon, which felt less like a game and more like a referendum on the season. He spoke about playing good football, about building an environment where winning felt natural rather than desperate. He acknowledged the pressure on Buckley but framed it differently—not as a crisis of confidence in the coach, but as a shared responsibility across the entire club to perform. "We want to do it for each other, not just for Bucks," he said. It was the kind of thing captains say when their team is struggling, but there was something genuine in how he said it. The phone incident was a distraction, a compliance failure, a moment of carelessness. But it wasn't the real problem. The real problem was that Collingwood wasn't winning, and until they did, everything else—every mistake, every rule violation, every bit of bad luck—would feel heavier than it should.
Notable Quotes
If we get a warning it's a little reminder but if we cop a financial sanction it's a fair warning to the whole league that we shouldn't be doing that.— Scott Pendlebury, Collingwood captain
We want to do it for each other, not just for Bucks. We're not too far away from playing good footy.— Scott Pendlebury
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why would injured players even want their phones during a game? What's the appeal?
They weren't trying to scroll or distract themselves. Pendlebury said they were just texting home—a quick "I'm okay" to family. When you're sidelined with a concussion or a hamstring, you're already isolated. A text feels like a small thing.
But the AFL has this rule for a reason. What's the actual integrity concern?
Betting. If players could communicate freely during games, there's a theoretical window for match-fixing signals, for coordinating something that shouldn't be coordinated. The league locks it down completely to eliminate even the possibility.
So it's not about the players' intentions—it's about closing a loophole.
Exactly. And Pendlebury gets that. He's not arguing the rule is unfair. He's saying his guys slipped up, and the club will take the hit.
Does this matter much in the bigger picture? They're 1-4. Is a phone violation really the story?
No, it's a symptom. A well-run club doesn't have accessible phones in the change room. The fact that it happened—possibly because their operations manager couldn't travel—suggests things are a bit loose right now. When you're losing, those small failures get magnified.
What does Pendlebury want people to understand?
That they're not far from playing good football. That the phone thing is a distraction from what actually matters: winning the next game. He's trying to keep the narrative from spiraling.