GEORGIE PARKER: Will and Levi Ashcroft AFL grand final success is why the father-son rule shouldn’t change

Every September, the AFL Grand Final delivers its share of unforgettable moments and storylines.

Injuries to key players like Jeremy Cameron, goals like Lachie Neale’s from outside 50 that give goosebumps to even the most neutral of supporters, and story lines that etch themselves into footy folklore for years to come.

But this year, as Brisbane celebrated another chapter in its 21st century success story, one family’s influence stood out above the rest.

The Ashcroft brothers, Will and Levi, didn’t just contribute to the Lions’ triumph; they reminded us why the father-son rule remains one of the AFL’s most treasured traditions. Will Ashcroft, still barely into his career, is now a two-time premiership player and dual Norm Smith Medallist, a resume that would satisfy most champions after a decade in the game.

And Levi, in his first year, produced a moment that will live on in Brisbane highlight reels forever: a side-stepping goal from outside 50 only a kid filled with enormous confidence would attempt.

That’s the beauty of the father-son rule: it is unapologetically romantic.

It gave Brisbane the lead in the second quarter, electrified the crowd and added another finger to the grip on that premiership cup.

It wasn’t just skill on display though; it was heritage. Their father, Marcus Ashcroft, played 318 games for Brisbane and was part of the club’s historic triple premiership era. The story writes itself: footy greatness passed down, reshaped, and reignited. For some, the father-son rule is an oddity in this modern league obsessed with equalisation and fairness. Why should one club receive privileged access to a player simply because of birthright? Isn’t the draft supposed to give every club a fair shot?

The Ashcrofts, and before them, the Daicos brothers at Collingwood, Gary Ablett Jr. at Geelong, and countless others, give us the answer.

Because the AFL, with its over 100 years of history can’t just be about fairness. That’s important of course, but it’s about continuity, culture and in this rules case, some romance and a dream. That’s the beauty of the father-son rule: it is unapologetically romantic.

In a sport so often reduced to numbers - GPS data, disposal count or pressure ratings - this rule refuses to bow to the spreadsheets.

It insists that football is about more than cold efficiency, because sport isn’t just that. In this case it’s about lineage, legacy, and the goosebumps that comes when a son (and now daughters) carry on the story their father or mother began. Brisbane are the perfect case study for why it is worth its place in the game. In Queensland, AFL has always had to fight harder for space in a sporting landscape dominated by rugby league.

Yet the Ashcrofts, through both their pedigree and their brilliance, give AFL a dynamic modern history.

Marcus Ashcroft, who was there in the bleak Bears days, became a pivotal member of the successful Lions era, proving Brisbane could become a powerhouse; now his sons are ensuring the next generation sees AFL as part of the state’s sporting identity.

Without the father-son rule, maybe Will or Levi would have ended up at a Victorian club, swallowed into the noise of Melbourne’s footy bubble. Instead, they’re building something unique in Brisbane and the whole competition is better for it.

Critics will argue that the rule tilts the draft unfairly, or that it privileges tradition over innovation. But the Ashcrofts’ story shows why that criticism misses the point.

These moments of inherited brilliance don’t weaken the competition; they enrich it. They give fans reasons to care beyond wins and losses, adding excitement to a successful team, but more importantly brings hope to a struggling one.

They keep the game stitched to its past while also propelling it into the future. Imagine Collingwood without the Daicos brothers, or Geelong without an Ablett. You can’t!

Now imagine Brisbane without the Ashcrofts. I don’t want to. We’re a league that loves to tinker with rules to squeeze out marginal gains and fix what is sometimes the unfixable, but the father–son rule stands as a reminder that some things are worth keeping precisely because they’re not efficient.

You keep them because they’re magical and beautiful. And besides, aren’t we all already looking forward to the next twist in the romance? Like whether Luke Hodge’s boy, Cooper, a Brisbane Academy member, ends up at Hawthorn through the father–son rule or is Brisbane’s success so strong of a pull that he becomes a Lion instead?

Fair to say the Hodges are spoilt for choice, as they should be.