“As a 19-year-old he was standing on people’s toes breaking stories.” Gardner says. “Now he’s standing on people’s toes buying radio stations.”
He was,in truth,on a personal warpath. His mum,Pauline,a humanitarian who supported every local mission and cause,passed away from leukaemia when Hutchison was 21. “It took four or five weeks from diagnosis to ...” his voice trails off. “We took for granted how wonderful she was. That was the biggest moment of all time,and my response was – in a weird way – to get determined to make something,and turn a bit combative.”
His brother chose to lock down,and ended up working in insurance. His sister chose to travel,and now lives in Amsterdam. Hutchison himself upped the ante,switching from print to the airwaves,first as a sports producer at radio station Magic 693,then RSN927. “That was part of the healing from Mum – constantly looking for a distraction.”
Planning segments and wrangling guests,volume was again pivotal to his success:“I might not be able to convert as many calls as everyone else,so I’ve gotta make more calls to start.”
He was 23 when he moved to TV,joining Network Ten as a sports reporter. It was another baptism of fire:“I was ill-prepared. My screen test was embarrassing. I was inarticulate. Just rough and nervous.” He moved to Seven next and was its chief football reporter for seven years,before hitting a wall in 2005. His girlfriend had left him and moved to America,prompting a “complete meltdown” at the age of 30.
“I’d just been going so hard at journalism;crash or crash through,every day. I got up one morning and got on a plane,landed,had a formal break-up with my partner in Los Angeles that day,kept going to New York,found an apartment uptown,and threw my bag in the cupboard. No plan or purpose,heartbroken,lost – I was just completely cooked.”
He started doing radio crosses to stations back home,about Australians playing in the National Basketball Association,or “Only in America” sports stories. During a trip across to LA he met freelance Australian entertainment journalist James Swanwick,who was similarly burnt out. “We were shooting basketball in his backyard and said,‘Why don’t we start a business? Maybe PR?’ ”
They came up with the name Crocmedia,and found a client through the Australian consulate,but Hutchison admits he didn’t remotely know what he was doing. They pivoted to television distribution,crashing international TV fairs and convincing bodies such as America’s national lacrosse association to let Crocmedia represent it in broadcast rights negotiations. “But we were terrible at that,too.” Hutchison laboured on the business each winter in America,from September to March,then returned to Australia to cover every AFL season in multiple roles for Nine. “I didn’t see summer for five years.”
He landed a daunting reporting gig in 2007 forThe Footy Show (AFL) and was “forever anxious” over the pressure to come up with a big story each week. Yet it lit a fire. The first story he broke was about the notorious drug culture at the West Coast Eagles,for which he won a Walkley Award. Ten years on,he would hostThe Footy Show but be sacked after a month (in fairness,when the carcass of the program was already beginning to smell). “You need to have gravitas,X-factor,screen charisma,and I don’t. It’s a high-profile thing to lose,but the thing I’ve learnt about myself – and it’s a flaw – is that I’m not much good when I’m not in control.”
Still,that ouster follows him. Hutchison recently implied on radio that basketballer Andrew Bogut is overpaid by the Sydney Kings. Bogut fired back on Twitter,suggesting Hutchison focus on his professional shortcomings,adding a dose of fat-shaming:“I know VIC is in lockdown and you couldn’t grab your box or 10 of Krispy Kremes for breaky,but keep my name out of your mouth.” The following weekend,10 cases of donuts arrived at SEN HQ.
Hutchison shrugs:“I took a photo,had a laugh,and gave them to staff.” Being a sports reporter in Melbourne,he adds,ranks somewhere between used-car salesman and personal injury lawyer. He’s been punched in a pub. Had his car blocked in his driveway by an irate fan.
![With his “Off the Bench” co-host in Melbourne,former AFL player Liam “Pickers” Pickering](https://static.ffx.io/images/$width_300%2C$height_150/t_crop_auto/t_sharpen%2Cq_auto%2Cf_auto/acc726a58149ee2534dcd517db92c8ffb12f3f17)
With his “Off the Bench” co-host in Melbourne,former AFL player Liam “Pickers” PickeringCredit:Courtesy of Craig Hutchison
And yet he traffics in antagonism,particularly on Nine’s weeklyFooty Classified,a conflict-heavy AFL panel show where,since 2007,he’s been the resident devil’s advocate,initially because he felt “unworthy” sitting alongside retired AFL superstar Wayne Carey and pioneering journo Caroline Wilson. “In my head I was like,‘What’s my role in this room?’ I had nothing to do but cause an argument.”
That pantomime persona – “like a wrestler”,he says,“your own personality dialled up by 10 per cent” – also saw him sacked from 3AW in 2007,where he had been hosting a weekly AFL show calledOff the Bench. “They wanted warmth,” he explains. “No one has ever called me ‘warm’.”
It became a crisis-begets-opportunity moment. That same day,3AW axed a show that was syndicated into regional Victorian stations in Horsham,Hamilton,Swan Hill and Colac. Hutchison called those stations and immediately offered themOff the Bench,which he would continue producing,independently. He knew exactly how. When taping his live crosses from America to stations back home,he only got paid by finding his own sponsors. That model – giving stations free content,or paying them to take it,then selling advertising yourself – became the bedrock of his network,leadingThe Australian Financial Review to eventually describe Crocmedia as “redefining football broadcast economics”. He still hostsOff the Bench every Saturday,14 years on. “We now make nine versions of that show,into 70-odd radio stations around the country. That show built our business.”
![Hutchison with AFL legend turned commentator Malcolm Blight at Adelaide radio station 1116 SEN.](https://static.ffx.io/images/$width_300%2C$height_150/t_crop_auto/t_sharpen%2Cq_auto%2Cf_auto/bc40d1429170f9ff17cb916f2be335eb125f6016)
Hutchison with AFL legend turned commentator Malcolm Blight at Adelaide radio station 1116 SEN.Credit:@hutchycraig/Instagram
In some ways that’s also when the light bulb lit up about the commercial potential of rural Australia,where the local footy/netball club is the centre of every town,followed by the cricket club,racing track,or bowlo. “Regional Australia is 37 per cent of the population,and no one makes content for them,” he says. “No one.”
He’s not wrong,says Megan Brownlow,an independent media analyst and former PricewaterhouseCoopers partner. One-third of our population lives in regional Australia,but only a tenth of advertising expenditure occurs there,even though country customers have demonstrably better brand loyalty. “Their income might be lower but so is the cost of living,so they have more discretionary spending,too,” says Brownlow. “Brands often miss a trick there.”
It was also a less expensive way to start building. Hutchison had a map on his wall for years,colouring in dots where he could syndicate content. “It doesn’t matter whether you live in Swan Hill or Sydney,you’re a quantifiable part of the puzzle. You still drink beer,eat McDonald’s,go to the bank,drive a car.”
Things got serious in 2017 when the owner of SEN radio,Pacific Star Network – backed by Perth rich-lister Rhonda Wyllie,who’s married to one-time AFL legal eagle Jeff Browne – raised the capital through its Viburnum Funds to orchestratea merger with Crocmedia. Hutchison was installed as managing director of the listed company (Pacific Star Network Limited) with an annual salary of $883,752 and controlling shares worth about $12 million,from where he began a round of mass sackings referred to by others as the “summer of carnage”.
Program host Kevin Hillier,now with RSN927,understood cultural change was the nature of the beast,but his own perfunctory phone call from HR disappointed. “No one likes to be sacked,but I do think there is a respectful way of finishing someone’s employment,and I don’t think that was the way.” David Schwarz,who co-hosted the popular afternoon talkback showThe Run Home with Mark Allen,was left “numb” when told their contracts would not be renewed. “We came off air at 7 o’clock,and we had five minutes to get our stuff and get out of the building,” Schwarz said on a podcast last year. “Hutchy had pulled the trigger,and we were out.”
“You’ve got to build a product for a bunch of shareholders,of which I am one. It’s not a job where you can just pick and choose your friends.”
No one was safe. Kevin Bartlett,an official AFL “legend” and long-time friend of Hutchison’s – his first mentor in radio – found his high-rating show unceremoniously shifted from mornings to afternoons,prompting his exit. They no longer speak.
I prod Hutchison about the fallout. “They had been great contributors and were emotionally attached to what they helped build,so it was worlds colliding.” Does it sting,though,to torch such personal,established bridges,so thoroughly? “I’m a human being. I’m not immune. But you’ve got to build a product for a bunch of shareholders,of which I am one. It’s not a job where you can just pick and choose your friends.”
Take Mark Allen,for instance. Hutchison says he actually wanted Allen to stay,hosting a golf show,podcast and additional broadcasting duties – just not the old afternoon job that he had. “Unfortunately he declined – which is his right. We respect Mark,and wished him every success,and have never closed the door on opportunities.” Allen,now back on radio with Schwarz at 3AW,remains clipped in his characterisation of the man. “My advice to anyone doing business with Craig Hutchison is simple:be very careful,” Allen says. “Do your due diligence and see what he’s unfortunately capable of. Many,many people have found out the hard way.”
In the summer of 2012 and 2013,Gemma Lee Smith was a 21-year-old aspiring sports journalist and casual employee of Crocmedia,a graveyard-shift producer earning $75 a night,from 11pm to 6am. “You’re trying to get your foot in the door,so you don’t want to make a bad impression,” she says,“but I got the sense that they would get interns in and use them,maybe pay them a little bit and then get rid of them and get new ones in.”
Smith contacted Fair Work Australia,and a lawsuit was filed with the ombudsman in June 2013. Crocmedia was forced to pay her about $7000,and also fined $24,000 for breaching minimum wage conditions. Judge Riethmuller of the Federal Circuit Court noted that the conduct of the company was “at best dishonourable” and “at worst exploitative”.
By the time of the merger with Pacific Star Network the company was a slicker unit,cashed up with Wyllie’s funds to make its most audacious play – convincing the best sports caller in the nation to leave the ABC.
![With SEN sports caller Gerard Whateley. After a fallout in 1999,the former colleagues didn’t speak to each other for more than a decade.](https://static.ffx.io/images/$width_300%2C$height_150/t_crop_auto/t_sharpen%2Cq_auto%2Cf_auto/b79cc6af7aa96081c837985e25192a8bfa217474)
With SEN sports caller Gerard Whateley. After a fallout in 1999,the former colleagues didn’t speak to each other for more than a decade.Credit:Courtesy of Craig Hutchison
“Gerard Whateley just embodied what we wanted to build,with a tone reflective of a modern sports fan. Dream caller,versatile,lifting the tenor of conversation,” says Hutchison. “The complication was that he and I hadn’t spoken much in 15 years.”
The pair had been incredibly close once,first at theHerald Sun (where Whateley was Hutchison’s cadet mentor) and also later,helping each other lay down footy commentary demo tapes,or practising TV elocution and projection. Firm friends,they ended up in direct competition,and in 1999 fell out badly on the job.
At that time,Leigh Colbert had stood down as captain of Geelong to join North Melbourne,and was flying overseas. A standard airport stakeout ensued. Hutchison arrived early,got the interview,and watched Colbert head for his flight to Los Angeles,via Sydney. Whateley arrived next and asked Hutchison if he’d seen Colbert yet. If Hutchison conceded he had,it would give Whateley a chance to get a crew to intercept Colbert in Sydney,so Hutchison kept shtum.
Whateley suggested they search the airport,which they did,for two hours,Hutchison pretending to hunt for a footballer who was already long gone. In his mind his job was war,every single day – and his obligation was to his employer,not his friendship. “It sounds silly,” he says. “But I couldn’t promise you,looking back,that I would do much differently.”
Hutchison’s story led the Channel Seven news that night:“Exclusive:Captain of Geelong quits” and Whateley fumed. The pair didn’t speak for more than a decade.
“When you’re young,you take to heart these things more intensely than you should,and that rests with me,” Whateley says now. “I carried that for too long.”
Hutchison won him back with a simple pitch. Victorians turn on Neil Mitchell or Virginia Trioli to feel the pulse of Melbourne,and Sydneysiders listen to their closest equivalents in Ray Hadley or Wendy Harmer and Robbie Buck:SEN would offer Whateley an equivalency in sport. Once the coup was complete,Whateley’s opening monologue was hardly the talkback tone of the old SEN. It was a soaring oration –almost a sermon – a highbrow flip given the more prevalent view of SEN radio as “80 per cent bullshit,20 per cent ads”.
The latter characterisation is based on Hutchison himself,and his gift for inflating and inflaming any and every spurious wedge issue – turning a footballer’s hairstyle into a 24-hour cycle of hot takes and outrage.
Rohan Connolly,who runs the sport and lifestyle website Footyology,says he regards Hutchison as “without doubt one of the best news breakers” among his peers. “I suppose the downside of that ability,” Connolly adds,“is the idea that you can frame everything in terms of headlines and talking points,and that no issue is too silly if you can create some angst and friction between opposing points of view,no matter how contrived.”
Whateley,though,believes this instinctive understanding of hot-button trigger points is just the minutiae. A broader example is the morning Australian cricket’s Sandpapergate broke,when Hutchison called Whateley to suggest he go on air,immediately,on his day off. “We broadcast for three hours,and people were just riveted to this national conversation about what the cricket team had done,” Whateley says. “His instincts were spot-on in capturing the national mood before it had declared itself.”
Yet there are those who wonder how far Hutchison can stretch his resources to meet his grand national vision. Licences,talent and marketing are costly. The ratings aren’t great so far,although that’s somewhat mitigated by the narrowness of his advertising target,25- to 35-year-old males. The key questions that crop up are,“What sort of cash-flow runway does he have until it becomes profitable?” and “Who’s funding this,anyway?”
Speculation abounds. It’s his mate,racing expert and investor John “Dr Turf” Rothfield. No,Westpac’s backing him. Nup,there’s a shadowy American financier bankrolling the whole thing. The truth is a more mundane mix of individuals and banks,but also Viburnum,the West Australian fund manager. Its managing partner of public equity,SEN chairman Craig Coleman,says the sense of scale betrays the reality of SEN. The network has mostly bought stations with small earnings and little content,with a view to developing them. “It’s not like we’re buying Triple M,” Coleman says. “We’re creatively reusing licences and leveraging them across our footprint. We think that’ll be valuable one day,whether that’s next week or in three years.”
The other theory floated about Hutchison’s rapid expansion,that he’s plumping the pig up for sale,is one he dismisses without debate. “Nothing could be further from the truth,” he insists. “If you were fattening a business you’d be trying to extract profits and dividends,rather than investing in the future. I’m here for the long haul.”
Indeed,some believe his logical next move would be to capitalise on the deep AFL affiliations he’s fostered – co-owning a racehorse with league boss Gillon McLachlan,for instance – and make a bold play for part of a future broadcast rights deal. If the question ever becomes “Go big or go home?”,Challenor can’t see Hutchison answering with the latter:“I just cannot imagine him building it up to sell,and sailing off into the sunset,” he says. “Ego plays such a big part in this whole vision.”
![“I’ve always thought,‘I’m not going to be as good as everyone else in eight hours,so my day has gotta be 12,13 or 14 hours to be competitive,’ ” says Craig Hutchinson.](https://static.ffx.io/images/$width_300%2C$height_150/t_crop_auto/t_sharpen%2Cq_auto%2Cf_auto/284095934a66cfaae272c593ba7544cbf16135c6)
“I’ve always thought,‘I’m not going to be as good as everyone else in eight hours,so my day has gotta be 12,13 or 14 hours to be competitive,’ ” says Craig Hutchinson.Credit:Kristoffer Paulsen
Back on the screenat the Super Bowl party,the teams are trotting onto the astroturf to play but the atmosphere in this basement bar is subdued,perhaps because the men here would normally be over in the US,watching the game live. Hutchison goes every year. He’s done so for almost two decades,at first with a few mates,then a few dozen. Eventually he had to start formally organising these man-cations,and now he takes as many as 90 friends and clients every year,each guy paying about $15,000 for the experience.
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It’s that rare spot on the calendar when he can cut loose a little,and also a chance for him to watch the pinnacle orgy of American sports media up close. He visits all the expos and digital suites,learning the latest promotional gimmicks and product-placement techniques,not to mention the carnival of coverage they call “Radio Row”. A working holiday,it simultaneously releases a pressure valve and gets him juiced. After every Super Bowl Hutchison quits drinking for 100 days,so he can harness all that inspiration and capitalise with clarity.
“It’s really kind of inspiring,looking at what people are doing,” he says. “It just gives you a shot of enthusiasm.”
He stares at the screen now,where the pixelated players are standing forAmerica the Beautiful. “Everyone in that world is thinking much,much bigger,” he says,pointing at the wide open field. “I don’t want to put a ceiling on what’s achievable either. I don’t want to put a limit on what we can be.”
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