Why Mac Point Is the Perfect Spot for Tasmania's Stadium – And Why Doing Nothing Isn't an Option

If you’ve ever wandered through Macquarie Point on a quiet afternoon, you’ll know the feeling—it’s like standing in the ghost of potential. There’s open space, a prime location, waterfront views, and... not a lot else. Hobart deserves better. And so does Tasmania. That’s why building the stadium at Mac Point isn’t just a good idea—it’s essential. Without it, Mac Point risks remaining exactly what it is today: a wasted opportunity.

Tasmania is finally on the cusp of something big—something that should have happened decades ago. A fully-fledged AFL team, backed by a passionate supporter base, ready to step into the national spotlight. This is a generational moment. It’s not just about footy, it’s about pride, identity, and proving that we belong on the main stage. But you can’t send a new team out into the world with a subpar home. You give them a fortress. And Mac Point is the one place that makes perfect sense.

We’ve got one real chance to get this right. Not just for sport, but for Hobart’s future. Cities all over the world have used stadium builds to revitalise tired or underused precincts. Think Docklands in Melbourne, or Perth’s Optus Stadium precinct—once industrial or ignored spaces turned into vibrant, multi-use hubs. Macquarie Point sits right on Hobart’s front doorstep, a rare slice of inner-city land crying out for purpose. What’s it doing now? Sitting there. Gathering dust. A place people drive past, not go to. That’s not a city’s future. That’s a planning failure.

Mac Point offers a waterfront backdrop that would make most capital cities green with envy. It’s accessible—within walking distance of the CBD, hotels, ferry terminals, bus routes, and cafes. It's got the bones of something iconic. And with the right development, it becomes not just a stadium precinct, but a centrepiece for the city. Something Tasmanians can point to and say, "That’s ours."

Without the stadium? That vision falls apart. The federal funding is tied to Mac Point. Pull the pin on this location, and we lose more than just a field of play—we lose momentum, jobs, investment, and faith. Faith in leadership. Faith in progress. And worst of all, faith in ourselves to deliver something bold.

It’s easy to say, “Let’s put the stadium somewhere else.” But let’s be real—where, exactly? Out near the airport? Great if you’re a plane, not so good if you want a pub meal after a game. Out in the northern suburbs? Try selling that to tourists, or anyone without a car. There’s no other site that offers what Mac Point does: centrality, connectivity, visibility, and impact. You don’t stick Tasmania’s AFL debut out the back of nowhere. You put it on the map. Literally.

Let’s also not ignore the elephant in the room—those who say we don’t need a stadium at all. “Spend the money elsewhere,” they cry, as if the stadium build somehow cancels out hospitals and housing. It doesn’t. This is investment in the long-term growth of Tasmania, not a magic wand that fixes every issue overnight. The truth is, the stadium is part of a bigger picture. One that includes tourism, business opportunities, job creation, urban development, and yes, community pride. We can do more than one thing at once. Other states do. Why shouldn’t we?

A stadium at Mac Point means construction jobs from day one. Hundreds of them. Once it’s built, the jobs keep coming—hospitality, event management, retail, maintenance. And that’s not even counting the economic windfall from events: AFL matches, concerts, festivals, exhibitions. These aren’t just dreams—they’re booked-out hotel rooms, packed restaurants, money spent in local businesses. That’s how you grow a city. Not by sitting on your hands and waiting for perfection.

Tasmania has been asking for national sporting recognition for decades. When we finally get it, it deserves to be backed up with something substantial. Not just a jumper and a mascot, but a home. A proper, iconic home that reflects who we are and where we’re going. Mac Point is a chance to give Hobart its crown jewel. To leave something lasting. To say we aimed high and didn’t blink.

Because if we do blink, if we let this slip, we’ll be right back where we’ve always been—on the outside, looking in. And Mac Point? It’ll remain what it is now. A what-if. A blank slate no one had the guts to paint on.

We’ve waited long enough. This is our moment. Build the stadium. Build the future. Or get used to staring at a barren waterfront and wondering what could’ve been.