There’s nothing flashy about a footy oval in winter. Damp grass, a touch of wind, and the soft thud of boots meeting ball. But for 70 South Australian veterans this year, that oval—and everything that came with it—marked a turning point. The Port Adelaide Football Club’s 2025 ADF Veterans Program has wrapped up with its largest-ever group of participants, leaving behind more than memories of drills and discussion. For many, it’s brought new confidence, a clearer sense of identity, and an understanding that the next chapter doesn’t have to be written alone.
Fully booked within three weeks, the six-week program moved at pace, not unlike a pre-season training block. But this wasn’t about match fitness or tactical drills. The focus was deeper: identity, purpose, wellbeing, leadership and the kind of connection that doesn’t depend on a uniform. Veterans from across the state—both current and former members of the ADF—came together to share stories, challenges, and insights about life beyond service.
It’s the only program of its kind in Australia, backed by a $240,000 commitment from the South Australian Government and shaped by the unique combination of elite sport and military experience. Since it began in 2021, more than 270 veterans have taken part, and each year the impact appears to stretch further.
What makes it click is the blend of structure and softness. The program’s weekly sessions touch on everything from mental health and physical wellbeing to storytelling and leadership. Veterans meet Port Adelaide legends—names like Travis Boak, Brett Ebert, and Tom Jonas—who open up about their own experience transitioning from professional sport. It’s not the usual club room chat. These are thoughtful, open conversations about identity, and what happens when the jersey, or the uniform, comes off.
There’s no sense of a hierarchy in these sessions. Everyone brings their past, but the point is to build something new. That’s what stood out to Australian Army veteran Jason Enchong. Like many others, he arrived with questions that had been building for years: Who am I outside the uniform? Where do I fit now? Through the program, he found answers not just in the material presented, but in the people around him. Fellow veterans, facilitators, and mentors offered more than insight—they offered community.
What hits hardest for some is the sense of understanding. Not the nod-and-smile kind, but the kind forged from shared experience. Jason describes it as finding a network he can lean on, one that knows the terrain of transition firsthand. It’s not a classroom. It’s more like a huddle—tight-knit, honest, and geared for action.
The program’s peer-led model is a key part of its power. Co-facilitator Ash Muir, a RAAF veteran and member of the first cohort in 2021, brings the kind of leadership that can’t be taught in a slide deck. Having walked through the early stages of transition himself, Ash now helps guide others through theirs. His role underscores the idea that the program isn’t about outside experts preaching down—it’s about veterans lifting one another up.
For Port Adelaide Football Club, this initiative sits well within its broader community commitment. Team Leader of Community Programs, Will Northeast, explains how veterans benefit from hearing about the struggles and successes of AFL players once they step away from the game. There are striking parallels between the two worlds: both demand discipline, both rely on camaraderie, and both involve a significant identity shift when it all comes to a stop.
The club’s logo has come to represent more than sport for the veterans who’ve taken part. It’s a symbol of value, a reminder that their stories matter, and a marker of belonging. By the final session, participants walk away not just with new skills and insights, but with the kind of pride that doesn’t require medals or accolades.
Minister for Veterans’ Affairs, Joe Szakacs, called the program lifechanging—and the stories suggest he’s not overstating it. Veterans find themselves in a space where vulnerability is welcome, where their military past is acknowledged without defining them, and where the future isn’t a question mark but a challenge worth stepping up to.
It’s not easy shifting from a structured, high-pressure environment like the ADF into civilian life. Some veterans thrive, but many find the transition disorienting. That’s where this program steps in—not to fix anyone, but to walk alongside them as they rework what strength looks like. The curriculum is structured, sure, but it’s the relationships that make the difference.
There’s a quiet confidence that grows across the six weeks, one that doesn’t shout but definitely shows. It’s visible in how participants speak about themselves, their direction, and their worth outside their previous roles. As the program closes each year, what opens is a longer journey—one with connection at its core.
Though the official sessions have wrapped for 2025, the program doesn’t vanish with the calendar. Its alumni network continues to grow, creating opportunities for past participants to reconnect, support each other, and continue building the community that was sparked on that Port Adelaide oval. Ongoing events keep the momentum alive, making it clear this isn’t a one-and-done experience. It’s the kind of thing that sticks.
Applications for the 2026 edition will open early next year, and if the past is anything to go by, it’ll fill fast. What’s driving that demand isn’t just the reputation—it’s the word-of-mouth stories from those who’ve lived it. Stories of turning doubt into direction. Of finding value beyond a job title. Of discovering, sometimes unexpectedly, that the next chapter can be rich with purpose.
Programs like this don’t make the headlines every day, but their effects ripple out in ways that matter. Through a blend of sport, storytelling and shared experience, the ADF Veterans Program offers something that can’t be packaged or promised: the feeling that no one’s walking alone.
Whether on a training oval or around a conversation circle, the message that keeps surfacing is one of possibility. Not the overly polished kind. The honest kind. The kind that says: your past counts, but your future’s wide open. And somewhere between the sound of boots on turf and voices in unison, that message sticks.
Support independent community journalism. Support The Indian Sun.
Follow The Indian Sun on X | Instagram | Facebook
Donate To The Indian Sun
Dear Reader,The Indian Sun is an independent organisation committed to community journalism. We have, through the years, been able to reach a wide audience especially with the growth of social media, where we also have a strong presence. With platforms such as YouTube videos, we have been able to engage in different forms of storytelling. However, the past few years, like many media organisations around the world, it has not been an easy path. We have a greater challenge. We believe community journalism is very important for a multicultural country like Australia. We’re not able to do everything, but we aim for some of the most interesting stories and journalism of quality. We call upon readers like you to support us and make any contribution. Do make a DONATION NOW so we can continue with the volume and quality journalism that we are able to practice.
Thank you for your support.
Best wishes,
Team The Indian Sun
