MITCHELL JOHNSON: Why we need to stop clutching pearls over Mad Monday despite Bailey Smith’s antics

Every year, like clockwork, the Mad Monday photos roll out and the outrage machine kicks into gear.

A bloke in a wig, another one in a superhero suit, someone with a schooner in hand — cue the headlines, cue the finger-wagging.

And I’ve got to ask: why do people care so much?

Mad Monday has become the easiest soft target in Australian sport. It’s low-hanging fruit for columnists, shock jocks and anyone desperate for a headline when the footy’s finished.

But at its core, it’s something pretty simple — a team celebrating the end of their season. That’s all it is.

Win the comp? You celebrate. Finish dead last? You can enjoy that too if you want. Because no matter the result, the season is a grind. Endless training sessions, recovery sessions, rehab sessions.

Flights, buses, hotels. Sacrifices your average punter doesn’t see. And through it all, the one constant is the people you share it with — your teammates.

So when it’s over, you get together, have a laugh, dress up like an idiot, and let off some steam. To me, that’s healthy. That’s human. You will even find that staff members involved in the club enjoy a part of the day after all their hard work throughout the season.

But for some reason, people outside the game can’t handle it. Maybe it’s the costumes. Maybe it’s the fact that athletes dare to be seen having a beer. Or maybe it’s because we live in a world where fun is only acceptable if it’s carefully curated for Instagram.

Here’s the truth: in every other workplace, there’s an end-of-year party. The office Christmas drinks, the long lunch, the dodgy karaoke night. We’ve all been there. But when it’s footballers? Suddenly, it’s a moral crisis.

Why? Are we holding athletes to a different standard because they’re on TV? Or is it just easier to whack them because the cameras are there? And don’t forget, they don’t always ask for the cameras to be there.

Of course, not every Mad Monday has been spotless. A handful of players over the years have gone too far, and those stories live on. But they’re the minority.

The vast majority of these celebrations are harmless. Costumes, banter, a few beers and a chance to breathe without a coach barking about GPS data.

And let’s be real — the teams that finish last probably need Mad Monday more than anyone. Imagine slogging through a season of heavy defeats, injuries and pressure, and then being told you can’t even share a laugh at the end of it. That’s not discipline. That’s cruel.

On the other hand, the premiers deserve it too. If anything, the release after months of being hunted, hyped and expected to deliver is massive.

For those players, Mad Monday is often the first day they can exhale. And years later, those silly stories, the nicknames and the inside jokes, are the things they’ll remember more than the stats or even the medal.

We talk a lot about mental health in sport. We say players need balance, perspective and connection. Well, guess what? Mad Monday ticks all three. It’s connection with your mates. It’s perspective that life isn’t all serious. And it’s balance — the yin to the yang of a brutal season.

So again, why the outrage? Is it jealousy? Is it a need to knock tall poppies down? Or are we just addicted to being offended on behalf of no one in particular?

Whatever it is, it says more about the critics than the players.

Mad Monday isn’t the problem. The way we look at it is. Instead of clutching pearls every September, maybe we should accept it for what it is: a rite of passage, a cultural reset, and a well-earned day where grown men and women get to act a bit silly.

Because at the end of the day, whether you’re lifting the cup or holding the wooden spoon, you’ve earned the right to close the season with your teammates. And if that means a dodgy wig, a bad spray tan and a beer in hand, who cares.