2 months ago
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Sam Groth was never a natural Liberal politician.
He was not steeped in party politics, ideology or branch culture. Instead, he came knocking during the pandemic, angry about lockdowns and convinced Victoria had lost its way.
Victorian deputy Liberal leader Sam Groth will not contest the next state election.Credit: Paul Jeffers
The Liberals, desperate for relevance and recognisable faces, made a rational calculation: here was a candidate with a profile and strong communication skills. He was photogenic and came with instant name recognition. In an era when most Victorians would struggle to name a single state politician, that mattered.
But there is a tendency in Australia to lionise sporting stars and see their on-field ability as proxy for excellence elsewhere. In truth, sports stars rarely make great politicians. For every David Pocock, there is a Glenn Lazarus or Mal Meninga.
Our sporting greats are routinely applauded, even indulged. Politicians, by contrast, start from a position of public distrust. The transition from cheers to cynicism is brutal, and few adapt. MPs must also learn to survive relentless scrutiny of their personal lives and accept unpopularity.
There is no doubt Groth was a strong professional tennis player. His highest singles ranking peaked in the low 50s – a serious achievement – but he was known less for titles than for one outstanding weapon: a massive serve.
As one former Liberal colleague put it: “Having the fastest serve in the world is in no way related to the ability to persuade people, which is all politics is.”
What followed was predictable. Groth arrived without the patience or political muscle memory that long-term party hacks absorb by osmosis. Politics is about discipline, philosophy and some luck. The meetings are long, the paperwork substantial.
On Monday, a little more than three years after being elected, Groth announced he would retire from state politics at the November election.
He was far from the lone offender among Liberal MPs light on ideology and inclined to skim the paperwork, but colleagues say he underestimated how grinding parliamentary life can be, particularly in opposition. He was once forced to fly home from a family holiday in Fiji to vote in a leadership spill. In politics, as he learnt, you are never off the clock.
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That said, Groth brought things to the Liberal Party that it badly lacked. Observing him at events, you could see he was connected in Melbourne in ways few of his colleagues are. He could work a room with ease. He was also an effective fundraiser and could speak fluently to people who do not normally listen to politicians.
He was also recognisable. On election morning in 2022, I overheard two first-time voters in a suburban cafe speaking about Groth, who at the time was just the candidate for Nepean. They knew him as “the guy with the big serve”. In a politics, that kind of cut-through is invaluable.
While visibility can be an advantage, it also put Groth’s social behaviour under constant examination.
He struggled with the scrutiny on his personal life, which can be far less forgiving in politics than anything elite athletes face.
Some accountability was warranted, of course, such as in the case of the use of a taxpayer-funded car to shuttle him and his wife home after a big day at the Australian Open, and a taxpayer-funded trip to Adelaide for the LIV Golf tournament with his wife.
Brittany Groth (left) and Sam Groth arriving with defamation barrister Sue Chrysanthou, SC, at the Federal Court in Sydney in November.Credit: AAP
Then there were personal matters that could be argued went beyond legitimate public interest.
In November, Groth and his wife, Brittany, settled their legal case against the Herald Sun over articles alleging the pair might have begun a sexual relationship when she was aged 16 or 17 and under his supervision as a tennis coach.
To make matters worse, there was a suggestion that the allegations about his personal life had been fanned by MPs within his own party.
The gossiping about Groth was driven by resentment. The rapid rise from first-term MP to deputy leader irritated colleagues who had waited patiently and played the game. Resentment had hardened into something more corrosive.
Despite being voted into the leadership team, Groth never felt accepted by Opposition Leader Jess Wilson, his natural rival and a party product who had done the hard yards and knew the rules. The contrast was stark: insider versus outsider.
The Liberals may talk about the need for new blood, but the party is still deeply uncomfortable with anyone who does not look, sound or behave exactly like itself.
Groth’s exit – and accompanying statement citing Liberal infighting – blows a sizeable hole through Wilson’s claim of a fresh start and a united team. For a new leader entering an election year, it is the equivalent of a seeded player dropping the first set in the opening round of a grand slam event.
Groth has also put the party in a difficult position. He has told colleagues he hopes to remain the deputy until the election. If so, he has effectively challenged the partyroom to come for him. Another round of public bloodletting is the last thing Wilson needs.
The Liberals’ fortunes may now rest on whether they want to continue to provoke someone armed with parliamentary privilege and nothing left to lose.
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