Eels Blogs

More Than a Contract

Everyone understands the Zac Lomax situation isn’t really just about a contractual dispute. A registered agreement. Legal technicalities. R360 gone pear-shaped. Timelines. Even Storm agendas. That version is neat. Sanitised.

Symbolically, despite the tide of public sympathy, it’s about whether the Eels can stay on their feet and keep fighting as pressure comes from every direction.

From the outside, the Eels’ decision to take an offensive legal position took some by surprise. Perhaps even Team Lomax and V’landys.

One experienced lawyer I spoke to questioned why the club would push for a declaration when, technically, Lomax hasn’t yet breached the release agreement.

Not Rolling Over This Time

But surprise isn’t the same as weakness. And for once, Parramatta aren’t defaulting to “Nice Guy” compromises or quietly accepting their fate. Given the club’s history, that matters.

What we appear to be watching instead looks far closer to a shadow war. Quiet pressure. Implied leverage. A contest over who really sets the rules when agreements become inconvenient.

This isn’t the Eels of a decade ago. The governance chaos, salary cap breaches, and revolving-door leadership that nearly drove the club to extinction in 2016 are no longer the backdrop. Under Jim Sarantinos, the turnaround has been stark. The football department was bleeding $10 million a year. Now, 2024 revenue sits north of $110 million. That's more than the Roosters ($43m) or the Broncos ($82m). Assets exceed $170 million.

Brand Finance, which values AFL and NRL sporting brands, had Parramatta the third-most valuable NRL brand in 2025. Behind the Panthers and Broncos. Ahead of the Storm, Dogs, and Roosters.

Financially though, this isn’t a David-versus-Goliath story. On paper.

Club-land power in the NRL has never been purely about financial strength, corporate governance, sponsorship, community support, or gate receipts. Areas the Eels thrive in.

The Numbers Don’t Add Up

The uncomfortable question that refuses to go away is how certain clubs such as the Roosters, Broncos, and more recently the Bulldogs consistently manage to squeeze $15–17 million worth of talent into a $12 million salary cap, while others like Parramatta or the Panthers, in particular, haemorrhage players the moment they develop real value.

Fans immediately point to TPAs. But they have been shrinking since the post-2016 crackdown — and the Eels Salary Cap scandal — falling to almost nothing by 2019 before the NRL stopped publicly disclosing them altogether. As Jim Sarantinos noted in a podcast a few months ago, official TPAs aren't as huge as fans expect. This was during a period when the Eels were said to have more TPAs than the Roosters. 

Even then, the arithmetic still didn’t add up.

The Panthers dominate the competition and lose stars relentlessly. Others rarely seem to lose anyone at all. Elite talent demands top dollar, and very few players play for substantial unders. The NRL’s claim to a level playing field is an irony not lost on punters.

Yet who wants a forensic audit? 

Not V’landys. Not clubs. Not the RLPA. And so the grey areas remain comfortably grey. I imagine the Eels, Dogs and Storm are shining examples of the NRL's willingness to tackle shady dealings.

So, deep-pocketed benefactors quietly go about their business, retaining elite talent and stretching the hard cap beyond its rigid boundaries. These are the stars that matter most to fans, and to the powers that be.

A Turning Point

Which brings us back to Lomax.

Alarm bells really began to ring for the Eels when Team Lomax appeared to pivot away from treating the registered release agreement as valid and instead seemed to explore direct NRL registration.

Prior to that shift, discussions appeared focused on negotiating an exit, including talk of a transfer fee in the vicinity of $200,000. Then, suddenly, the posture changed.

The shift felt less like coincidence and more like confidence. It appears to have triggered an immediate legal response from the Eels.

And that's where more speculation inevitably enters the picture.

The Sound of Silence

Peter V’landys’ continued public silence is notable. Uncharacteristic. And almost certainly lawyer-driven, on contract sanctity and all that jazz.

Privately, it’s difficult to believe he has been anything but noisy.

Lomax’s agents have previously spoken of “common sense” prevailing. Of Parramatta eventually agreeing to an unconditional release. And of V’landys’ supposed support for welcoming Lomax back into the game with open arms. Perhaps there was an expectation that pressure, subtle and unspoken but understood, would do the heavy lifting.

This only deepens the Eels’ sense of grievance, given past experiences of being treated as lesser.

Cast our minds back to late 2012, when the NRL rejected the Eels’ contract with Israel Folau on salary-cap grounds deeming the contract is too low. Folau ultimately chose rugby union instead. Parramatta rolled over "surprised". With barely a whimper. One wonders whether the same outcome would have occurred had it been the Roosters’ multi-billionaire powerhouse Nick Politis and his version of the cap.

Still, it would be unfair to paint V’landys as the sole “Big Bad Wolf in the dark” villain in this.

The Bigger Wheels

Parramatta receive the better part of $19 million a year in NRL grants. More than some clubs. Funding that directly underwrites football operations. More broadly, behind him sit the bigger wheels that drive the engine sustaining the entire game. The existing NRL broadcast rights deal with Nine and Foxtel is reported to be worth around $2 billion through to the end of 2027.

And it exists within a broader commercial ecosystem. The NRL product sits at the intersection of broadcast partners, gambling operators turning over roughly $50 billion a year, sponsors, and regulators. All deeply intertwined. Their interests shape the environment in which decisions are made.

In such systems, pressure rarely needs to be applied. It’s already understood.

It affects every fabric of the game. Even the quiet emphasis placed on referees to keep matches moving in line with broadcast expectations. With consequences that are rarely discussed publicly.

Winning Without Winning

My suspicion, and it is only that, is that there may have been heirachal behind-the-scenes pressure for the Eels to resolve this matter voluntarily and release Lomax unconditionally.

Their refusal to roll over would help explain the escalation in court.

But the risks for Parramatta are obvious.

Even a legal win could prove hollow. A court declaration confirming the agreement’s validity. A shortened exclusion period.

It would mean Lomax plays again sooner than expected, and the Eels are left scrambling for a workable outcome in a market where player swaps are far easier to imagine than execute. Especially given Lomax’s recent history of upending three long-term registered agreements over twenty months, with the option to pursue R360 again in the near future.

What Remains

And then there’s the relationship with V’landys. Before this, it could be argued the hierarchy rarely did the Eels any favours as it was, including regular Round One fixtures against Melbourne.

Parramatta don’t have billionaire benefactors. No Hollywood patrons. No institutional muscle some clubs quietly enjoy. They can’t twist arms. Their leverage is limited in a game built on confidentiality, discretion, and closed doors.

Their remaining tools are litigation and daylight.

Both were deployed effectively in the November 22 club statement regarding the Eels' immediate legal action and publicly revealing aspects of dealings with the Lomax camp swinging narrative and optics.

If implied or discreet pressure exists from the game’s hierarchy, and that’s a big if, exposing it becomes one of the few judo-counters left. A nuclear option of sorts. But would the club risk playing with fire? How far are we willing to fight?

But for once, the Eels aren’t playing the short game. Accepting discomfort. Whether that decision is rewarded, punished, or quietly undermined remains to be seen.

But one thing is clear.
This was never just about Zac Lomax.

It was about how much the badge and registered agreements mean once they collide with power, expectation, and convenience.

The outcome will matter.
But the precedent will matter more.