Best Football Crests in Australia, Ranked Worst to Best

It feels a bit cruel to kick a club while it's down — the Rebels slid into voluntary administration in 2024 and were dropped from Super Rugby Pacific after fourteen seasons (and, cruelly, in the very year they finally reached the finals) — but the badge was a litany of broken rules long before the lights went out. Kerning that won't survive a small format, an inverted hierarchy that seems faintly embarrassed to be from one of the world's coolest cities, and stars that mean precisely nothing. The only thing rebellious here is how many design conventions it manages to flout at once.

Picture the kickoff meeting: a room full of blokes asked to bottle the essence of Melbourne, who land on… the weather. The ridiculous name is then compounded by a poorly executed illustration and an upside-down hierarchy. A shame, because this is a serious club — four-time premiers (1999, 2012, 2017 and 2020, with two further titles from 2007 and 2009 stripped in the 2010 salary-cap scandal that still gives Melbourne fans a twitch). The footy's been thunderous; the crest, just thunderously bad.

What is it? What does it mean? The 'G' is one of the alphabet's most beautiful letters and this one still misses the mark — pun very much intended. The name reads more like a street directory than a football club, the type feels marooned, and the whole thing lacks symmetry. For an expansion side launched in 2012 to win over Sydney's west, it's a No, No, No.

North Queensland is one of the most beautiful corners of the planet. This, sadly, is one of the ugliest crests on it. What is that star doing, and why has it been parked under the type? It's not just bad design, it's genuinely unreadable — which is a special shame for the club that gave us Johnathan Thurston's golden-point field goal and the fairytale 2015 premiership. Delete and start again.

Born in 1877 as Footscray, the club ditched its suburb in 1996 chasing a 'universal' appeal — and the badge has felt rootless ever since. A glance at Barcelona or Liverpool would have shown that keeping your postcode doesn't shrink your audience. The silly name, the redundant nickname, the dated 80s illustration and disconnected type make this a small step up from doggy-do. The 2016 flag that broke a 62-year drought deserved better.

Māori-inspired art is one of the most elegant visual traditions on earth, which should have made this a home run. Instead the clumsy execution and unfortunate colours let the illustration down, and the type inside the nickname has no refinement to speak of. For a club that's carried New Zealand league since 1995, it's a truly disappointing miss.

A mess, frankly. It misses the mark by omitting the location, the typography is just awful, and the written nickname makes it read more like a brand of rice than an AFL club born in 2011. The maddening part is the potential — just look at how Japan plays with the rising-sun motif. Please delete and start again.

Forgettable, which is the unkindest verdict of all. The alliteration's nice but there's no real tie to the steel city, the Trump-red ribbon up top feels disconnected, and the helmet is generic. Founded in 1988 and twice a premier — the fairytale 1997 ARL decider, settled by Darren Albert's try in the dying seconds just as BHP was shutting the town's steelworks, and the 2001 NRL title behind a peak Andrew Johns — the Knights deserve more energy, more angles, more interest. Newy, this one feels cheap.

Why write the nickname when the lion is right there? The dated type and clumsy illustration feel cut-and-pasted from an 80s clip-art library. Given the sheer global glut of lion crests, this might be the worst of the pride — which stings for the club forged in the 1996 Bears–Fitzroy merger that then three-peated from 2001 to 2003.

Here's a poser: were the Glory, founded back in 1995, the first Australian club to reach for a purely abstract moniker? The rising-sun burst is a solid concept undone by execution, and that patched soccer ball dates it instantly. With no contrasting colours to rescue it, this badge is in dire need of a makeover.

Sorry team, but this one needs a refresh yesterday. The name is the only redeeming feature; the rest is a misshapen crest, a baffling comet and oddly drawn stars. Since their 2003 birth the Reds have been one of the league's most consistent sides — time to hit the brakes and book a designer.

There's a charm to the foundation clubs of 1908 — you imagine someone glanced out the window, spotted the nearest animal and whacked it on a badge. Like a lot of league sides it borrows heavily from American sport, then doubles up the nickname below the logo. Generic type, an illustration that could be sharper, and not much of the eastern suburbs in it.

We love a pun, but 'Victory' has all the gravitas of a glass of milk, and the inverted hierarchy only underlines it. The clumsy type and bleeding shadows feel underdeveloped — a long way from Melbourne's sophisticated design culture. The big 'V' could be iconic; right now the whole thing needs a clean-up.

Another preposterously generic name holds it back, which is a pity, because blending a black swan with a cyclone is a genuinely intriguing idea. The shearing of both the type and the logo throws the balance, and the typography is too light to render well when it shrinks. Cut from Super Rugby in 2017 and stubbornly revived since, the Force deserve a badge with more, well, force.

Type 'Crows Football Club' into a free image library and you suspect this would be the top result. The palette and American-style design feel stranded in the 90s — and not the cool, Cobain 90s, more the tacky-TV-graphics 90s. For South Australia's first AFL side (1991), it feels cheap and short on originality.

They've attempted the impossible — making a koala look fierce — and very nearly pulled it off. The odd bit is the total absence of Queensland; instead we get 'reds', which the colour scheme already shouts. The 2011 Super Rugby champions could afford to back themselves a little more.

A hilariously generic name and a cookie-cutter crest that smells of committee. To its credit the 'W' could have been worse — it neatly forms its own crest shape — but no design can rescue a name with no location and no identity. Not bad for a club that won the championship in only its third season (2022), mind.

Why is 'United' shouting over 'Canberra'? Cheap colours, muddy metaphors and a general want of balance let it down, and the central image is a riddle — Parliament House, or something else entirely? A real missed chance to lean into the capital's gorgeous deco and brutalist heritage and properly cement its ties to the city.

Another badge that skips its location and simply repeats the nickname. It takes obvious cues from the Rabbitohs with a splash of Miami, and while the artwork is well executed it still feels generic. Remarkable, really, that the NRL's shiny new 17th club — the first expansion side since 2007 — already looks a touch dated.

So many questions. Why Raiders? Why a Viking? Park the morally wobbly name and symbology and the illustration is actually well drawn, the type neat and tidy. Points come off, though, for the disconnect between badge and lettering. The club of the great 1989, 1990 and 1994 sides should mean something more local.

Another letdown. Why no nod to the area, and why repeat the nickname when it's already drawn for you? The hand-rendered type along the bottom is lovely; the type up top is super generic. The badge shape is uninspiring and the illustration too passive for a famously combative club founded in 1935.

The name does a fine job of evoking the region, but the illustration falls short, and paired with that slab typeface it feels overly indebted to 1980s American college sport. Given how often horses gallop across football crests — and how good this twice-champion side (2001, 2004) has been — it's a real letdown.

The minimalist type is welcome, but this feels like a missed opportunity. The interlocking letters are cute, yet it's a trick we've seen a hundred times, and there's nothing here about what the club stands for. For one of Australia's oldest clubs (1870) and the 2004 premiers, black-and-white should have been a cinch — this is too safe.

We're all for minimalism, but the lack of refinement — and the curious decision to leave out an 'F' — is peculiar. The result reads less like a footy club and more like a slightly upmarket fish-and-chip shop. Freo might take a leaf from the Wanderers or the Demons.

Generally well executed, yet it still gives off an American clip-art whiff. Credit where due — they resisted writing 'Kangaroos' under the kangaroo, which after this list you'll know is no small thing. The typography, sadly, feels cheap for a club tracing its roots to 1869.

A cracking alliterative name, all undone by a clumsy illustration that's completely divorced from the type — and a back-to-front order of nickname-then-name that reads oddly. For the six-time premiers and the NRL's great 1988 expansion success story, this is lazy clip art at its worst.

It strives for iconic and simple and gets close. The panther is well drawn and the palette's a step up from the chocolate-brown of yesteryear, but there's a disconnect between type and image, and the weird shearing on the 'P' and 'S' is off-putting. The badge of a four-peat dynasty (2021–2024) should swagger a bit more.

Here's the thing people miss: that whale, fleece, bull and ship, framed by the St George's cross and royal crown, aren't generic Mancunian filler at all — they're lifted almost wholesale from the official City of Melbourne coat of arms, granted in 1940 and based on the city seal of 1843, representing the colony's founding industries of whaling, wool, cattle and shipping. So this is, in fact, about as Melbourne as a badge gets. The fair criticism is that City Football Group's 2014 rebrand of Melbourne Heart crams the whole civic shield in rather than editing it — the symbols are handsome but busy, and a lighter touch would let that genuine local heritage breathe.

Amalgamated clubs often end up with names cobbled together to satisfy lawyers rather than fans, and the 2000 Wests–Balmain marriage is exhibit A. The illustration shows promise but cries out for refinement and tighter integration with the type. The 2005 premiership says the spirit's there; the badge just hasn't caught up.

Despite the tenuous link between the Gold Coast and the Titans, this is surprisingly good. For once the type and image actually talk to each other, and the symmetry and colours complement nicely. It's still very American in feel — but if any city (and any 2007 expansion club) can carry that off, it's this one.

Yet another badge with the nickname needlessly spelled out. The eagle's head is well drawn, but there's zero connection between it and the hastily assembled typography. For a four-time premiership powerhouse (since 1987), the overall effect is, regrettably, a bit amateurish.

The illustration's well crafted, but it stumbles on the usual suspects: the duplicated nickname, the upside-down hierarchy with the location trailing behind, and type and image that never quite shake hands. For one of league's great polarising clubs, founded 1947, it's a familiar disappointment.

Beautifully symmetrical and thoughtfully made — the balanced ribbons and the little circular flourishes in the lettering are a delight (surely KFC are sponsors-in-waiting?). The one head-scratcher is the prominent crucifix, which feels redundant given the name already does the religious heavy lifting for a club born in 1873.

There's a lovely retro charm here, let down by the type and that dated ball. The wave concept is strong but needs to integrate better with the lettering — and honestly, for a club perched in Gosford since 2004, we were gutted there wasn't room for a cheeky palm.

Generic name aside, there's intrigue here — the reversed ribbon shadowing adds welcome depth to an otherwise flat style. Lose the strokes around the lion and it'd work far better reversed or in black-and-white. The back-to-back champions of 2011 and 2012 (with roots all the way back to 1957) have a tidy badge in here somewhere.

The shark's movement is clever and the illustration well drawn. It's the typography and the now-familiar nickname double-up that date it. A few tweaks and this could be dragged happily into the present — fitting for the Shire club (1967) that finally landed the big one in 2016.

Back in the day we adored this. It's dated and overly busy now, sure, but the clever negative shapes lend real depth and the way the dragon bursts out of the crest adds drama. A solid design carrying serious history — the St George half won eleven straight premierships from 1956 before the 1999 Illawarra joint venture.

Not at all bad, though there's so much more to mine. Could each side of the bull's silhouette also read as someone kicking a ball? Since the bull nearly forms a crest already, you could bin the outer shield and corral the type within the horns. A promising start for south-west Sydney's class of 2020.

Comfortably the best crest in Australian rugby. Well balanced, simple and expertly executed — the only quibble is that off-centre seam on the ball, which should commit either way. 'NSW' really ought to appear somewhere, mind. The waratah has flowered on this badge since 1882; the 2014 title proved the substance matches the style.

Type-as-art done well, with the lettering and shield shape nicely fused. If anything the word up top cheapens it slightly and overpowers the elegant monogram beneath. Less would be more — apt for a club founded in 1858 and widely held to be among the oldest football clubs in the world, whose 2021 flag ended a 57-year wait.

Hats off for keeping the name — proof you don't have to bin your roots to be popular (and few clubs, since 1892, are more popular, or more cheerfully loathed). Retaining the historical elements is the right call; the passive, slightly rough magpie is the weak link. The challenge now is Juventus-grade iconoclasm.

First, let's toast a club (est. 1885) that resisted writing 'Tigers' on the Tigers' badge. There are strong ideas here, the stripes especially, but the illustration could be pushed further and the name and badge could bond more tightly. Three flags from 2017 to 2020 say the substance is there.

A big step up from the old one, even if it stops short of fully refined. The type's a touch generic and the unresolved shapes inside the Opera House sap its punch in mono. Tidy up the muddy colour mixes and the league's glamour club (since 2004) would have a badge to match the trophy haul.

Strong bones, in want of a trim. Lose the redundant 'Jets' and the ribbon it sits on, simplify the aircraft shapes, and the whole thing tightens up nicely. The 2008 champions have more here than first meets the eye.

This could be outstanding — a strong, region-rooted symbol, bold colour, real dynamism — but the truncated badge leaves it looking slightly squashed. A slimmer triangle, a smaller label and a touch more contrast would lend the sixteen-time premiers (founded 1872) the sophistication they're reaching for.

Newsflash: you needn't write the nickname when the hawk's already there. That oversight is the only real blemish, because the bird is well illustrated and nicely nods to the striped guernsey. Strip the lettering and the badge of the 2013–2015 three-peat (club founded 1902) is an absolute belter.

A smart, if obvious, choice of name for the AFL's 19th licence, due to enter in 2028. The type's neat, though 'Tasmania' may vanish at small sizes and the nickname above the logo is surplus. The cartoonish style might raise an eyebrow or two at Warner Bros, and the contrast wants lifting for distance.

Once more a club underrates its fans by writing 'Cats' beneath a cat — a shame, because the negative-space drawing is genuinely clever and the rest is strong. Our only other note: the cat could stand to look a bit fiercer. One of the game's oldest clubs (1859) deserves a touch more menace.

The Yankees pioneered type-as-art, and you can feel the aspiration here. The execution's a notch behind — the asymmetry and oddly truncated letters make it feel a little awkward — but it's a solid badge that looks superb on one of Australian sport's best jumpers. Sixteen flags and counting since 1864.

A cool retro vibe that harks straight back to Parra's early-80s pomp, when they won four titles in six years. Lovely illustration, too — though there's room to rebalance it and add a modern twist while keeping the charm. Not using the full shape of the eel to house the crest feels like a missed trick.

The restrained palette, the iconic 'V', and the brave call not to bury it in a traditional shield are all the right moves. Fine-tune the feathers (a hint of the Opera House?), sort the right eye, and lift the underwhelming type and it's near-perfect. Quite a journey for a club born as South Melbourne in 1874 and relocated north in 1982.

About as iconic as Australian sport gets. No other sporting brand glides between fashion and football quite like this — so iconic, in fact, that you don't even miss the absence of lettering. Other clubs got marked down for that; the Rabbitohs, foundation members of 1908 and the competition's most decorated club (these days with a little help from Russell Crowe), have earned the right. Top-notch illustration. Hats off.

Borrowing cheerfully from Inter Milan, the league's newest club is off to a flier. It's nicely balanced, with neat nods to the knight theme and the striped kit, lovely colours, and a clever 'hidden' 'A' forming the top of the shield. Proof you can launch in 2024 on an American billionaire's dollar and still nail the branding from day one.

A beauty. The gorgeous typography, the clever placement of the 'FC', the clearly defined colours, the perfect symmetry and that classically drawn phoenix add up to one of the finest crests in world football. The only smudge is the over-prominent nickname inside the crest. Not bad for the 2007 club that rose, fittingly, from the ashes of the NZ Knights. Bravo, Wellington.

Our champion. A peerlessly executed crest, born from a faultless bond with its fans and a classy homage to the area's footballing past. The illustration is simple yet timeless, the surrounding type elegantly understated. No stigma, no clutter — just confidence. Founded in 2012, in the AFC Champions League within two years, and the only club here whose badge feels as good as that story. Bravo.