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Approaching a new season, the NRL has ended domestic violence by edict.
Star full-back Ben Barba has been sacked by the North Queensland Cowboys, deregistered and effectively banned from the NRL for life after allegedly assaulting his partner in a Townsville casino.
No second chances, no more lifelines.
And if the game's heavyweights, including chairman Peter Beattie and chief executive Todd Greenberg, are to be believed, it's one strike and you're out for any future offenders.
So there you are then.
No more headlines alleging players assaulting the partners who they were last seen walking down the red carpet on Dally M Medal night.
The NRL has drawn its "line in the sand", ended a chilling threat to women and removed a reputational stain on the game.
Meanwhile, those who have observed with horror the NRL's destructive crime-cycle wait for the tide of appalling conduct to rise again and the line to be washed away.
Such scepticism is not based any doubts about the sincerity of the NRL's message that "enough is enough".
Rather, the game simply does not deserve the benefit of the doubt until the grandiose statements and Barba's expulsion are matched by a willingness to address the root causes that have allowed a record of insidious assaults on women to accumulate.
There is, foremost, the reality that domestic violence is a societal problem, not just a rugby league problem that can be solved with a new rule like wrestling at the play of the ball or dangerous throws. The causes are complex, widespread and, despite the stereotyping of some racial and socio-economic groups, cross all cultural lines.
But the NRL also has unique issues associated with this and other criminal issues, most pertinently the reluctance of some clubs to discipline, and potentially lose for long periods, star players.
Thus a crackdown on serious offences can be like the abolition of alcohol — you don't stop people drinking, you simply drive it underground.
In sport, the underground is the culture of denial and cover-up whereby clubs conceal or downplay a star player's criminal actions in order to keep him on the park.
Unless this culture of cover-ups and denial can be eradicated, the threat of even greater sanctions for offenders will merely prompt some clubs to think twice before reporting incidents that aren't subject to criminal charges — or to do their best to ensure they are not.
Meanwhile, if the NRL is hell bent on addressing domestic violence it must be equally serious about tackling the drinking culture that goes hand-in-glove with many cases of assault, and much of the other miscreant behaviour that has turned the off-season into an episode of CSI Rugby League.
Mad Mondays, bonding sessions, old-fashioned "boys nights out" — supposedly consigned to history in an age of professionalism, but still the scene of many of the atrocities that blight what remains a "drinking man's" game.
Then there is the cycle of co-dependence between player agents and sections of the media that is, if not as damaging as that between offender and victim, still a major part of the problem.
This is how it works.
A player commits a serious offence and subsequently spends time out of the game serving a suspension, is forced to change clubs or has a well-paid season overseas.
Upon his return to the NRL, his agent or a club official gives a friendly reporter the first reputation-cleansing interview, which routinely hails the Prodigal Prop's "sincere regret", "successful rehabilitation" and "new life".
No actual evidence needed. No waiting period to check whether the words are matched by the sincerity of the actions. This is a changed man!
In some cases, the reporter even attacks fellow journalists who have had the temerity to question whether the return is too hasty or the player is genuinely reformed.
"If you knew how hard he has worked to make amends…"
"The hours he spent with the homeless at that soup kitchen…"
"I looked into his eyes and could tell he would never do it again…"
How grateful the agent and his player are for these anodyne stories; how happily will they reward the reporter with interviews, photos and the scoops that are the lifeblood of the very competitive rugby league media.
Yet despite Greenberg's plea to "talk up the game" in the face of some relentlessly negative sections of the media, it seems unwilling or unable to stop agents and some journalists conspiring to provide offenders such soft media landings.
So when the NRL pledges to confront an issue that threatens not merely to destroy its commercial reputation but also human lives, you can't help but remain sceptical.
Will the league also address the cover-ups, the alcohol-fuelled orgies and the poisonous media cycle that has created an environment in which the most vile and violent behaviour has festered?
Or will they merely bask in the positive headlines created by a one-off "crackdown" until the next awful photo of a beaten, bloodied woman shows the game has a will to confront the problem, but still doesn't know the way?
Topics: nrl, rugby-league, sport, domestic-violence, community-and-society, australia