The selfless act that tells me which footy team will win the close one

Here’s a word you don’t want on your Monday night “footy TV wars” bingo card: maybe. There is no room for light and shade during the carnivorous start to the media week. Nor are you likely to hear of a concept that might change the way you watch footy – the AFL’s version of the “crane economy”.

In short, a metropolitan city anywhere in the world can track its economic growth or decline by simply counting the number of gigantic cranes that fill its skyline. I use a similar concept to chart the rise or decline of a footy team during a match, particularly when it’s tight.

Max Gawn and the Demons lost a round one thriller to the Giants after having had control of the match.Credit: AFL Photos

From lived experience, AFL clubs are forever searching for objective truth – numbers, statistics and analysis that will hold up under the weight of intense scrutiny. The challenge for so many sports, and Australian rules in particular, is that so many things relating to the performance of a player or team are subjective.

Right at the top of the list? On-field communication, body language and connection among teammates.

I first heard the crane economy theory from a friend who is a long way removed from the weekly rigour of the AFL. The concept has been burrowing into my mind ever since. Watching the Demons and Giants battle it out last Sunday from the ABC commentary box, that economic seed that was planted all those years ago suddenly pushed through the soil and burst to life. Green shoots!

Until three-quarter-time, the Demons had something close to control of the game. They were in front – not by a large margin, but they had shown the better, braver style of play to that point.

When the game stopped for ball-ups and throw-ins between the two arcs, their midfielders were pointing, blocking, moving and playing with optimistic fervour. In the last quarter, most of that evaporated.

It was the (sleepy) Giants who, with the game up for grabs, suddenly took up more room, arms pointing, directing, signalling to the world – but importantly to their teammates – that their appetite and bravery to win was superior. The gallant Demons suddenly seemed shy and small, with their eyes on the ground in front of them and arms hanging limply at their sides.

Before I address my football version of the crane economy, I need to address the elephant in the room. Can I definitively measure how well a team communicates on the field? No – I can’t hear the players. I don’t even know how to lip-read. I am not close enough.

Clayton Oliver was a strong performer in round one.Credit: AFL Photos

But, using the crane economy, can I measure a single part of on-field communication, through body language, that could inform us of a much bigger concept? Definitely.

Here’s how.

1. When the umpire blows his whistle to stop play, players will often point to one another in an attempt to cajole, organise or direct. This pointing to teammates is our focus for the theory. The players pointing are the cranes.

2. We focus on midfielders or those on our television screen when a ball-up or throw-in occurs between the 50-metre arcs at both ends. We do not extend this theory to the defensive 50m arc, the forward 50 or for any centre square bounces or restarts.

Why? Because the communication that happens in these situations is more clandestine or worked out before the game in umpteen team meetings.

3. A ruckman with his hand up to nominate for the tap does not count, while a midfielder tapping his own chest does. But the real gold in the crane economy is the outstretched arm, index finger out front like a bayonet.

What does a midfield group (plus high flankers) pointing to one another tell us? Again, it’s more than a little subjective. But here’s one thing for certain: a player pointing to a teammate to help with the team structure is a footballer thinking about others. It’s a selfless act, not to benefit himself, but for the greater good.

In a perfect world, this is how it might play out. The umpire blows the whistle, the game stops, and the exhausted players scurry over to where the game is about to once again come to life. The best players know where they have to be and once they are there, they can help their teammates do the same.

They are the human battleships of footy, but you only have a few seconds to get yourselves in position. A player who is lost, even momentarily, will become anxious and distracted. Being told where to be takes the anxiety away, and they can play the game with the freedom they knew as a child in the under 12s.

The last quarter of Sunday’s nail-biter was a perfect example of what the football cranes can tell us about what’s in the collective mind of a group. Is it definitive? No.

Is it a moment that tells us a much bigger story? Maybe. Definitely maybe.

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