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It won’t be long before our footballers – avid followers of the NFL and NBA – will insist upon having their names adorned on their guernseys. It’s inevitable, and rightly so.
The outfits of the other professional football codes, and those of professional sports teams the world over (Test cricket being a prominent exception), include the names of the players.
As recognition of the achievement of each individual and as a means of identification, it makes sense.
While I’ve always preferred words over numbers (best to leave the games’ statistics and the secrets they can reveal to those who know what they’re doing; like Roar guru The Wookie) I must admit to a love for numbers on jumpers.
The large round-shaped numbers. The ones that have adorned our players’ backs for 100 years and successfully repelled the imperialist advances of American sports’ squarish versions. Personally, I think the American ‘futuristic’ font looks dated; better suited to James Caan’s Rollerball costume.
Single digit numbers on an AFL jumper, positioned perfectly in the centre and framed by the team’s colours, are probably the most aesthetic, although I do have a weakness, strangely enough, for the fulsome 30s; particularly 35 and 36.
Substituting numbers for the names of individuals could have been viewed as an act of debasement, however that wasn’t the aim of the VFL when it decided to formally identify players by placing numbers on their guernseys late in the 1911 season.
Numbers were easier to sew than names, numbered jumpers were easier to transfer between players and numbers were easier to identify during the helter-skelter action of game time.
More importantly, they expressed the egalitarian nature of the game in which the team was deemed more important than the individual.
Of course the numbers are more than a means of identification or an aesthetic quirk. They have a historical significance and mystique.
After young players are presented with their numbers, they arrive at the locker and see the list of those who wore the guernsey before them. Each time they run out to play they carry part of their club’s history with them.
Traditionally, the smallest numbers are reserved for the best or most experienced players but many players choose to stick with their debut number, or at least the one they had when they achieved the status of champion.
Even among club captains there appears to be an aversion towards the number one jumper. Last year’s grand final teams each had a number 2, 3, 4 and 5… but no number 1.
Avid supporters consider the numbers of their greatest champions to be sacred, but they have no need for names or numbers during games. From vast distances, they can identify any player from his hair, build, gait or skills.
For the onlooker wanting to know more about the game, he could do worse than checking the footy record or leaning over to a fan and asking “Who’s number 23 for Hawthorn?”
Inexplicably, I couldn’t recall the numbers of three of the greatest players of the modern era: Gary Ablett Snr, Wayne Carey and Leigh Matthews.
I had no trouble, however, in coming up with the 23 of Dermott Brereton. It must have been the unique combination of busy hair, barrel chest, stick-thin legs and psychotic genius that sharpened my memory.
Commercial considerations have already seen an end to numbers monopolising their players’ backs – their appearance sullied by the sponsors’ names underneath – so the addition of the more deserving players’ names is not such a big issue.
Still, I would prefer it if the numbers were left alone to work their magic.
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