Firstly, a follow-up to my question last week: who are the ‘footy family’ member that we need to include along with Channel Nine’s apparent nomination of Kevin Sheedy as the ‘father figure of footy’?
I included Leigh Matthews as the grumpy uncle of footy, Susan Alberti as the kindly, energetic auntie, and Alastair Clarkson as the oldest son who made good.
The comment that came up most often was a preference for Ron Barassi as a more appropriate ‘father’ of football, and it’s hard to argue against, as he was perhaps the most important figure in the history of the VFL-AFL (even before he joined the league, for example, he created change as the motivation for the father-son rule, which brought him to his dad’s Demons and six premierships with one of the great dynasties in the sport).
I’d argue that Barassi should be the beloved grandfather of Australian football, while Sheedy (not quite as universally beloved) could still be the father figure.
The Brisbane women are within a game of the first perfect season in AFLW’s long, illustrious history, and equaling the number of wins the men’s team has had in two-and-a-half years. And while there are four teams they could face in the grand final, Adelaide basically just has to win, despite not doing so in March so far.
Melbourne’s Round 5 loss to the Giants means they have to win and hope that either the Crows lose to the Pies, or that they can defeat Freo by at least 62 points more than Adelaide wins by.
Collingwood and Carlton have pipe dreams: they’re both rooting for the Dockers, for a start. The Pies also have to defeat Adelaide by at least 48 to surpass them; the Blues also have to hope that they somehow hand Brisbane their first win, and do so in a way that overcomes a 53-point margin to the Crows (who also have to lose to the Pies).
TL:DR? It’ll be Adelaide in the final.
Thus, with one game left, we’re pretty certain we can name the teams and location of the women’s grand final, and that has made folks somewhat upset. “Only two teams in finals? What were the other teams even competing for?”
Good question. But never forget that 2017 was always intended to be an experiment, and the mere fact that people care about things like the structure of finals (or the times of games, a topic for another week) means that the experiment is working. So let’s keep a little perspective, and make some comparisons.
The AFLW is only seven games long, less than one-third length of the men’s season. So, if you want to compare apples to pineapples, at least do the ladies the courtesy of tripling the size of them apples when you compare. Call it ‘AFLWx3’ if you need to.
In the eight-team AFLW, one loss and you’re still in the driver’s seat for the grand final, two losses put you at the mercy of the teams above you, and three probably knocks you out of the running. Stretching out to the AFLWx3, that means 18-3 and you’re in, 15-6 makes it very possible with the right results around you, and 12-9 means you’re probably on the outside looking in.
Compare that to the men: that’s about right.
The difference is that at 12-9(-ish), the Kangaroos still had a theoretical chance (actually, the Dogs proved it was more than theoretical) because eight out of 18 teams make finals. 44 per cent of the league makes finals, which meshes nicely with what other pro leagues have operated at:
The average over the last 60 years of the VFL/AFL has been 45.4 per cent (272/599). The Super League also invites eight of 18 (44%). The NRL invites eight of 16 (50%). The A-League invites 60 per cent, six of ten. The Aussie Big Bash League and the NBL each take half, four out of eight teams.
On my side of the wet crater, the National Football League (the one with the ball you don’t want to take a header with) takes just 12 of 32 teams (38%) but is discussing moving to 14. The NBA and NHL include 16 out of 30, a whopping 53 per cent, and always seem to invite one or two teams under .500 to participate, which irritates fans and players alike.
On the other hand, Major League Baseball only takes ten of 30, and really only eight because the two wildcards on each side of the draw have a ‘play in’ game ahead of the actual playoff series.
So 44 per cent seems to be about right, especially given the double chance the top four get in the AFL. It provides everyone something to shoot for towards season’s end: the top six want that double chance insurance, the middle six are fighting for a spot in finals, and the bottom six are doing the dichotomous dance of avoiding the wooden spoon while simultaneously aiming for higher draft picks.
If you translate these percentages to the eight-team AFLW, they should have three finals teams in 2018 (it’s already been ordained from on high that they’ll keep the eight-team format next year). The top seed should get a bye into the final; team two should host team three for the right to oppose them. If you wanted to go to four, you would dilute the top seed’s advantage by either eliminating their bye (#1 vs #4, #2 vs #3) or, by going to a stair-step model like bowling uses, forcing them into a double bye (#4 at #3, winner plays at #2, winner plays at #1 eventually) and rusting them out.
Beyond that, the #4 seed is almost as likely to have a record of 3-4 as they are to be 4-3. No team should be your champion who lost more games than they won. It’s just a law of nature that should never be violated. That’s how the Roman Empire fell (don’t Google that).
As a stats-nerd, the fantasy craze has been a God-send, producing metrics that help quantify the previously unquantifiable. How does a healthy Nat Fyfe compare with a rising Paddy Dangerfield approaching his prime? Is it more valuable for your team to have Lance Franklin take those strong, tall marks and boom 60-metre bombs through the posts, or to have Eddie Betts leap over the talls in a single bound and kick goals that are so banana they’re practically bagel-shaped? Is Alex Rance in the back worth more to the Tigers than Dustin Martin in the front?
But at the same time, fantasy sports destroy the very essesnce of the competition for the fan. If you grew up in Geelong, and lived and died with the success of Abletts Senior and Junior, are you really going to watch the Kennett Curse game from a great seat in Simmons Stadium, and silently root for Luke Hodge to get two more disposals while also praying for him not to score a goal by doing so? Y’see? Either root for your team, or end up watching the game impartially while focusing on two or three players on each side.
Think about this: when the post-game interviews come up, don’t the players universally say, “Yeah, well, I don’t care who scores the goals, as long as we get the win”? So how can you care if they don’t even care that much?
It’s like betting on a pre-season game – if the participants don’t really care about the scoring, how can you?
If you want to play fantasy against your buds, here’s a suggestion: require each player to pick a different team from Rounds 1 through 18 (start over for the last five and finals). Or loosen the rules and just say you can pick any nine teams twice – better save one of those for the grand final, though! Use the spreads if you want to change it up a bit.
Or, say your league is all Geelong fans. You can pick the Cats as many times as you like, but you’ve got to pick every other team exactly once during the home-and-away. That’ll allow you to go, “Yeah, I haven’t used those three teams yet, but screw it – I’m taking my Cats against [fill in the blank]!”
Obviously, the strategy of these games involves when you’re going to take Brisbane, for example. When do you back the Blues to win? Or if it’s a by-the-spread game, are you looking for blowouts, or playing underdogs when the line gets so high that the winning team backs off in the second half and fails to cover the ten-goal margin? And, taking one team per round is much simpler than calculating 22 scores each week, or picking your six defenders each week, and so forth.
Now, you can sit back and enjoy the games as they’re meant to be enjoyed: two teams, battling it out, and may the best 22 win.