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Getting caught in traffic is an inconvenience, sure, but at least there s a final destination in mind. Small talk with that friend of a friend when you’re momentarily abandoned together at a party is painful, but there’s the promise of eventual rescue. Even the most moribund of matches are only supposed to last 90 minutes before the referee mercifully blows the whistle.
Yet draft notices into the latest round of the Australian footballing culture wars can feel as inevitable as they are unending: any movement from the smallest alteration to the most monumental change seemingly unable to avoid being picked up and hurled into a maelstrom of egos, demagoguery, pietism and, sometimes, downright stupidity on the frustratingly slow road to progress.