THERE is no intangible in sport quite like emotion.

Grief creates an outpouring of emotion. For young men, it can create a brotherhood.

It is for this reason alone, the Adelaide Crows could win the 2016 premiership.

Unfortunately, I know this first-hand.

Round 18

It was 2002. On an eerily overcast day, I ran out as a member of the West Adelaide Under-19s SANFL side that would take on Woodville West-Torrens.

And our lives were about to change forever.

Just after half-time, Jake Watson — cousin of Brownlow Medallist Jobe and the nephew of Essendon great Tim — dived characteristically into a pack and earned a free kick.

As players split into different directions I happened to be standing over Jake and I could see he was in trouble.

I thought he was badly concussed, so I waved for a trainer.

Little did I know, he was dying in front of my eyes.

The next 20 minutes were a blur.

His beautiful mother Sally ran out onto Richmond Oval in hysterics and Jake’s father, Larry — himself a brute of a man who played 31 games for Essendon — was sobbing uncontrollably.

The brave trainers had cut Jake’s beloved red and black guernsey up the middle to pump his stomach. All of a sudden, this was very real.

In the commotion, four ambulances had entered the field of play, but I barely noticed.

The match was called off and we retired to the rooms in shock.

An hour later our worst fears were confirmed: Jake had passed away.

Jake Watson’s West Adelaide teammates form a circle around the spot where his tragic incident took place in 2002. Source: News Limited

The Woodville players had stayed around waiting to hear any news. Once they heard confirmation of Jake’s death, they entered our change rooms and embraced every one of us — tears flowing. It was a surreal experience — earlier in the day we hated these blokes.

Our coach, former Collingwood hard man Tony Burgess, immediately turned into a father figure. It was in stark contrast to his usual intimidating demeanour.

My parents happened to be away that weekend, so I had dinner at a teammate’s house — Charles Slattery, the brother of Henry, who played 96 games for Essendon.

When I rang Mum to tell her the news, she let out a sigh: “Ohhh. That. Poor. Mother.”

We later learned that Jake had died from an underlying health condition.

From my perspective, the days, weeks, and months that followed were remarkably similar to the outpouring of grief I witnessed last season after the death of Crows coach Phil Walsh.

The following week, we returned to the spot on the ground where Jake had lost his life. In a circle, we linked arms and shared a minute’s silence. There was nothing embarrassing about crying.

The images of Crows players sobbing uncontrollably after the West Coast match last season took me back to that very moment.

That day at Richmond Oval in 2002 transformed a group of young men from a football team to a team of brothers.

We were a mishmash of young men. Law students going into battle alongside tradies. Some from private schooling, some public. Before that fateful day we rarely socialised as an entire group. The mutual respect was there, but there wasn’t a lot in common.

That soon changed.

I remember having conversations and counselling sessions with teammates deep into the night after Jake’s death. We attended a barbecue at our coach’s house where girlfriends, parents, brothers and sisters were all invited. In an instant, we were a family.

I confided in our ruckman that I was having nightmares about that day — and he told me he was having the same experience. A group of us sat up until 6am — just talking.

South Australian footballer Jake Watson, who died as a result of an on-field collision during an under 19s SANFL football match between West Adelaide and Woodville-West Torrens at Richmond Oval in 2002. Source: News Limited

Jake’s funeral took place on the turf at Richmond Oval. To my surprise, Tim Watson did the eulogy, reading out a poem I had written just days earlier — to express my emotions — about Jake. I broke down again.

At this point in the season we were already a very good football team. With future AFL-listed players such as Luke Jericho, Jason Porplyzia, Adam Cooney, Beau Waters, Henry Slattery, Jordan Russell and Byron Schammer within our squad — we were tough to knock off.

But now, we were virtually unbeatable, because what we had gone through galvanised us.

We would go on to win the SANFL Under 19s premiership in a canter.

No one mentioned Jake Watson in the Adelaide Oval rooms before the Grand Final — they simply didn’t have to.

After the medal presentation, one by one, we walked into the stands and hugged Jake’s parents, Larry and Sally Watson.

Thankfully, Jake’s death wasn’t played out as publicly as Phil Walsh’s, but I know behind closed doors the Adelaide Football Club players and support staff mourned in a very similar way.

This Saturday night, the Crows travel to Geelong — the team they were scheduled to play the weekend of Walsh’s death. They will take on former teammate Patrick Dangerfield, who was central in the healing process when he wore blue, red and yellow last season.

The Crows are looking for their ninth straight win — they have already exceeded expectations.

In mounting an argument for their premiership credentials, we can talk of their potent forward line, their star-studded young defence and how their midfield has improved markedly. They all carry merit.

But maybe, just maybe, there is one element we cannot measure.

With Walsh’s protégée Taylor Walker as their leader and Rory Sloane playing like a man possessed, the sky is the limit.

Sure, the Crows have their deficiencies. But in a season where the final eight is as tight as ever, perhaps it’s the elements that we can’t define that could see them victorious in October.

The old saying goes ‘you have to lose one to win one’ — a Grand Final that is.

Well what the Adelaide Football Club endured last season was a much greater loss than a game of football. And believe me, they are stronger men for it.