It seems to be widely accepted among fans that forwards and midfielders deserve most of the accolades dished out once the full-time siren blows, leaving the remaining constituent parts of an AFL contest – defenders – to either wallow in anonymity or be jeered over the fence for stifling the opposition’s creative personnel.

It’s a phenomena that goes beyond the players too – the way the game is played as a whole is viewed through the same attack-tinged glasses. Aesthetically, men like Paul Roos and Ross Lyon are bemoaned as being “negative”, “boring” or “dour”. The term “rolling maul” (crowding stoppages with players to create defensive congestion) is widely associated with them, with other coaches adapting their ideals into current tactical norms.

The question is, why is one form of tactics considered more worthy than another? How is it that two men, statistically successful coaches (Roos – one flag, two grand finals and a 53% winning record; Lyon – four grand finals and a staggering 64% winning record), are widely panned by both media and fans for their implementation of a game plan?

That reaction has nothing to do with the overall enjoyment of a game. Descriptions like “boring” are just excuses by those who can’t see the bigger picture. There are thrills in watching Fremantle frenetically squeeze other teams into submission, or Melbourne forcing the opposition to carefully pick through their full ground zone defence.

An answer to why some just can’t seem to stomach these still relatively new tactics in the AFL may come from a truth unearthed by an American sportswriter. Chuck Klosterman wrote an essay in his fantastic book “Eating the Dinosaur” on the relationship between conservatism and American football. One of the key conclusions Klosterman draws is how his pre-conceptions of the game ruined any ability to acknowledge or appreciate innovation.

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Klosterman talks about seeing the ‘read option’ for the first time, remarking that when he grew up watching American football it didn’t exist as a concept yet. When he saw it for the first time years into his career watching and writing about the sport, he believed that specific tactic was “idiotic”.

He reflects, “I had always believed that teams could not succeed by running the ball out of the shotgun formation. And I suspect the reason I was wrong was not because I didn’t understand what was happening on this specific play; I suspected it was because I felt like I already understood football.”

Klosterman then puts his initial reaction into a greater context of how sports fans are able to trick themselves into believing there is a “right” way of playing of the game.

“I had played and written about football and watched it exhaustively, so I thought there I knew certain inalienable truths about the game. And I was wrong. What I knew were the assumed truths, which are not the same thing. I had brainwashed myself.”

For so long in the Australian football’s most formative years, many people – including coaches and the footy community – blindly accepted unspoken truths like “taking the game on” or that a high scoring match was always an entertaining one.

This is the essence of why footy fans find it so hard to appreciate defensive tactics. From the early 20th century to the turn of the millennium, the game was essentially played with one objective – outscoring the opposition via offence. This concept had been repeated ad nauseam until it has become considered fundamental scripture.

Terry Wallace was not a successful coach, but he was perhaps one of football’s greatest modern tactical innovators. His “flooding” tactic during the Western Bulldogs’ round 21 game in 2000 against the undefeated Bombers changed football forever.

Wallace had a clearly inferior side and putting his team behind the ball allowed them to not only stay in the game but eventually go on and win. Weaker teams no longer had to attempt brazen shootouts to beat powerhouses, they could create a zone defence and slow down the opposition. It forced Essendon (who eventually won the flag that year) to practice against that tactic at training every week until the grand final and learn how to get the better of the innovation if it showed up again. Wallace’s tactic was a flash in the pan until it was refined by Roos and then mastered by his understudy, Lyon.

One must also consider that attacking football is not necessarily a perfected art form either. For every Alastair Clarkson or Ken Hinkley, there is a Matthew Knights or Brenton Sanderson. The latter two were picked apart by more defensive counterparts with their overly kamikaze styles.

North Melbourne went from 10th in 2013 to fourth in 2014 with the hiring of Lyon’s understudy Leigh Tudor. Tudor’s philosophies around defending stoppages complemented the full throttle attacking style of Brad Scott.

Supporters and media talking heads like Leigh Matthews and Kevin Bartlett, who suggest reactionary rule changes to stop this kind of play, are kidding themselves. The “rolling maul” is merely a trend, which will be eventually surpassed by another trend. In 30 to 40 years, defensive football will look entirely different and will be accepted as part of the status quo.

There is no right or wrong way to win a game of football. Aesthetical zealots have been harping on about the good old days for a long time and nostalgia merely dissuades anyone from thinking outside of the box. Rules were made to be broken.

Embrace defensive football, as there are charms to be found in Lyon’s manic Dockers or Roos’s pragmatic Demons for those who seek it. It may also just be the key to your clubs next premiership.