there is always the question of the tackle. officially: all the contours are drawn around possession. every time the swans score at home a young-professional waves a flag for realestate.com.au. that’s not metaphor; they’re gameday partners. what’s a national league if not private property? there is always the question of the tackle. what it is; where it ends; where it begins. unofficially: a tackle could be nothing more than a palm rubbing a rib or the feeling of holding a fight in your hands. the leather of a sherrin. trading sweat. any index of the game shuffled between bodies that exists to simply say: i’m here with you. play on. there is always the question of the tackle. unofficially: a tackle could be a lure. an umpire with tactic might say that halftime and three-quarter time and full-time and quarter-time are about self care. it might even be true that you should rest and take a sip of water and be massaged and just breathe for a little. but that would miss the whole point of the intraplay: the regroup. the dissolution of self-enclosure when we meet in a huddle to pat each other on the back and breathe in unison and cling onto each other’s shoulders and whisper dirty things outside of the possible like not long now or we can win this or tackle hard. it’s the intraseason that reminds us that this we is never assured. in other words: hannebery is a saint now. all the handbooks tell umpires to be both proactive and keep their distance. all of which is to say: this is a game of multi-directional situational awareness.