Underneath the basement car park of AFL headquarters, unbeknownst to the investigative efforts of the RSPCA, there is a puppy farm.

Gene testing will reveal showlines of Abletts, Clokes, Waites- but make no mistake, this is a puppy farm. Down in the darkness, thousands of puppies- partner swapping, position swapping. Mostly a hive of limbs, hair and faeces. A large-scale operation to pump out the next generation of footballing puppies.

Frequently, to freshen the gene pool, a model or a Miss World Australia gets voluntarily lowered into an unmarked mineshaft, seldom to be seen again. In 2016, Instagram DMs have made locating these women easier, but the core business is still the same- puppy pumping. All the young puppies know is football. Most will never see the light of the AFL draft. It is unethical. It is illegal. It is happening.

I’m watching the RD23 Bombers-Blues game, and it’s obvious that this game is straight garbage. Both teams are out of the finals, guaranteed a top-five pick in an even draft and the score is inconsequential. Somehow the Bombers are having the wood over the Blues, but it’s cosmically meaningless. So my mind drifts to the puppies. I think to myself:

Who’s the better Father-Son: Joe Daniher or Jack Silvagni?

This isn’t about who’s currently the better player (Joe, definitely). This isn’t about who will be the better player (Joe, probably). This isn’t about who’s the better son to his father (indeterminate). To know the better father-son is an understanding of the dark side of expectation. To know the better father-son is an exploration of what it means to be a son in an industry that your father has truly dominated, and you probably won’t.

So, who’s the better Father-Son?

Joe Daniher

To date, there have been few Daniher puppies produced through the puppy farm, from a master-stock of four Daniher brothers. The first puppy, Darcy, slid out, ran around the margins of the AFL (6 games) before disappearing into the forests of the VFL. I hope he has found happiness. Joe Daniher, his younger brother, is the most complete of recent puppy specimens. In 2012, he emerged from the earth- a puppy Uruk-hai. He measured at 2.01 metres, an even longer wingspan, vice-like hands and a massive vertical leap. It was clear Joe was special- bringing all the physical tools needed to play key forward. It also satisfied several criteria needed to be classified as a pterodactyl.

The timing was perfect. A marking key forward at a time when you couldn’t buy one. At a time when Essendon needed one the most. Essendon fans did not see coincidence, they saw providence. They also did not see that he was 15kg too light and couldn’t kick straight consistently.

In time, the hope was young Joe would put on kegs and fix his kick. He hasn’t. In almost four years, nothing has changed much physically, save for a moustache (in-name-only; saffron-like, it belongs neither in the butch 1970’s nor in brunch-athleisure 2010’s). His drop-punt is still broken. Struggles with his kick are only made more prominent by how irrelevant his suspension-riddled team is. Joe Daniher’s busted kick is the only talking point of the season. And when your set shots on goal are half-hearted snaps because you don’t trust your kicking action, you (a) take a lot of heat on Twitter and even worse, (b) spend a lot of one-on-one time with Matthew Lloyd.

Joe’s conversation is not how he measures up to Anthony Daniher. His battle is not with legacy, it’s with himself- or rather the Joe Daniher fantasy created during the months of the 2012 draft. Joe Daniher lays in bed at night a high-marking, wonky-kicking curiosity, dreaming of a Coleman-winning pterodactyl.

Jack Silvagni

Jack Silvagni is SOSOS (the son of a father-son- the most rare and intense puppy situation), which is a problem. Carlton fans have been spoilt by two generations of Silvagnis. They lucked into Sergio, who was an amazing 200-gamer through the 1960’s. Then they got Stephen, a 300 game puppy messiah, widely recognised as the best full-back to have ever played AFL. With Jack, they expect the latest version of the Silvagni football protoplasm. The same way you’d think of the iPhone/iPhone 3G/iPhone 4. But genetically speaking, there’s more non-Silvagni DNA running across Carlton’s half-forward line than Serge Silvagni. Jack Silvagni is closer to the latest Samsung, and you’d hope he has the same cultural impact as his dad’s iPhone 3G did way back when.

Jack Silvagni is undersized at a feathery 1.91m. He has an average wingspan and average speed. It’s biometrics only a parent could love. In fact, his Dad literally had to give him a job. At the 2015 draft, Stephen, now the list manager at Carlton, picked his son at the end of third round. Jack was overlooked by every club in the competition, mostly twice.

Watching him in-person, Jack Silvagni exceeds the expectation of a third rounder. He plays with urgency and desire. Off the ball, he chases, he tackles, he presents. In a Carlton team frequently devoid of defensive pressure, he stands out. He’s yet to do very much more, but first year forwards seldom do. But in those Silvagni long sleeves, you hear echoes of his old man, the god. And you start to appreciate the impossible chasm between generations. At the present moment, Jack Silvagni is a prawn in GOAT’s clothing. He must shit his pants at night.

Or maybe he understands his place in footy history. The family business- a very prominent and reputable one, is now his shop to manage. He debuted in the harshest of environments, a loss against traditional rivals Collingwood, and somehow walked away without mental illness (see: Jack Watts 2009–2015). He’s probably going to run the Silvagni business to a more modest version of success, but his willingness to give it a go is special.

He’s bought into the father-son romance all the rest of us have.

Jack Silvagni is the better father-son.