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“Sometimes when you win, you really lose. And sometimes when you lose, you really win. And sometimes when you win or lose, you really tie. And sometimes when you tie, you actually win or lose. Winning or losing is all one organic mechanism, from which one extracts what one needs.”

Who said that? Craig McRae? Craig McLachlan? David King in the dying minutes of a 36-hour shift at Fox Footy? Some AFL PR flack in response to the concussion crisis? No, it was White Men Can’t Jump’s resident philosopher and quiz show ace Gloria Clemente.

The first ever game of Australian rules football ended in a draw, albeit after three weeks of play and one goal apiece. The sport is now run by lawyers and TV executives, and a draw would be anathema to most of them. It would be the easiest of fixes in another suite of rule changes. But once or twice a year, we get one, and the sky doesn’t cave in. Once or twice a year, everyone leaves the ground in a rather bewildered state. Once or twice a year, there are murmurings of the need to play extra time to bring it into line with the finals series.

This weekend however, we got two in the space of 24 hours. Collingwood and Hawthorn’s was the first time in VFL/AFL history that the same two teams have played out draws both times they have played against each other in the one season. It would have been interesting if this game was on free to air television – which it should be on a Saturday night – whether there would have been more calls for extra time. As it was, it wasn’t a game that needed a definitive win/loss result. A draw in Australian rules football has a completely different context to a draw in cricket and soccer. As Sam Mitchell said after the April game, “having a different emotion that you don’t usually get adds to the beauty of sport”.

This particular draw was notable for a rather shambolic final 90 seconds. Two exceptionally well organised and structured teams momentarily lost their compasses, and both did their best to toss away the four points. Even the cameraperson didn’t quite meet the moment. While I’m on that, the way this sport is filmed has been in sharp decline in the past decade, with directors who think they’re Cecil B DeMille, and camerapeople who think they’re tracking Geoff Hayward’s seagull.

As always, Collingwood refused to yield. Five of them had played 10 games or fewer and they were without Steele Sidebottom, Jeremy Howe, Brayden Maynard and Darcy Moore. But McRae often speaks of “matchplay”, a format that suits smart, experienced athletes, and Collingwood still have enough of those. Indeed, the way senior coaches respond to a draw says a lot about their psyche. Mitchell, whose biography was titled Relentless, didn’t seem too enthused by the result. McRae, whose optimism is constitutional, was hailing it as a victory. Neither was entirely convincing. That’s the great thing about draws. In footy, where every win is a triumph and every loss is a catastrophe, where every winning coach is a genius and every loser is headed for the chopping block, it’s good to live in the grey every now and then.

Then there was an utterly bonkers Sunday afternoon at the Docklands. There were no grey areas with this draw. Carlton certainly didn’t have their best game of the Josh Fraser era. Perhaps against expectation, the Dogs made them fight for every inch and every second. Luke Beveridge didn’t exactly scream enthusiasm in the build-up to this game. His “Bevo’s Brief” on the Bulldogs’ website came across like a hostage video. “I’m as flat as a shit carter’s hat,” he said after they bowed out last year, and he certainly fitted the description after they lost to North Melbourne last week. And with no Marcus Bontempelli, no Tim English, no Bailey Dale, and no real resemblance of a ruckman, it was understandable he looked so flat. Bevo needs “games of consequence” even more than the AFL and their host broadcasters do.

But the Dogs were terrific. Ed Richards played one of the best games of his career, cutting and carving the Blues. While he was skipping across the Docklands carpet, Tom Liberatore was shuffling. His knees are just hanging on. He is probably one more head knock away from being tapped on the shoulder. But he spent the afternoon scrounging on his hands and knees, dishing the footy out to his fleet of runners.

The Blues had more to play for, and it showed in the final few minutes. Most Carlton sides of the last 30 years would have found a way to stuff it up. The last three minutes seemed to drag on longer than the three-week game between Melbourne Grammar and Scotch College in 1858. Most draws leave everyone, like Bevo, as flat as a shit carter’s hat. It’s rare that a draw is cause for mass hysteria. But such is the wild ride at Carlton.