LAST week, we had Rivalry Round. This week, Carlton plays Collingwood, still guaranteed to draw a bigger crowd than any match last week, but now apparently demoted merely to an uncapped rivalry. Go figure.

In Rivalry Round, Carlton played Essendon, which is fair enough, and Collingwood played Richmond. Collingwood and Richmond were rivals once, when Victoria Street was a kind of Siegfried Line and the Magpies and Tigers played in three successive grand finals. But that was 80 years ago. Collingwood and Richmond have not met each other in a final for 28 years. In that time, they have won one premiership each. Theirs would be a stirring rivalry, if only anyone could remember it.

Actually, Collingwood and Carlton have met only once in finals in the past 20 years. Somehow, though, their rivalry has stayed fresh and relevant, mutually, if not in the wider football world. "It doesn't matter if we win only two matches for the year," said former president George Harris, "as long as both are against Collingwood." Thinking of Carlton's travail these last half-dozen years, the sentiment rings more true, not less.

The point about rivalries is that they are organic. They grow and fade with their own dynamics and of their own accord, not by appointment. Sorry, make that Appointment. Some last, but shouldn't. Others ought to catch the imagination, but don't.

In Rivalry Round, Geelong played Melbourne, notionally because they are the two oldest clubs, both dating back nearly 150 years. But their paths scarcely crossed, then or since. The original match, whose anniversary has become such a production in this sesquicentenary year, was between two schools, not clubs.

Also in Rivalry Round, the Western Bulldogs played St Kilda. Why, is anyone's guess. According to one website, the Whitten Barker Challenge Plate was up for grabs, though it is not certain that it was unearthed, let alone presented.

Arguably, Essendon is a more natural rival for the Bulldogs than St Kilda. Ditto, West Coast for Sydney, given their recent epic history, and Geelong for St Kilda, between whom there seems to be naturally occurring antipathy. All three matches, as well as Carlton/Collingwood, are being played this weekend, a round for rivals, but not Rivalry Round.

The AFL has become inordinately fond of themes, pardon, Themes. An old cricket-writing mate would have called it "putting on a bit of top-spin". The AFL says it's matter of capitalising on potential. If that means putting capitals on everything, it's hard to disagree. The concept of rivalry has become Rivalry Round, indigenous inroads are celebrated in Indigenous Round and, in August, the rascally maverick who founded the game gets a gong in Tom Wills Round. All that is missing is a week recognising players special to Sydney's history, entitled Barry Round.

In this theme scheme, Anzac Day becomes Anzac Day Round, with Australian flags raised and lowered continuously for three days, a Last Post that is never the last because there is always another the next day, and so many minutes of silence that it is easier to reckon them up in hours.

No one doubts the importance of Anzac Day, nor the success of the stirring commemoration Collingwood and Essendon have created. But Anzac Day is a particular day; the capitals say so. It is possible to have too much of a good thing.

But the AFL, like showbiz and the military, loves gongs, decorations and medals. Collingwood, for instance, plays Carlton tomorrow for the Peter MacCallum Cup. In June, they contest it again. The next week, the Magpies will play the Bulldogs for the Robert Rose Cup.

Essendon plays Richmond for a prize in the Dreamtime game, Sydney for the Marn Grook trophy, Carlton for the Madden Trophy. These are all fine in themselves, aligned to worthy causes. It is impossible to scoff.

But the clutter of cups, trophies, medals and prizes is such that any one begins to lose its distinction. The website that was so illuminating about the Whitten Barker Challenge Plate identified nearly 30 sundry awards for teams and/or individuals in one-off matches. All the big names are invoked, Sheedy and Whitten twice each.

But many are obscure. Essendon and Fremantle, apparently, covet the Albert Thurgood Cup. One trophy was named for a marketing executive of the sponsor of one club, who had died in an accident. Discreetly, it is no longer presented. Still, it must be habit at some clubs at the end of a game not to warm down, but to line up next to the nearest microphone and wait for the ceremony to begin. But however good the cause, and notwithstanding the George Harris dictum, it can only feel hollow to receive a cup when you and your opponent are both in the bottom four.

Also, as in showbiz, the AFL loves to shower riches on the rich. Count the medals: Brownlow, Coleman, Matthews, Evans, McHale for the premiership coach, as if he does not already have what he wants. The Smith and the Tuck. The Copeland Trophy at Collingwood, the Crichton at Essendon, the Truscott Trophy at Melbourne, the Syd Barker at the Kangaroos, and so on through the clubs.

If you came from the ranks, perhaps the Morrish, Gardiner, Liston or Goss on the way through. If you came from elsewhere, maybe the Sandover, Magarey, Simpson and Oatey. If you're still elsewhere, the Glendinning or the Showdown. If you came from the junior elite, the Sheehan, the McLean, the Harrison. If you get to play for Victoria, perhaps the Whitten, for Australia perhaps the Stynes. If you play against Victoria, the Jesaulenko, Moss or Williams. If you have a good year, the McClelland. If you have a lot of of them, perhaps one day the Titus.

You can't help wondering if all this metallurgy says more about some of the givers (as distinct from namesakes) than the receivers. But Michael Tuck could not be accused of self-aggrandisement; presenting his own medal one year, he forgot its name!