There is a complaint, made periodically by more thoughtful pundits, that we, if we are honest, cannot easily dismiss. That is: politics is now reported and thereby greatly understood as something not very different from the world of entertainment — as something rather a lot like sport. To be considered a “wonk”, one need not — preferably does not — attempt to make sense of the social outcomes of policy, but only of the politicians who make it.

Despite the now well-known failures of both commentators and pollsters to predict big switches in Western mass political consciousness — Clinton would win easily, Brexit was a niche choice, Macron would long continue to heroically reunite the French people — many in media cling to a purported psephology that now amounts to little more than divination. Commentators of all hues say that “facts” are always facts, never “alternative” ones, and that if we all just agreed to what this chart or that graph said, we would see the truth of the game.

The most extreme and famous illustration of this divine faith in “fact” was brought to us by the ridiculous Michele Bachmann in the US on the evening of November 8: this chart proves the power of prayer. But it’s not just inanely conservative Republicans whose public appearances show us nothing more than advances in cosmetic dentistry that talk about politics as Australian breakfast TV hosts might talk about tips for the Melbourne Cup. Even serious commentators now pick a horse and allow themselves to remain oblivious to both the result and the broad social consequences of the race. We read political analysis as we might read the sporting pages, because the people producing it really don’t give us any other choice.

Recently, I had dinner with a betting man keen to share his views on political reporting. His contention was that punters and sports fans had never really taken football or racing columnists seriously and were always aware of a particular analyst’s personal bias. “You know that this person is a rusted-on Collingwood fan; that this broadcaster will never say a positive thing about a Gai Waterhouse-trained horse.” In short, he says, people aren’t that stupid, they can recognise vested interests, even if the reporter who has them genuinely believes themselves to be objective. Punters have long read the sporting pages largely for the thrill of disagreement, and to laugh at the selected odds and statistics which are so clearly offered less as “facts” but faith. He concluded — and by this point, I was finding a counter-argument difficult to produce — that the closer political reporting came to resemble sport, the more the usefulness of it receded.

His comparison has challenged me every day now for two weeks. The techniques of sport reporting and analysis are — gambling industry notwithstanding — appropriate to their object. So long as no one loses more than their shirt, it’s a laugh and a way to pass one’s leisure. Consumers and commentators have an implicit pact that disagreement, however furious, is all part of the fun.

Political commentators can make no such pact with the rest of us. They behave like sports reporters nonetheless. It’s so often a case of barracking influentially for one’s own team or horse, so rarely a case of considering the match outcome.

We have seen this sporting spirit emerge very clearly in Australia in leadership challenges. “Wonks” and their fans get a sniff of spill and suggest for days on both social and traditional media forms that “It’s on!”, until such time as it is, actually, on.

Abbott v Turnbull has played out in media as a match for so long, an actually meaningful thing — the “soul” of the Liberal Party — becomes only as meaningful as who wins the flag or the race. And now we see evidence of an emerging fight between Shorten and Albanese, the latter combatant, it seems, certainly doing his best to find media barrackers. Currently, this stoush, which resumed last May when Albanese publicly criticised a pretty awful ad in which his leader had appeared, is a pale shadow of the Malcolm and Tony cage-fight. But as of yesterday, it’s hotting up, this time, over the issue of statues.

If you missed the dispute, here’s a replay: Shorten had stated that the Hyde Park statue of Captain Cook, now hotly discussed in the wake of a mild Stan Grant commentary, might be improved with an additional plaque. Albanese, claiming on Adelaide radio that he was not fully aware of these comments, said that statues should not matter as much as the issues they represent — a cultural position slightly at odds with his criticism in May of the importance of another artefact, being Shorten’s ad.

Of course, we cannot ignore potential leadership challenges if we have genuine interest in politics. But the way politicians and media collude to provide us with a sporting blow-by-blow diminishes politics — actually achieving what Albanese has warned against, despite his possible complicity in the act. Politicians themselves become moving statues who matter much more that the issues they represent.

It’s quite possible, of course, that Albanese would make a better opposition leader. He may be prepared to go further than Shorten in the crucial matter of finance sector regulation. He may even be good to his newer word — oddly, very well received in Murdoch press — that radical and true reform to policies that have long disadvantaged Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples is urgently needed — however much I personally doubt it. Maybe Albanese has been born-again. Maybe he has had his Come to Jeremy moment and seeks fundamental changes to the way we structure our economy — although, again, this is hard for me to buy after his months of support for the micro-solution of micro-brewed beer.  

The point is, however, we cannot know if he is genuine. For as long as our local media prefers to recount the thrills of a spill and match injuries to investigating policy outcomes for us — people not considered as players in the game, but mere onlookers — we’ll never know. All we’ll see are club colours.