You won't hear it shouted from the rooftops - not least because it's a political hot potato in an election year for a new chairman of the FFA - but if you read between the lines carefully enough you can see the intent. To strengthen central control, to streamline process, to minimise duplication of time and resources. In other words, to bring the game under one roof. And that roof is at Whitlam Square.

Given that it was state federations that gave birth to the game - NSW was the first state to organise itself in 1882 - federalising control would be a dramatic step. It's not a new concept - Johnny Warren often campaigned for the abolition of state federations - but until now it's been regarded as a step too far. And there are no guarantees, of course, it will happen.

There are only 10 stakeholders of the FFA. Nine are state and territory federations (the other is the A-League). For the revolution to occur, these federations have to either vote themselves out of existence, or at least agree to cede effective control.

'It'll never happen,' I hear you say. Perhaps. But while the language is vague and the conversation whispered, there's no doubt the issue has now been put on the table. By definition, and expectation, the 'Whole of Football' plan needs to be bold and imaginative, to explore beyond the horizon. After more than 130 years, restructuring the government of the game is certainly a grand ambition.

It's ambition that comes with a very real target. To monetise the game. You can only imagine how big football would be if it had the money. The game's big rivals - AFL, NRL, cricket and rugby - have historically dominated the market thanks to nice, fat, broadcast deals. Critically, the smart sports have made sure a decent percentage of that wealth has trickled down to the base of the pyramid. A top-down approach.

For decades, football has been pursuing the same philosophy, with fleeting reward. Now there seems to be a fundamental shift in thinking at Whitlam Square. What about a bottom-up model - not the much-disliked user pays, but a model that  delivers the game's greatest asset - its participation numbers - to sponsors and broadcasters?

A truly national data base is a genuine pot of gold for a game that  claims 1.96 million participants. The beauty for football is that this model has the potential to provide secure, ongoing, funding - allowing all those important projects outlined in the 'Whole of Football' plan to be delivered regardless of the whims of television executives.

Owning the data base is the key. Right now, some state federations jealously guard that information. Understandably. Which is why the process of centralising control is likely to take time, and require careful diplomacy. Frank Lowy will fire the first shot when he releases the 'Whole of Football' plan, but the task of convincing the state federations to relinquish power is likely to fall to his son, Steven, the FFA chairman-elect. Overcoming the entrenched suspicion, and resentment, between the national body and the states remains a formidable challenge.

The fact is, football is reaching a key stage of its evolution. There's no doubt the game has more money than it did - Frank Lowy took over a broke organisation a decade ago and the FFA is now a $100 million-per-year operation. But in the process of creating Australia's first professional league, of professionalising the Socceroos, of introducing a women's national league (among other things) so the costs of running the game have skyrocketed. In a financial sense, the FFA continues to live a hand-to-mouth existence.

Changing that dynamic requires foresight, and some courage. It can only happen if there's a tangible sense of unity. Does divesting the states of their control make the difference? Conceivably, but only by deed, not word. The FFA has to produce very real outcomes, right down to the grassroots, right out to the furthest regions, if it's going to present a compelling argument. But the prize is a big one. A game that  can fund itself.