Remember when petrol stations a) were everywhere and b) closed at 6pm? There was a roster system so one of the many in town would stay open later, and they had big sandwich boards out saying ON ROSTER.

Well, in the crowded footy blogging marketplace I think there is room for a similar approach. So this week if you haven’t read Sean’s piece at RFC Ramble then that is what you should do now. I do have some tiny thoughts of my own and they will follow this stripy thing.

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Jack Riewoldt (who is across town having breakfast as I write) was huge right from the opening bell. This was right up there in his best 4-quarter efforts. Dummies like me who moaned about him being allowed out of the front 50 were dead wrong. He is some sort of footballer and if he hadn’t had full forward written all over him from Auskick onwards, he would have made a fearsome Kennedy-like tall midfielder. I have been pretty critical of him at times, but the leadership he is displaying now is priceless. Tyrone, Cotch, Miles and Ellis are also playing at just about capacity. Ivan showed some form – this team is really humming. I have beatified the back six; they are not yet saints but can be addressed as, for example, “The Blessed Jake Batchelor”, “The Blessed Troy Chaplin”.

Newy’s long goal in the first quarter reminded me no matter how much someone’s legs slow down, if their footy brain is intact and they can kick it over a wheat silo, there should be a spot for them when team balance allows. I think I had packed Chris away in the ‘Captain of the Twos’ category but I was hasty. On the other hand Rhyce Shaw is gorn.

Tippett was occasionally useful in the centre but up front he was pantsed by Chaplin. Buddy started well but Rance took him to the cleaners and by the end was doing party tricks. Buddy’s hit on Titch Edwards deserved 2 weeks minimum. He had fumbled the ball and was frustrated. There are very few footballers that have ever fully kicked the tribunal habit, I think there are instincts there that are beyond curbing. I would have liked to see a bit more vigorous remonstration, to be honest. As they love to say in TV land there were “spot fires” all night, but that’s the kind of incident where you can quickly inflict a corky on the miscreant and its all part of the game. Come on Tiges, these are 1%ers. Was pleased to see Rance step on Buddy’s mouthguard. This is good stuff. There has been some signs of other fans starting to arc up at the Tiges of late, a sign that we are being seen as a threat, not a joke.

The interchange infringement when Titch returned was, of course, a farce in every regard. Ty had taken a courageous mark and was lining up for a certain goal (this year.) Suddenly the ball was taken to the centre, then I think a 50m penalty was paid, inevitable when no-one knew what was happening. Nick Smith’s shot would have missed another set of goalposts. If he had kicked a major, and momentum had swung to the Swans, and it had affected the result, I wonder if the mea culpa would have emerged from the AFL? In an attempt to understand what happened on field, I have looked at the rule book and I cannot find any reference to penalties for interchange infringements.

That comeback from 33 points down should have given us a ton of confidence. It’s the mirror image of those terrible losses last year, which spread the word that no matter how far behind the Tiges you were, it was never too late. That is our biggest comeback since 1973, and hopefully now the worm has turned. Other sides, if they get a lead on us, will be looking over their shoulders, tightening up with the ball and conversely feeling looseness in the bowels. We controlled the game, and although scores were level with three minutes to go, I imagine you would have had trouble getting a bet on the Swans at that moment. Ivan’s spot kick was, as everyone has said, one of the highlights of the season, and I am looking at immortalising it graphically in some way or possibly commissioning a ballet.

Although we were terrific, that 2nd half from the Swans was beyond terrible. Its worrying that they are really missing a 1st year player – they need Heeney back. I expect if we were to meet the Swans again in the finals they would look pretty different. Big Tippett might even find himself running around in the NEAFL. They might break the attendance record up there at the Apsley Hornets.

After the Freo game, we were all “Wooooo Friday! We love Friday games! We’re the new kings of Friday night, and we have so many to come woooooooo!” After last night’s clanger-fest against the Eagles at the MCG, I feel like giving our guys the showcase time slot is more like going out spotlighting bandicoots; unedifying and unfair.

Last night’s second half was really inept. Under the circumstances if we had kicked straight, probably the visitors would have lifted a notch. They pretty much just sat on us like a cast iron frypan lid and let us lose the game with our appalling kicking, around the ground and for goal. Their finishing was equally bad, they missed numerous chances to finish the contest. For us to be a better side than 2013-14, clutch kicks like Ivan’s just have to go through. Vickery has been accuracy personified from set shots, but his check-side snap in the last quarter was embarrassing. I blame Dusty who made it look easy from twice as far out in the 2nd quarter.

However; I have a lot of hope. We could have pinched that game; we weren’t blown away, and for periods late in the 1st and 2nd quarters we were running the show. We have recent proof that this group can hit targets a lot better than this; we don’t need to swing the axe. And after all it was West Coast not Melbourne. Kennedy and Darling kicked 5 between them but I thought Grimes and Rance were terrific, Dusty was Dusty™ and actually Ty and Jack were unlucky not to be named in our best. Corey Ellis was subbed off with a groin, and I hope he doesn’t lose his place in the pecking order because he’s had a terrific month and really contributed.

It was great news this morning about Rance staying for 4 more years, and good timing for the Tiger army to help them get over last night. I am delighted he sees a bright future at Punt Road.

I had a really good feeling about the Tiges travelling to play Freo. We’ve been good on the road, we were on a small winning streak, and it seems like unbeaten seasons usually cop their first loss around now, and often from mid-ladder teams. I mistakenly thought Freo had a bye the same week as us. I imagined that while it gave us a no-tomorrow grand-final kind of attitude, for a team at 9-0 there may have been a bit of going on holiday early. I was wrong about the bye but correct about Freo not coming to play.

The Tiges in their winning-away strip of predominantly yellow looked a treat manning up their purple opposition at the first bounce. Proposal; could this fixture be called the Passiona Cup?

The purples started with two minutes of sustained attack that ended when Fyfe, the 2015 Brownlow Medallist, dropped the ball. It was the first of dozens of drops, slips and fumbles that peppered their game. The second was from unbeatable-so-don’t-even-try ruck freak Sandilands. A ball roosted forward sort of slid off his hands, down his face and bounced off his ridiculous chest to Lids, who hoisted it through the welcoming uprights.

This first goal on 2 minutes was followed by Richmond goals at 7, 8, 11, 13, 16, 18, and 20 minutes. There were one or two heave ho way to go goals in there too but that 18 minutes of sweet mayhem won the game. After kicking eight goals to the 20 minute mark the Tiges changed gear and kicked seven more all day.

Reiwoldt’s role is intriguing. He was 3rd man up, often in the back half. There were sometimes 4 “ruckmen” around the bounce. Far from conceding, Ivan seemed to giving it 100% at every centre bounce against Sandilands, and killing him around the ground, joining in passing chains and making space for the Mosquitos like Snipper Miles and Sheds.

Steve Morris had his best ever AFL game. It’s not often going to work out this well, but you could see Dimma’s dream of playing him forward coming to life before his eyes. Like most of his mates, Fyfe was ineffectual in the first quarter when it mattered. His mark over Snipper was pure art, but like art was quite seperate from real life, having no impact on the game. He racked up stats and his goal later on was tasty but it wasn’t one of his better games.

Just when we thought it couldn’t get any better, Chaplin poleaxed Ballantyne, which was one I could tick off my bucket list for the day. We all hate that little bugger but credit where it’s due, he got up and kicked the goal when he must have been seeing stars.

The umpires seemed to be having a seminar through the quarter about the high tackle/ducking the head issue. One put forward the Selwood Thesis, that sagging at the knees at the key moment so the tackler gets you round the ears was just clever footy. Another proposed the provocative view that the players in yellow didn’t need heads. Also “clever” was Pavlich who lost his footing in a contest with Rance and responded by entangling their legs, which resulted in a goal to Freo. This is the sort of thing that has seen Fletch reported for tripping. We were way down on free kicks at half time (standard for visitors at Subi) but we got the “rub” of the “green” after the long break.

The list of Tigers who beat their man in the first quarter is basically everyone. The Ellises, Cotch, Dusty, Grimes, Rance, Morris, Miles and Sheds were all magnificent, while up forward Griff was bursting with confidence, Lids seemed to be permanently loose, Ty was delivering and Reiwoldt was contributing despite spending a lot of time way, way up the ground doing grunt work.

Kicking straight is the best way to thank your fans for their commitment. To have eight straight on the board, 3000km from Punt Rd, must have been delirious joy for the travelling Tigers, who unfortunately were up the far end. When we did miss at last, Dennis called the kick out “… Dockers look a little shell-shocked … Sheridan short …” I believe Mrs Sheridan sells seashells by the seashore.

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Freo finished the first term with a couple of goals and the second term was more even but we extended the lead. Then the game tightened right up. Brandon Ellis took an amazingly brave mark in the very centre of the ground running backwards, not as classical as Fyfe’s but the sort of thing to lift the team. Fyfe’s will make a good footy card. The other Ellis nipped in and intercepted a kick out, then coolly slotted the goal. You get the feeling Ellises is a plural that is here to stay.

I sat bolt upright throughout the game. Our remote is broken so I couldn’t record it, and hence my thirteen year old fellow Tiger Marcus was allowed to sit up to the end. In fact he couldn’t stand it, he spent most of the 2nd half downstairs quivering until I called him up to see Vickery kick the final sealer.

The consensus on Twitter is that we Tigers don’t enjoy games like this, we endure them. But I loved every minute of it, and I think that sprang from my optomistic take on it during the prior week. The commentary was farcical, attempting to impose the “Freo class will out” comeback narrative when to my eyes it never looked like happening, they were just coming from so far back. Having said that I did drink a fair bit so nerves were deadened.

I have never in my recollection seen a Tigers side that can change gears like this. It’s a huge tick for Dimma, and during the next dip in his fortunes, we should remember the guy can really coach.

Our defence as seen in previous weeks was ironclad. Those boys are a bloody marvel. If premierships are built on defence as they say, the sky is really the limit for this side. I anticipated this game like few I can remember outside finals, but to have more teams in the top four coming up suits me down to the ground. Bring them on while we are in this form. The hard part for Richmond might not be climbing that mountain, it might be safely getting down the other side without dropping silly losses to St Kilda etc. We have Freo again in July, if you can believe that.

Today I am going I dodge the real issues at Richmond. Everyone who reads this will have seen the game or at least be familiar with the score. We have lost four of the last five to teams that no-one would have considered finals material, until they played us. I had a marathon vent on Twitter about that last night and I feel that is out of my system now.

Yesterday was the first time Richmond have played for keeps in my home town of Hobart. I saw them play Hawthorn in Launceston in Buddy’s first season, maybe 2007. We went in hot favourites and were shown up as pretenders. Long drive home.

So I had been looking forward to this since the draw came out last year, and feeling increasingly tense over the last month as our form went flat. If I had gone alone, I would have made an effort to catch up with all the visitors to town that I know through TTBB and Twitter, but it turned into a whole-family event, which of course was fantastic in its own way. There was the usual torrent of pre-game puff as always when the big league comes to town, but for it to feature the Tiges was novel.

I plunged in and bought GA tickets for the 4 of us; Tiges-mad Marcus (13), supportive but exasperated wife Elf (45) and unsupportive and uninterested son Michael (11). Michael is actually a pro at being dragged along to sport events that are meaningless to him; he has a rich inner library of miscellany that he can retreat into at such times.

A surprise selection on an expanded bench was Zhou Ni, who has come to live with us for at least this term. She is from Hubei province, and teaches Chinese at Marcus’s school. We answered an ad in the school newsletter and she moved into our spare room, and is fitting in excellently well. She is interested in everything Australian and was actually keen to come along despite warnings it would be cold and wet and would likely be finished as a contest by the last break.

We set off with two day packs stuffed with things to keep us warm and dry, and a huge bag of snacks because when the going gets tough, the snacks can be all that makes life worth living. The boys and I made it through security but Zhou Ni had a metal water bottle which was not permitted. We think they thought it was an aerosol; there was some confusion and next thing I knew Elf and Zhou Ni were on their way back to the car park some 800m away.

Eventually we reconvened and were there in time to set out a reasonable blanket space near the top of the hill. Good view (of the ground and the snow on the mountain), families around us and the weather was holding together. In fact the sun came out for the first time since Wednesday. It seemed to take forever for the game to get going though. North Melbourne: your sponsored run throughs are a disgrace.

The people next to me I deduced were recent transplants from Melbourne, and here for a nostalgia buzz rather than fans of either side. They discussed among themselves the classic 1980 Blues v Tigers VFL grand final, good old Bruce Doull and how the crowd would yell WOOF when he kicked it. And Ron Barassi. Such a shame he’s dead.

It was not great football but tight and the Tiges had their moments. Edwards, Macintosh, Morris, Houli and Dusty all looked ‘on’. I had warned the family that I would be very focussed on the game and would be giving whinges, dumb questions and irrelevant suggestions about home maintenance priorities VERY SHORT SHRIFT. Maric seemed to be winning the hit outs but we weren’t getting the takeaways. Zhou Ni was on the far side of the blanket and Elf was fielding her questions. I caught up with her at half time and we discussed the scoring system and some rules. She understood the mark, but was confused by the number of them that were not paid, then we cleared up that handpasses didn’t count.

On that subject – I would like Trent Cotchin to just handpass and stop it with the six metre kicks. What in the name of Tony Shaw does he actually think he is doing? He kicks to teammates that are so close he would actually be smelling their aftershave, little dab kicks that shear the heads off daisies and literally burn worms. Best result? Snipper or Bachar or Griggsy takes a slips catch with their face in the dirt, and everyone in the front half who had got into some space is suddenly manned up. Worst result it’s a turnover in the corridor. If we wanted that we would have kept Will Thursfield and converted him to an inside midfielder.

Because North are also no great shakes we were still in touch at half time. The boys and I went to the portaloos which were a kind of cigarette aromatherapy area. I found it actually quite nostalgic, smelt like mostly rollies. For Marcus it just smelt like trouble around the corner during lunch time at school.

Back at the blanket the crowd had built up and we needed to deploy stretched legs tactically to hold our space. I had been afraid it would turn into an everyone-on-their-feet situation with difficulties for short children and visitors from central China. I suppose in a tight finish that might have happened but Richmond took care of that by surrendering six goals on the spin.

Hardwick says those 15 minutes cost us the game. That is to suggest that although behind at the start of that blitz, we would have outscored the Roos in the rest of the game. I don’t know what he had seen in the prior five and a half games to suggest that.

It was our poorest quarter of the year by any measure and I felt bad that it was happening now, in front of long suffering Tassie supporters and so many who had travelled down from Australia. I’d had a fond thought that ‘Hobart’ could be a happy memory after this game, a place that bought to mind a turnaround, the beginning of great things, the day that we really saw the old Jack back, or the day that Griff made a statement that he was here to tear footy apart.

I had a secret that I was saving up my sleeve. Marcus gets pretty wound up about the Tiges fortunes (hello to all other genuine Tiges fans) and I had a surprise for him that actually raised the stakes dangerously high. I had been offered passes to go into the rooms after the game. So if we lost there would be no easy out, slip off to the car, burger and hot chocolate to cheer everyone up, put it behind us. We would be going into the heart of the disappointment. But still – that’s exciting, and you’d be mad to miss it. So as we got close to the final siren I told him we were going to the rooms, and it did lift his spirits, as I’d hoped.

Dugald is writing for richmondfc.com.au this season, and he has been telling everyone there to look at the Virtual Duffle Coat. A lady named Sarah called from the club last week and offered a pass into the rooms. I suppose it’s a boon they can hand out that costs them nothing and I appreciated it very much. I negotiated an extra for Marcus.

On the siren we worked our way around to the players race. I had my yellow Tiger hoodie on so I would be easy for Sarah to spot. She took us down a concrete tunnel like you see on TV, and then we went and stood behind a barrier next to Ricky Petterd for fifteen minutes.

Ricky was in a moon boot and chatting to some small kids who I guessed were blow ins like us. I didn’t want to push in on them so I just talked quietly to Marcus while we waited. Riewoldt stuck his head out, annoyed, shirtless. By then I twigged these boys were Ricky’s nephews. More Richmond people had come in and an older couple were talking pretty familiarly with him, not family but they seemed just more informed and more like they belonged here. We just hugged the wall and whispered.

Hardwick and some serious-faced vaguely familiar footy department people came down the slope and into the rooms. Sarah was apologetic but the doorman was not letting anyone in. As the others were waiting outside for us in the deepening gloom, I said to Sarah we would have to just forget it if we weren’t admitted pretty soon.

Mike Moshcogianis came past. He is both North’s GM of Tasmanian operations, and Marcus’s soccer coach. We had a chat about the boys’ 8-0 win this morning, and Marcus’ near miss when his chip from a distance hit the underside of the bar but stayed out. He’s a fullback and isn’t going to get many chances to get on the scoresheet.

Suddenly there was movement and we followed Sarah into the rooms. I had no idea what to do, so we found a wall to stick to and just observed quietly. Older players were on the floor stretching backs and hips with padded cylinders – Bachar, Cotch, Ivan, Griggs. Dusty was right in front of us, and a diminutive lady in her sixties gave him a hug. Alex Rance walked past shirtless (insert wolf whistle emoticon) and into the showers in a room behind us. Batchelor walked through and got on a table for a rub down.

Everyone was hushed, a few players looked our way pretty much unseeing. We were just the usual people who’ve been let in to gawp, I guess sometimes it’s a celebrity they might recognise or something. None of the visitors were saying anything much and we were just silent and drinking it in. Most of the players were either behind us in the shower or in some other room. No sign of any football department people or Brendon.

Once I felt we had absorbed the experience I thanked Sarah and we found our way out.

Zhou Ni did enjoy the game, and she was impressed with the athleticism and toughness of the players. She enjoyed Chappy’s big Jezza moment as the Nº 25 soared over the pack. I am going to choose to remember the screamers from Chappy, Sheds and Steve Morris as the highlights of the day.

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When Josh Pinn interviewed me a few months ago I said I don’t really want to get to know the players. I suppose what I meant is I don’t think a fan really can get to know a current player. They must be surrounded by people who want to be seen with them, and want to be their friend. And the players must treasure the friendships they have that are outside football, with people who treat them just the same if they kicked a bag or had a shocker. I feel like as a fan, I want the players to do a job for me on field, represent the club well off field, and that’s it.

I don’t think I have any insights to offer, and I have never played the game so I am vividly aware that every time I demand someone “put their head over the ball” I am adopting a morally bankrupt position.

It occurred to me down in the concrete corridor that for Sarah or Michael, or the physio or the prop steward, their job has to be essentially the same, win or lose. The guy walking around at half time shooting Mazda t-shirts into the stand out of a cannon, and the girls dressed as the Spirit of Tasmania – they get paid the same regardless. This is the football industry.

As a serious business with dozens of staff and a huge turnover, an AFL club just can’t afford to let their smooth running be hostage to an arbitrary thing like winning or losing. The bus driver and the nutritionist and the graphic designer and the boxing coach and the accounts receivable guy and the video editor and the IT lady and the community engagement officer can’t just hang their head after a loss and go into shutdown mode. They probably can’t ring talkback or go online and vent even if they wanted to. They are trapped in the four walls.

Footy clubs work their people incredibly hard. The footy department is a hungry beast that needs resources; sponsorship comes in and is fed to the beast immediately. Other parts of the club must survive on a thin gruel supplied by voluntary workers and modestly paid staff.

I remember a workplace of mine where unpaid overtime was the norm. The meter stopped at 5pm but you stayed until the work was done, then if the boss or client wasn’t happy you stayed until they were. And this was standard in my industry. This arrangement was a free kick for the employer and they used it ruthlessly. They would promise favours to clients, and unbelievable speedy turnarounds, and extras thrown in to sweeten the deal, and we were then depended on to deliver the goods.

I know that this happens at football clubs too. The goodwill and emotional investment of volunteers is an asset, and that asset is leveraged to the absolute maximum. Because unlike a CEO or a groundsman or a full forward who will walk, that volunteer or club-loyal staff member is there for life. And to free up resources elsewhere, the output of those units in the machine has to be maximised.

I don’t quite know where I am going with this and people with experience within clubs might tell me I have read it wrong. But my gut feeling is that a fan like me desperately wants to see the club win, while for club people that is really secondary to getting these drink bottles to that school, or these soft tissue injuries logged in that spreadsheet, or briefing these journalists on that player’s court case.

I want Trent to stop the little kicks and they want Trent to sign this stack of birthday cards. They get a big tick as they met their KPI for forward 50 entries, while I am tearing my hair out at watching Jack again trying to slot a set shot from the boundary. And I wonder if this is a fundamental difference that is at the heart of Richmond fans falling out of love with Richmond Football Club.

[Looking back at this (its now August 2015), I couldn’t even bring myself to mention our opponent in this disgraceful showing, which was Melbourne. Melbourne!]

 

Around the time Barassi was lighting the cauldron at the MCG last night I started to think “oh no – this AN OCCASION. We are stuffed”.

The last big occasion game Richmond actually turned up for was in 2001. We have won the occasional Dreamtime game, OK. But so many Special Occasions have been buggered sideways by the Tigers, particularly if its a specific Richmond Special Occasion (centenary game, Tommy’s farewell last year).

I honestly feel sick to think of young Drummond copping a knee injury in such a wasted effort. I did not notice this but others have commented that only Steve Morris went over and gave him a comforting word. Parallels between footy and war are fraught but did Nathan Drummond think to himself “Who is leading us? Why is no-one reacting to the fact that our plan has failed? Where are my comrades, have I been forsaken?” It is genuinely sickening. How must it feel to be a 1st or second game player taking your cues from those around you, and of your senior teammates only Shane Edwards appears to have arrived to play football?

When it counts (which is every week, not just when horses and trumpets are involved) our team spirit is shown to be illusory. Handing out a high five when you pile on another goal against a bottom-two side is not comradeship. All the little tweets and texts and “get around him”s and the club website’s funny videos and Stevie’s horses and Griggsy’s spuds and Ivan’s mullet and Brendon’s sports admin career – is there some way it could all just be traded in for four points?

Four bloody points. Stuff redemption. Stuff narrative. Stuff the finals. Stuff the sponsors and the match day experience and honour of being chosen to participate in this very special occasion and other Craig Willis-isms.

Next week. Four points.

 

At the Gabba on Saturday night we arm wrestled a kitten, and as expected, we won. Only so much can be gleaned from this. I will have a stab at a few things that leaped out at me.

First quarter, Griff marks on 50 and turns his back. He nailed a lovely long goal from the set shot but I HATE seeing him turn his back on a play-on opportunity. He may have had a word in his ear at the break because in a similar situation in the next quarter, he took a mark with his back to goal and wheeled around to look for a target. Much better.

Shane Edwards’ vision in tight is exemplary. His change-your-mind handpass outside to Cotch about 120° to the direction he was moving was very nice, and led to another early goal for McIntosh.

Cotch did all you could ask of him after a quiet start to the year. Did I imagine it or has the quiff undergone a bit of a prune?

In the 3rd quarter Chappy’s square pass to Grigg for a goal was beautifully precise. But he was under no pressure. At this point the Lions looked shot and every Tigers highlight can be considered good for confidence but not much more.

The scoreboard gives the impression we were ruthless but in the last quarter Mitch Robinson dropped a ball and had leisure to recollect it and ping accurately to an unmarked Aish in the square. When Robinson drops a ball you drop him, and I can’t believe no-one was on hand to give the bump debate another kick along.

Finally this game had one fantastic ingredient I am hoping to see again, and that was a goal ump in coke bottle glasses. It’s the year of the fan, so give us what we really want Gillon – dustcoats, white hats and full television coverage of the flag work.