Spud going through a living nightmare while his assistant coaches try to hose him down – I think that’s the highlight here. Knighter talks at the end about waiting 15 weeks for payback – Bulldogs beat Richmond in Round 2 and I think that was the game where Liberatore scratched him from head to toe. We were never out of the 8 right through 2001.
Things are crook
Ah well, it could be worse right? Imagine if poor Tommy didn’t pull through and we had to say goodbye to him, and they made a big fuss and the boys had to go out and beat some duds like the Dees “for Tommy” and they didn’t, and our one shining light for the year did a knee and finished his season? Heh, imagine that, all happening at once. Yep.
Now I am spitting chips, I am very very angry, but it’s hard because I don’t know who I’m angry at. And one mantra I have acquired with age is ‘beware simple answers’.
My good friend and a staunch Tiger, Joseph saw the Dees at $5 and said to himself “That’s money for jam.” Tiges just don’t turn up in “big games”, Dees seem to be finding the handle on the footy lately, worth a twenty buck investment. So there’s the silver lining, Joseph won himself a hundred bucks.
But why $5? Because form notwithstanding, we had a better 22 than they, So if our 22 was better and we lost to a recovering basket case with hardly a yelp, I don’t understand Tiges fans who start talking about the draft. That’s a conversation for another day (getting surgically dissected by the Suns for instance).
I didn’t see Saturday’s game, I was at Glenorchy v Clarence, sporadically consulting a tranny on ABC. So I really can’t talk about it. But I don’t think we lost to Melbourne two days before we buried Tommy because of the draft.
I am not an early-adopter when it comes to phone technology or football. The draft? I still don’t get it. I am going to worry about who is in the side in 2016 in about 2 years time. But once someone is in a Tiger jumper I expect them to do a job, and I will do ANYTHING in my power as a fan to help them do that.
And criticism can be part of that. The most damning thing I have realised about our 30 years of under-achieving has been that every good or even mildly good year has been followed by a significant drop. We can’t even just hold our place.
You have to conclude the club has accepted mediocrity, has prized the foothills for their own sake and not as a place from which to set out for the peak. And despite our ‘turn on their own’ reputation I think fans have been complicit in this, bandwagon jumping rah-rah. In my case it has taken the form of feeling deep foreboding but not wanting to rain on anyone’s parade. Yet if Hanrahan had been going around RFC 8 days ago saying “We’ll all be rooned” he’d have been spot on.
I know the greybeards on Twitter are saying there IS a simple reason why substantially the same list are serving up this tripe when last year they nearly made top four. It’s because we had a “cheating game plan” and it’s been found out.
Whereas I just look at history and see that this RFC is not Tommy and Graeme Richmond and Royce and St Francis and dear departed Fred Swift’s RFC. This is a club who will ALWAYS dud you next up, after a good year. And why I didn’t get a tenner on us to finish in the bottom six I don’t know.
I have a suggestion, a way forward. Stop thinking that the team out there on the weekend covered in Jeep and Bingle has anything to do with Bourke, Barrot, Clay, Hafey or Checker Hughes. They wear the same jumper but so do Sprent and I don’t know if you’ve seen them go round lately but it’s not pretty.
So you and I are stuck supporting this team with no glorious history or storied heroes – we’ve essentially got Richo, Matty Knights and Matty Campbell, Freezer and Jeffrey Hogg. Ok, I’ll give you Rioli, Roach and The Ghost and The Flea and that lot. Stuff it, have the 1980 flag. We are a modest suburban club. Our point of difference? Let’s look for one without resorting to Tommy’s era. Get back to me on that.
If we could go into every game, starting this week, respecting our opponent as a fellow member of the AFL. None of this ‘big game’ stuff. Old rivalries, what a load of crap. How have we done in most of those old rivalry games? The Centenary? The game when Jack Dyer passed away? We have embarrassed ourselves again and again. The Carlton round 1 “tradition” is the worst thing that has happened to us on-field in the last 10 years. Added to Dreamtime and Collingwood games it’s given us more hoopla, more deluded sense that we are a central player in the AFL and very rarely four points.
We are peripheral. We are marginal and we are a laughing stock. Let us please spend a little time in the room of mirrors and see ourselves for the shoddy self-deluding chancers that we are. Acknowledge that we do NOT have a birthright to success. This is a different RFC that has to earn respect and earn fear.
Look at our 22. It’s better than GWS’s 22. Don’t talk to me about Matty White or Jay Schulz. They aren’t in Tiger jumpers. We have substantially the same list who pulled whatever mad heist it was that got us up there in 2013. Big Ivan is on his way back. Our coach is a good man who played it hard with no finessin’ in the mould of Tommy. We can bloody do this. And I do not mean fall into the 2014 finals, I mean take the longer view and rebuild this bloody club into something resembling Tommy’s Richmond. And win a flag. And another one until other clubs are seething and a game against us IS a big game.
Go Tiges.
Not a joiner
I am not particularly good company watching the footy on TV. I’ve attended my share of Grand Final free-for-alls. Regardless of combatants or result, I always end up wishing I was at home, in front of the muted box, with the ABC radio on, ideally alone.
My older son Marcus used to get on my nerves by asking “who’s winning?” at every stoppage, but has now grown up (12) to be a clone of me; pretty irritating, yeah, but not his fault. He says “Goal.” straight off the boot like I do and gets it wrong 55% of the time like I do. I am very used to his company now, and miss him a little when he goes to bed at half time of the night games. My younger son Michael has never shown the slightest interest in football or other organised sports, so he is off the hook here.
I raise this issue of watching habits because my role as a island-state stringer for TTBB really requires me to report back from gatherings of the faithful. There is a Hobart supporters group who watch together at a pub in New Town, as well as an official group in Launceston who launched this year but have understandably stalled as the object of their interest has done likewise.
I am a reasonably sociable person but prone to a few anxiety attacks now and again. Nothing makes my blood run cold like the prospect of walking into a pub full of strangers and announcing “Hi everyone, I am here to observe and report on you and your never-say-die attitudes!!” I’d feel like the psych student in The Glass Canoe who ended up welded into a keg and left on the roof. Whaddaya mean you haven’t read it? Geez.
I watch the Tiges on TV with the sound down and the radio up. No pay TV so sometimes just radio. Once a year on average I see them live, usually a loss to Carlton. (I’ve had about 10 of those, and one win.) I get to a few local TSL games, go up to Launceston to see the Hawks now and again. I read a hell of a lot about footy and yap on Twitter.
I cannot watch any football program on TV apart from an actual match. Even Marngrook gets up my nose now. I do not understand why people watch The Footy Show any more than I do people who watch Masterchef. The “serious” couch shows are arguably worse but no, you’re right, I really would not know as I don’t watch them.
So – it is from these threads that I weave my impressions of how the Tiges are going. I don’t watch them play while herding devils or cleanly greenly tending sustainable microherbs (or chasing my sister haha) so I really don’t think there is anything much intrinsically Tassie about my view of football. But you are welcome to it and I hope you’ll give me your views too from time to time, whether you agree with me or not.
2005 R21 v Hawthorn Blond-Tipped Tigs Tease Zac Dawson
Lots to like here. @SatchSkippygirl liked Deledio’s blond tips. I enjoyed the sight of a gormless young Zac Dawson, who would astonish the football world by continuing to play football for a living, and in fact attend four Grand Finals.
2001 R21 v North Melbourne – Sealing the Deal
I don’t recall us beating Carey-era Roos much. That arrogant bastard tore us apart so often. He is mercifully impotent here, as we cement our spot in the 2001 finals. We beat Essendon in Round 22 (in front of 77,000), only to lose to them in the Qualifying Final the next week (in front of 78,000).
In this match Richo drags in about 18 marks. He fends off Jess Sinclair squarely in the face to mark and kick the sealer, which is unnoticed by umpire and commentators alike. Different times.
1995 v North Melbourne – The Dream Start
The charity we get from the umps here is beyond belief. The current CEO goes arse-over-teakettle at about 0:20 and gets a free for it. Stuey Edwards arrives 6th or 7th and is awarded the mark. Knights gets a free on defensive 50 for having the tidiest hair. Etcetera. Speaking of the white larvae, the centre bounces are the worst you’ll ever see.
My highlight is Michael Gale’s gather at 5:20, going at top pace. I had not remembered him having such great balance and skill, but that is a moment of pure class that ultimately brings another goal.
The Tasmanians are prominent here; Chrissy Bond, the Gales and Richo. And I notice from the ad that pops up for Trust Bank that this was taped by someone here in the island state.
1967 Grand Final – Big John Ronaldson Keeps Us In The Hunt
I hadn’t heard the name John Ronaldson until Tom Hafey passed away this week, and the talk turned to the young men who he had taken along with him to four flags. He kept a bond with them throughout their lives. I don’t know anything about John beyond this clip and his bare stats – he played in 2 premierships and I suppose that was commonplace enough around Richmond in those days. If the historians among us can tell me anything else, particularly his nickname (for the Duffle Coat) I’d be much obliged.
KB, you legend
I had just watched Carlton, the team I despise more than any other, defeat the Dogs at Etihad. Carlton were terrible, the Dogs worse. I had a few beers on board and was waiting by my brother-in-law’s car under the stadium when I noticed a sprightly older gent walking toward me in the otherwise deserted car park. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I blinked just to make sure and then my wife Jill said, ‘Isn’t that Kevin Bartlett?’ ‘Yes, it is’, I replied in reverent tones. KB, along with Richo, is my all-time favourite Tiger. I am 46 years old and my formative years as a Tiger were all about KB. I grew up in Burnie, on Tasmania’s north-west coast, and the local team was the Burnie Tigers. There are a lot of blokes my age from Burnie who follow the Tigers. I also follow the Tigers as my older cousin Roger, who played for the St.Marys Tigers on Tasmania’s east coast, threatened to bash me if I followed anyone else. As KB got closer I thought to myself, ‘Bugger it, I may never have this opportunity again.’ and approached the legend. ‘KB, you legend!’ I called out, beer obviously playing a big part in my highly un-original introduction. I went through the usual, ‘You’re my favourite player’ spiel and ‘I still reckon you could get a kick, have you thought about coming out of retirement?’ and many other things he no doubt found fascinating. He was charming and seemed happy to have a chat with a slightly drunk bloke in an underground car-park. I even made him laugh with a witty remark that I can’t remember. We chatted for a bit and I noticed he looked a bit bemused. ‘So are you a Tigers supporter?’ he asked. ‘Eh? Um, yes.’ I replied. ‘It’s just that you’re wearing a Bulldogs cap’. My heart sank. I had worn Jill’s Dogs membership cap to the game and this was the cause of his confusion. ‘No, no, no, no! ‘ I said. I had to dig myself out of this hole. I took the hat off then remembered how I could convince him of my loyalty. ‘Look’, I said, pulling my trouser-leg up, ‘Jack Riewoldt’s socks!’ (how I got those is another story). At this stage he gave me the sort of smile given by sane people to lunatics, said, ‘Nice to meet you’ and walked off. I couldn’t have been happier. ‘Jill, that was KB!’ I said. ‘He seemed like a nice man’, she replied. ‘Yeah, he did.’ And in my eyes that makes him even more of a legend.
– Joe Crawford, Launceston
Marcus Rees
Where born? | Hobart |
Age: | 12 |
Where do you live: | Hobart |
How did you come to barrack for Richmond: | My dad goes for Richmond and so I followed him. |
Favourite all-time player? | Kevin Bartlett |
Favourite current player? | Hard to choose. Probably either Brandon Ellis or Daniel Jackson. |
What do you most like about Richmond? | What I most like about Richmond is the colours. [This took a lot of prompting – he is groping for positives right now like all of us] |
Do you have a match-day superstition? | Not really. Although I think that if we are playing Carlton and we are ahead at half time, we will lose. |
Best experience at a game? | Hard, because I have only been to 3 games and we lost all of them, probably a 30 point loss against Adelaide. We were losing from the very beginning and so it wasn’t that disappointing when we lost. |
Worst experience at a game? | A 2 point loss against Essendon. In this game we were ahead for all of the game, until 5 minutes from the end. Essendon scored, and then Richo kicked a couple of behinds. I was in tears. [The famous Mal Michael ‘hands-in-the-back’ game. Lloyd kicked one after the bell to make it 8] |
When will we next win a premiership? | 2022 |
Chapter 7: On Geelong
Those old Pivotonians, they’ve had the wood on us. It’s been a rather large lump of lumber recently, old Tigger, wielded our way. We gave them Brad Ottens, in a trade for their benefit. We’ve given them goal kicking practice. We gave them a leg-up for their first premiership in goodness knows how many years.
Oh, we’re a benevolent club at Tigerland. Remember round 6 of the 2007 season – how could we forget? They had 20 goals on the board up to half-time, winning by 157. Some wag recently sent me a YouTube link to the first quarter. How quaint. It was our home game. It set a new benchmark; as Richmond’s highest score conceded (11 points more than the 211 Geelong kicked against us in 1989), and as Richmond’s biggest losing margin. Ouch, doubled.
Brett Deledio played that day. He had a kick. That’s it – he had one kick for the afternoon. But the thing is, up until they played us, Geelong had had a middling season. We ran them into form and never have they looked back. We taught them how to win. We practically arranged a dynasty and three premierships for them.
No need to thank us. Do we get any credit?
Remember Gary Ablett’s feats against us? He kicked 14 goals against us one day, playing the first half on a wing. Most blokes would be happy with 14 kicks, but God had to go and get 14 goals. In his 20 career games against Carlton, he kicked 58 goals. In 20 games versus North Melbourne, it was 88 goals. In his 20 games against us (18 wins, 2 losses) he booted 117 goals. We offered target practice. We gave him bagfuls.
Tony Greenberg, Richmond’s resident sage on all matters football, sent out a Tweet this week. Abletts v Tiges: Senior 18-2: Jnr 11-2. 29-4… It’s not a pretty scorecard, not for us Tiges.
Last year I caught a train to Kardinia Park and enjoyed the day. It was like a country carnival. I’ve not seen so many woolknits at the football for such a long time. I got to meet Billy Brownless. And the Geelong mascot. And mingle with the fans. And in the third quarter I was consumed by the smell of fried calamari wafting across the stands and thought for a moment I must be in the Greek Isles, a place I’ve never been to, but imagined it might be like this. What I can say about the day is that their home ground is picturesque, their fans are happy about life in general, and they have the best in-ground catering in the league. The calamari – Humboldt squid, I was told – was lightly fried, and salted, and cooked by retired husband-and-wife school teachers, and was delicious.
On the train on the way home I met historian Geoffrey Blainey. He barracks for Geelong. In ‘Football the Way it Was’, he wrote about Corio Oval and its heady aromas. “From the fires that cooked the saveloys came the scent of wood smoke, and it mingled with the tobacco smoke and beer.”
In that essay he offers also the perfect line on how our code has never stayed the same. “The game, in every generation, gains something and loses something.”
If a generation is 30 years, what have we gained recently, my dear Tigers? What good tidings have come our way? How much have we given? How generous have we been?
▰▰▰▰▰▰▰
I have been a Cat, and have the photographs to prove it. I played half a season for the Cooma Cats, at centre-half-back, in the lowest rung of the Canberra and District Football League, and was runner-up in the B&F count held at the local bowls club. I still have a pair of blue-and-white hooped socks, somewhere in a bottom drawer. I remember the season fondly. I remember it snowed at the first training session I attended, and half the team turned up wearing balaclavas, and I thought I’d joined a team of bank robbers.
There are few other footy clubs in the country like the Cooma Cats. There are few other footy clubs where such a cold wind can blow from the mountains late in the last quarter. Their home ground isn’t called Snowy Oval for nothing.
The Geelong Cats are altogether a different proposition. I have never been comfortable with them. I have hot-flushes whenever we come up against them. I am traumatised by recent results against them.
I cannot say I have any confidence for this Sunday’s game. I am numbed by the prospect. I’m not sure I want to be there. I am hoping for a miracle. I am heartened that no Ablett is playing.
Often, in games like this I make secret pacts with myself. If I do this, my team will do that; or vice versa. I set myself challenges. Goals. Targets.
So here’s one for Sunday: if my beloved Tigers get up and beat the Cats at the MCG, I will put on my new pair of Richmond socks bought recently from the Tigerland Superstore ($18, and half-a-size too small) and walk from Punt Road to Kardinia Park. Go on, Tigers! Make me do it! Make me go on a long walk, meditating all the way on all the little joys of being a Tiger.
This book of feuds is now closed.
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