Uncategorized – Page 6

Benny Round 21: v Geelong at the Kardinia Park

13/08/2017 By Caroline Mallett 4 Comments

So my relationship with Geelong starts with my mum. Fresh off the boat from Ireland her family settled there for a short while before moving to Melbourne. Mum went to boarding school down there so she of course has always supported the Cats. It is a indifferent relationship for me. Don’t get me wrong I respect the hard workings of the cattery but there is a malignant few that just want to do harm to everyone and unfortunately yesterday I was seated amongst them, which makes it even harder to write this in my happy go lucky, positive self.

Notes and votes and image selection this week by Caroline Mallett [@MallettCaroline]

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Q1 I don’t really know the ends of the ground that well as this is only my second time at Geelong. It is always too damn cold to venture to this ground for me. Ferocious from the bounce, Tigers were hungry for it. The boys doing everything right to make sure the pill stayed at our end. Kane, Kamdyn, and Shaun were right in it. Hand balling, kicking it and the ever-elusive shepherd. How good was it to have Jack back? He was raring at the bit to get a touch and having Josh Caddy there I think is a huge relief for him. Gives him a bit of room to move. Unfortunately Josh did a hamstring and was taken off. That was the first 15 minutes and the Cats were having none of our shenanigans, not on their home turf. They worked on starting to derail the tiggy train. Cats 3.2 21 Tigers 3.4 22

Getty Images 2017 (Photo by Michael Dodge)

Q2 I am at freezing point, did I mention how cold it is down there? The wind was really swirly, horrible weather to play football in, we should have called off the game for nicer conditions. But no we must endure and we did. At every effort Tigers tried to bamboozle the Cats. Now outside of my Tigers and after Lids, Dangerfield is my favourite player. And today he was showing off for me, I am not sure of his possessions but both him and Guthrie amongst a few names were showing us up in the middle. It was like a keepings-off game that the Tigers were losing. Credit where it is due – as mentioned a million times they did not have Selwood or Hawkins. But what difference would it have made? The Cats playing on the day stood up and really showed the defensive pressure they have at both ends of the ground. Cats 8.5 53 Tigers 4.5 29

Q3 Dion Prestia, Nick Vlaustin and Dylan Grimes are doing all the right things and I am not the only one saying it. Intercepted, tackled and kicked forward. Again I am not a stats person, you can check that yourself, but I feel they held up the third quarter for us. Of course there was goal kickers too, but being able to stop that ball assisted in us getting goals in this quarter to even up the competition. Need to mention that at some point Dangerfield is off with blood rule so something was going right. Cats 8.9 57 Tigers 7.9 50

Getty Images 2017 (Photo Michael Dodge)

Q4 Did I mention the cold? I doth protest too much. We had a fighting start with the margin so small what opportunities would we take? How could we rally the boys to get us on top? The Tiger Army were in full voice. It was mentioned to me it was the battle between 3rd and 4th but for me it was Dusty and Danger. I had not mentioned Dusty as yet because I was hoping it would be the full leadership team in the last quarter. To keep our heads above water and cement that 3rd place. Seeing the score from the Sydney vs Freo game (which at 2nd qtr was 84 Swans to 9 Dockers) I knew we would have those cursed Swans biting at our tail as well. The Tigers tried on separate occasions but our kicking was just not working for us and Cats intercepted almost every attempt to get the ball back into our 50. Dusty was taken off for about 10 minutes to rest to come on in the last 15 (I think) with his last fighting tiger effort. He really put his heart and body into it but with Dangerfield, Guthrie and Henderson intercepting, the Cats were not going to stop just because of a ‘don’t argue’.
If nothing else my mum is happy this week. In the end what does it matter – we are playing finals.
Cats 11.14 80 Tigers 9.12 66

Getty Images 2017 (Photo Michael Dodge)

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Votes
5. Dylan Grimes He is a work horse no doubt that country air is doing him the world of good seeing he runs from one side of the ground to the other, it really makes you think he must have enormous lungs to go with those strong arms and legs.
4. Dion Prestia I admit I don’t know much about Dion but I feel we are going to have plenty of time to get to know him as he is proving himself a real value to the team.
3. Kane Lambert I think Kane has done the hard yards at Tigerland and he has gotten used to the senior side and is really endeavouring to make an impact.
2. Dustin Martin I know so many of you are going to say he should be higher but it’s Dusty and he is doing what is expected of him.
1. Nick Vlaustin He is a feisty fellow our Tigger and this game he needed to be, we needed someone to help Alex and be that line between that back and middle’s and Nick attempted all day to do that.
Honourable mentions: Daniel Rioli watching him makes me smile ear to ear and I feel Shane Edwards has taken him in and they just work well together. Nathan Broad he was having a real go at everything in those conditions yesterday it was nice to see.
Go Tigers

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Leaderboard

46: Martin
38: Cotchin
31: Grigg
29: Rance
18: Lambert
17: Riewoldt

16: Houli, Astbury
14: Grimes
13: B. Ellis
11: Nankervis
10: Riewoldt
7: Rioli, Prestia
6: Castagna, Caddy, Vlastuin
5: Butler
3: McIntosh
2: Menadue

1: Bolton, Stengle

Blair Hartley Appreciation Award: for players who have joined Richmond from another club
(Eligible 2017: Caddy, Grigg, Hampson, Houli, Hunt, Nankervis, Maric, Miles, Prestia and Townsend.)
31: Grigg
16: Houli
11: Nankervis
7: Prestia
6: Caddy

Anthony Banik Best First Year Player: for anyone who was yet to debut before round 1
(Eligible 2017: Shai Bolton, Dan Butler, Ryan Garthwaite, Jack Graham, Ivan Soldo, Tyson Stengle)

5: Butler
1: Bolton, Stengle

Joel Bowden’s Golden Left Boot: for left footers
(Eligible 2017: Batchelor, Chol, Corey Ellis, Grigg, Nankervis and Houli).
31: Grigg
16: Houli
11: Nankervis

Greg Tivendale Rookie List Medal:
upgraded from the rookie list during the current season
Potentially eligible 2017: Castagna, Chol, Moore, Stengle and Soldo.
6: Castagna
1: Stengle

Maurice Rioli Grip of Death Trophy:
For the Tiges top tackler

114: Cotchin
93: Lambert
76: Martin
72: Nankervis
72: Grigg
62: Caddy

On meeting St Francis & other things

20/04/2017 By Dugald 2 Comments

Fighting Tiger: Barry Giles (seated, far left with hat on), having a break at the rear of an armoured personnel carrier in Phouc Tuy province, the day after a battle and waiting to return to collect a compatriot’s body, 1969.

Last Monday morning I rode my bicycle to the front door of Francis Bourke’s house. Had a shave beforehand, out of respect. Looked up his playing stats on AFL Tables. I wore shorts, Richmond socks. Hoped he’d appreciate the touch. He did.

“Like the socks,” he said, on my way out, one cup of tea and almost two hours later.

We had much to talk about. Mostly it was about his father, and his involvement in WW2.

All last week I went looking for a Richmond supporter who had fought in a theatre of war. I wanted to talk to them about military combat, and a fear so few of us would know. I wanted to give them an opportunity to share their story. Inquiries to the RSL in Richmond and the city drew blanks. Several Richmond fans made contact who had been in the army, but none overseas in war zones.

I arranged to interview a former Richmond player whose father fought in Gallipoli, but at the eleventh hour he got cold feet. He said his father didn’t talk much about the war. Kept it all bottled up. He decided he’d feel uncomfortable discussing it.

Last minute, I put a call into St Francis, ask if I can come meet him. He says he’s be happy to help out.

1970_scanlens_no-_16_francis_bourke_richmond_tigers_card_sportmem We talk about his father, about the family farm in Nathalia, about a grandfather he never met (“he was gassed on the Western Front, came home and died a shell of a man”), and about looking back and remembering all who have served in war. Then we talk about his newsagency days at Maling Road in Canterbury. Before he bought the business, as a schoolboy I did a morning paper round there.

We talk about Deano, who lived down the bottom of the hill in a weatherboard railwayman’s cottage. Everyone in the area knew Deano.

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I stay up late Wednesday night piecing together the Bourke family story. It feels a privilege. Being invited into the private lives of others, entrusted to write their story, give it due respect, the right touch. In putting it together, I learn about Nathalia, and Oxford aircraft, and WW2 training bases, and Bomber Command, then skirt through the history of the Western Front.

My head spins. So much to tell, trying to squeeze it all within a readable length. I email him a draft. He says he is very appreciative I’ve what I’ve done. It makes me feel good. What I can do means something to others.

Francis Bourke was a hero of mine, but truth is, I was looking for someone else.

I wanted a Vietnam Vet, or someone who had fired a shot in Afghanistan. Not because I want to glamorise war, but because I wanted to make sense of first-hand experience. I wanted something raw, something where you might still feel the hurt.

Writing stories about fans has given me as much pleasure as I hope it has given those who I interview, and their families, and all who might read them. I have made wonderful connections and friendships. In my mind, it’s become like a family, all brought together with the common twine of football, and Richmond.

The game, it can do so much good.

How do I find those I interview? It’s an organic process, really. Some are recommendations from others. Some put their own hand up. Some I hear about, read about. Word filters through. There is no set formula.

Sometimes the best stories come from the most unlikely sources. I met a man at Launceston Airport on the Monday morning after the disastrous Friday night game against North in Hobart last year, both of us had been stranded on the ferry overnight, marooned by the floods. Barry Giles is his name. I introduced myself, wrote down his phone number, looked him up, told his story.

Inner sanctum: Barry enjoying the trappings of coterie membership at half-time at the MCG, in the recent game against the Gold Coast Suns.

I’ve been thinking about Barry Giles all week.

What I wrote about him, I’ve republished it below.

And if anyone know of any Vietnam Vets who barrack for Richmond and might want to share their story, please, do send them my way.

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Barry Giles is in the departure lounge at Launceston Airport, the Tuesday after Richmond’s Friday night loss in Hobart, waiting for a flight home. He caught the ferry to Tasmania and like many others his return journey from Devonport was booked for the Monday night.

Then the heavens opened, the Mersey flooded, moorings broke, boats sunk in the harbour, the ferry was cancelled, and a band of Richmond supporters were marooned with their cars on an island.

Adversity, it brings a crowd together. Barry was at the airport, wearing yellow and black, two colours that for people like us open a conversation, and he tells a story of football and being in Vietnam during the war, and I’m all ears, knowing not where it might end.

Every Richmond fan has a story to tell. After a season’s half-time break, what follows is but half the story of a man named Barry Arthur Giles.

Born in Richmond at Bethesda Hospital on 29 September 1949 – the year Jack Dyer played his last VFL game – he was the third child to Ernest and Beryl Giles, who met when working at the Bryant and May match factory on Church Street. “Dad was born into Richmond, too,” says Barry. “It went right through the family. We’re all mad Richmond supporters.”

They lived in Coppin Street and Barry’s older sister regularly visited Jack Dyer’s milk bar for sweets. She recalls games at Punt Road Oval played after the factory whistles stopped on a Saturday afternoon, when it was time for the football.

The family later moved to Springvale, where Barry left school at 14 to work in a firm making boat propellers, embarking on life’s great adventure. “I left home at 17 and went up to Mildura picking grapes,” he says. “I missed the 1967 Grand Final, was up there working for a winery.”

Two years later, two days before his birthday, Richmond won its second premiership in the Hafey era but now he was thankful to be alive.

Barry Giles enlisted in the army when he was nineteen. A war was on and he lost a job in a printing factory in Moorabbin and went to try his luck elsewhere. In June 1969 he was deployed to Vietnam, as part of the 1^st Australia Task Force stationed in Phuoc Tuy Province, south of Saigon. An infantryman, his platoon was later led by another Tiger, the then-lieutenant Peter Cosgrove.

He was only nineteen: Private Barry Giles in 1969, before departing for Vietnam.

On night patrol in a rubber plantation on the eve of the 1969 VFL Grand Final, Barry’s unit was ambushed. “It was the first time I’d been in a fire-fight or had contact with the enemy,” he explains. “We had no idea what was going on, but we stayed and survived.”

Australian armoured corps picked them up in the morning and took them to a makeshift base where Barry found what had been on his mind all night: a radio, and a broadcast of a game. “Richmond were playing back home and all I wanted to do was listen to the grand final.”

After his tour of duty, Barry left the army in 1971 on a medical discharge. Like so many of his fellow soldiers, the war had shaken him about. “I drifted away from the Richmond footy club, from the game, from what was a family.”

After a series of jobs he ended-up at Grassy, at a road’s end on King Island, a place half-way between here and there. He bought a little business selling newspapers; taking time out to find out which way the wind blows.

One morning he drove up to the island’s airport to pick up a bundle of papers and his son, David Giles, was front page news in the Hobart Mercury. A star footballer with Clarence, he was selected by Fitzroy with the second pick of the 1991 mid-year draft.

“He played with Jack Riewoldt’s old man, they called him ‘Cabbage’, and he also played against a young Matty Richardson,” says Barry. “He was a goal-kicker and moved to Melbourne but then my brother rang me one day and said he’s walked out on the club.”

“It’s something I think he’s always regretted.”

For two seasons now Barry – who lives in Inglewood, a town on the Calder Highway north-west of Bendigo – has been back at the football. The return was prompted by his brother’s death, aged 71, from asbestosis. “He was a boilermaker and a mad Richmond supporter like the rest of us,” says Barry. “Near the end of his days we started talking about getting back to football again, the two of us, because Richmond were starting to come good again.”

In his brother’s absence, Barry has made good on a promise. He returned to the fold as a member, joining the club’s inner sanctum coterie group and sponsoring a player.

“I love this club, I loved it when I was younger and I’ve been gone for a while, and it was time to come back, but in a different way,” he says. “I saw that they drafted Daniel Rioli and I remember watching his great uncle play and I saw the footage of Daniel and I reckon he’s got something so I put my hand up to sponsor him.”

And three weeks ago Barry returned to Tasmania for the first time in nine years, to visit his son and daughter and all the grandchildren, and catch up with old friends from King Island, living now at Ulverstone on the north-west coast. And he went to the football.

All Richmond people at the game could never forget what a heartless night it was. But the result has not deterred Barry and his returned love of the club. “I’ve seen the Tigers in their heyday and you can’t forget that,” he says. “I’ve seen some magic games, I followed them all through the 60s, 70s and 80s and there’s no reason they can’t return to the glory times.”

POSTSCRIPT: After the Gold Coast win last Sunday week, Barry booked into a hotel on Spencer Street, caught a bus to the airport in the morning, flew back to Launceston, picked-up his car and drove it to Devonport, where he brought it across Bass Strait on the Monday night ferry, then returned home to Inglewood. And he’ll be back in Melbourne on Saturday to see Richmond play the Lions at the MCG.

Giles and Rioli: An old soldier with a young Tiger. For all TTBB readers who were hoping this week I was going to write about Daniel Rioli’s hair, apologies. The story is on hold. My missus says just let the young man play football. But the day he kicks four goals (or if we beat Adelaide in Adelaide) the story is coming out. Working title: The heir apparent. All other suggestions of who should be in Richmond’s greatest-ever hair team gratefully received at contact details below.

Tiger tiger burning bright
Email: dugaldjellie@gmail.com
Twitter: @dugaldjellie
Facebook:

Dugald 20/04/2017Filed Under: dugald, front, Uncategorized

Cigarette cards

22/02/2017 By Chris 6 Comments

For the last few weeks I have been diverting my football-related energies into drawing portraits based on 1930s footy cards. The lighting of the photographs, and the beautiful guernseys are a delight to work with. Then there are the faces, raw and open to the world below haircuts that range from short but stylish to brutal. They’re all ears.

I have only one Richmond player so far but in line is Jack ‘Skinny’ Titus. Who I can confirm (from recent research) is the best match in height and weight for Michael Mitchell (of everyone that has played for the Tigers in the last 80 years).

So here is my line up. I drew them in ciggie card format then superimposed the drawings onto scans of old brown cardboard.

Benny Round 23 v Sydney at SCG

19/09/2016 By Chris 3 Comments

If we think of the off season as sea level, then Richmond’s season 2016 started about neck deep [lame win over Blues r1] and sloped smoothly downwards to the Mariana Trench of this game. There is of course the other Swans game which possibly counts as a sort of Hawaii-style peak rising from the depths. But for the purposes of this metaphor I am just going to ignore it. How can you even wrap your head around the disparity between the two Swans games? It’s painful to try.

Embed from Getty Images

We look pretty good before the bounce, with Sheds sporting a new wolfman style. An early start on Mad Monday I guess. We contest the game seriously for about 45 seconds, as though it was just a formality to get done before frocking up and putting on the lippy and wig.

We leave our back half empty which would be an excellent strategy against a midfield with poor disposal, and without a rampaging racehorse of a forward who loves to bomb a goal from distance. Crucially, that does not apply to Sydney. Buddy just gallops away from Rance. Players appear to have run up the race past a big sign saying TACKLING IS NOT OUR BRAND.

Errors. Chol marks well but misses. Lloyd left his thumbs at home, he drops the first of many easy marks. Lambert attempts a soccer goal with 0% chance of success. Delivery into the forward line is just witless. Riewoldt finally marks just on 50 and chooses to dish it off to Markov, which is puzzling. Moments later Jack marks right in front of Yogi on the boundary and puts his shot out on the full. Sydney dance it out of defence, while we seem to be dragging ourselves hand over hand through a blizzard. Aliir is sensational with ball in hand. In fact he looks like the new Alex Rance.

We are out of the game by quarter time. The current Alex Rance is losing his rag, and gives away a 65m penalty. All the signs are there that he might go full Robbie Muir at some point. His man Buddy is just doing as he pleases and kicking like a precision rocket launcher. Chol looks very VFL-paced as he is run down for holding the ball.

As the second quarter winds down Lambert finishes off a promising run through the centre with a dragged kick to no one inside forward 50. 14 goals to one in the first half. We are deep down in the darkness.

Ten minutes into the second half we are 100 points down and playing very, very badly. Rohan chases Rance who just runs over the line to concede a deliberate free kick. Hammer falls over, Buddy goals. Chol goes one handed for a mark. If the sub rule was still in, either Chol or Lloyd might have got yanked at halftime. Lambert kicks to two Swans, there is no Tiger in cooee. Martin is paying no mind to Kennedy who kicks numerous goals.

McGlynn strolls into space marks and kicks his 4th. Swans are doing what they like now. Richmond players are ~~running~~ jogging in numbers and ~~hunting~~ cruising as a pack but they are nowhere near their opponents. You can see them arriving en-masse after Swans goals are kicked but only on the fairly wide angle replays. In fact our boys are crashing into each other and robbing each other of the ball.

Last quarter, Rance hits Astbury. Grimes leaves the ball behind. Moore, Lloyd and Martin are all fighting for one ball. Martin pinches it off Ellis on the ground. We get a few junk goals of interest only to statisticians. Swans bench for the last quarter hour is: Heeney, Rohan, Buddy, Tippett. All grinning.

Siren. The season is over, the pressure is crushing, the darkness is total, the fish are super-weird.

Votes
No-one played well. These votes are more than usually debatable, and delivered with a heavy heart.
5 – Vlastuin Notably better than the rest of the backline who were woeful
4 – Cotchin Didn’t give up
3 – Riewoldt Showed guts
2 – Grigg Wasn’t conspicuously bad
1 – Callum Moore Can kick.

Martin and Astbury impressed the commentary team but I couldn’t find a vote for either. So that brings us to the gongs.

Dusty takes out the Benny for the 2nd year in a row (reminder that 2014 was Brandon Ellis and 2013, the inaugural year, Trent Cotchin).
The Blair Hartley Appreciation Award for trades from other clubs goes again to Anthony Miles (2015 Miles/Houli, 2014 Miles, 2013 Maric)
The Anthony Banik Best First Year Player Award was a tie between Jason Castagna and Daniel Rioli (2015 Lambert, 2014 Lloyd, 2013 Vlaustin).
Joel Bowden’s Golden Left Boot was awarded again to Bachar Houli who now has three of them (first awarded 2014)
And finally the Greg Tivendale Rookie List Medal goes to Jason Castagna (2015 Lambert, 2014 Miles, 2013 n/a)

Full tallies are below. Thank you to our writers and voters this season; Vince Morton, Cheryl Critchley, Joe Crawford, Martin Gibson, Ryan Seccull, John and Molly Carr, The Lapsed Tiger, Andy Fuller, Sean Ross, Corbo, @TigerInAdelaide and Liahm O’Brien.
And thank you all for reading on through a disappointing season.

The Benny

48: Martin
40: Cotchin
35: Rance
32: Riewoldt
23: Miles
17: Hampson
13: Griffiths
12: Deledio, Lloyd
11: Houli
10: Grimes
9: Castagna, Rioli
8: Vlastuin
7: Edwards, Grigg
6: Short
5: Lambert, Drummond, Markov
4: Hunt
3: Townsend, C. Ellis, Astbury, Marcon
2: B. Ellis
1: Menadue, C. Moore

Blair Hartley Appreciation Award

23: Miles
17: Hampson
11: Houli
5: Grigg
3: Townsend

Anthony Banik Best First Year Player
9: Castagna, Rioli
6: Short
5: Drummond, Markov
3: Marcon
1: Menadue, C. Moore

Joel Bowden's Golden Left Boot
11: Houli
7: Grigg

Greg Tivendale Rookie List Medal
9: Castagna
6: Short

The beautiful game, and it’s sorry opposite

21/08/2016 By Malcolm McKinnon 4 Comments

Australian Rules football can be a beautiful game: fast, skilful and gloriously unpredictable. Unfortunately none of these adjectives apply to the dispiriting spectacle of Tiges vs Saints at the MCG in the penultimate round of an underwhelming 2016 season.When I was a kid my mother used to caution that if you had nothing nice to say, then it was best you said nothing. Were I to heed her advice in this instance I’d be hard pressed to write a match report any longer than a haiku, which might go like this:

Embed from Getty Images

When I was a kid my mother used to caution that if you had nothing nice to say, then it was best you said nothing. Were I to heed her advice in this instance I’d be hard pressed to write a match report any longer than a haiku, which might go like this:

Waving daffodils
Light up the Fitzroy Gardens
Best play of the day

Because, really, it’s difficult to find many redeeming features from what was undoubtedly one of the worst game of footy I’ve ever seen.

I think it has to be said that, in 2016, the Tiges play a brand of football that is excruciating to watch. We present a style of play that’s entirely un-playful. (Alas, I don’t think there’s any deliberate irony in this game plan.) No-one seems to be having much fun, on either side of the fence.

How does our beloved football team infuriate its long-suffering fans at the MCG on this particular crisp and breezy winter afternoon? Let me count some of the ways:

– We habitually chip the ball around ineffectually, losing ground and momentum until we eventually cough the thing up through an unforced error;

– For some reason, we love to handball to a player who’s under pressure;

– We have no fluency in moving the ball out of defence and no apparent plan for receiving the ball into our forward line;

– We don’t run and block and tackle and inspire each other anywhere near enough;

– On the rare occasions when we do have control of the ball in our forward line we’re usually incapable of kicking it between the big sticks.

Much of the difference between a good team and an average team at AFL level is about confidence and belief. The Richmond team of 2016 seems sadly lacking in this department. Our skills look decidedly second-rate, but I reckon this is largely because the players don’t have a game plan that they properly believe in.

Of course, all of this is just the opinion of one bloke sitting on the side of the fence from which it’s easy to criticise. Aussie Rules footy is a brutal game, and I don’t like to be too harsh. But the truth is, as much as I love the Richmond jumper, I’ve got to the point where I no longer want to watch a team playing such a frustrating, boring and unproductive style of game.

Fortunately, I can at least report a couple of redeeming moments. One of these was the bloke sitting behind me observing that whoever was taking official stats on unforced errors was probably the hardest working person at the game. (It was hard to disagree.) On a more positive front, the other was the display of young Daniel Rioli. Here’s a player growing in confidence and looking capable of developing into a genuinely exciting talent. From my point of view, he produced nearly all of our best on-field moments.

Some final comments:

I wish to exempt Mr Alex Rance from my general criticisms above. He has played all year with a passion and flair that’s beyond reproach. (I think that Jack Riewoldt has generally done likewise, but not in yesterday’s game for some reason.)

Dreamteam points ratings are bullshit. The number of times a player touches the ball matters far less than the quality of what they do with it. Dustin Martin had a lot of the ball yesterday but did nothing much of note. (This is also a criticism I’d make of Brandon Ellis most of the time.)

I wish I understood what has happened to Shane Edwards this season. He’s a player of exquisite skills and lightening reflexes, and I can’t understand why he’s suddenly dropped so much off the pace.

I also wish I understood what Ben Lennon has done to offend the selection committee. He might be a good footballer if he ever got a decent run of senior games. But I guess we’ll never know.

I’m sure I’m not the only person who prays that a miraculous lightening bolt might incinerate those on-field dickheads who parade around with microphones before the game and during the breaks. Their prattle is inane and their enthusiasm is entirely confected. Enough already!

Sigh…

Trudging home through the Fitzroy Gardens after this misspent afternoon, I could at least be grateful for the host of golden daffodils (as Willy Wordsworth once did say).

Malcolm McKinnon has been a Tiger from birth, which is surely a mixed blessing. He often wishes that he cared less about football.

The Drive Home

18/05/2016 By Kate Birrell 1 Comment

‘The Drive Home’ by Kate Birrell | ink and gouache on paper 2016

Into the dark

of night,

heading

home,

from

a dwelling,

of God’s own.

Gates down

with DING, DING, and

BT sounding,

over

kids in the back,

a gentle

idle-engine,

humming.

SHOOSH,

quiet,

iridescent light, flashing scarlet,

the night pauses,

for a bit.

It’s over

It’s over.

Turn it off.

The ball

somewhere,

non-Richmond end

22 tickings, chances

remote.

Keep, going

keep going,

a pass,

a chip

a little one over the top

what,

a good bounce,

a long boot

to where ….

NO,

Don’t turn it off

Slap.

Limbs retract,

as a shadow looms, somewhere

as breathless rumbling, pummels

the tracks

clack, clack

in time,

Broady bound.

LLOYD, LLOYDY,

a mark

with tickings, somewhere

to go

it’s Pentecost,

and confirmation

a holy spirit, now

bestowing gifts,

just perhaps.

The outside din

abates,

and a siren, shrill

within,

Oh, for a kick

after….

Turn it up,

Be quiet,

Lloyd for goal

45 out

at an angle, odd

it goes,

somewhere

through the middle.

GEE WHIZ.

A rising fever,

with a maddened crowd

and BT’s bellows, and

dashboard shudders,

and thumpings,

within

as panes, wound down

to remove the stifled heat

from the air,

and the air from the stifled heat;

and the dark from the dark, darkness

of a season

falling,

away.

Melodies flung, da de da

together,

with shimmers

of cheer

and glory,

and Allelulia

Spreading a ripple, wide

across the sharpened shadows of northern abodes

and all around.

On this,

now bright and clear night.

– Kate Birrell 2016

First published by the Footy Almanac

The winning, oh, the winning

30/03/2016 By Dugald 12 Comments

Brooding skies, luminous grass: the game

A player, the crowd, a shared joy.

Artist Kate Birrell, a Richmond fan, sent two watercolour sketches of the night. Fluid interpretations of a game: the grass, goalposts, the cheer squad, the shape of an arena, the players. She added a photograph of her and her son outside the ground in the first quarter (“the ticketek queue!”).

All week, there was heart-warming correspondence. Tiger Tommo emailed from Africa (“the drums have been beating… and people say there are no Tigers in Kenya, only lions”). Boris Kilpatrick from Adelaide, Luke McNiece from Perth, Jess (I’m guessing from Hobart); and an old school friend, Steve M (a Bulldogs fan), from next door to AFL HQ. “Already making its way around the Tiger community at NAB,” he replied, of the return of TTBB.

Good to hear.

Bernadette Ashcroft logged a comment on the website, as did Belinda, and Swish, the upstanding Croweater that he is. “I don’t follow your mob,” he wrote. “But I love coming to this site.”

Football, it’s our common language.

Then this from Rod Thiel: “It’s like I’ve found the missing ingredient to satay sauce,” he wrote. “Great to have you back mate.”

Good to be back, Rod, and even better to have the footy back. Life has returned to normal. Easefulness settles on the city. Friday nights are as they should be.

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Wednesday night, at the cheer squad banner-making, I held a microphone and asked questions to Yogi and Trout and Vince and David Ward. Lot of banners woven among that quartet. Lot of games seen. Upstanding servants of the club.

Then I took a photo of Trout’s car parked outside Punt Road Oval, and sent it as a Tweet.

Rest easy Tiger peeps. Trout is at banner-making. Carlton don’t stand a chance.

Yellow and black: Trout’s muscle car, on the streets of Collingwood this Friday night?

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Thursday night, 7.25pm, the aeroplane lands in Sydney. Been a death in the family. There’s grieving, a gap that cannot be filled. My partner, our two young boys, are happy to be here. Mr Six-year-old knows he can stay up and watch the first quarter. He won the Easter egg hamper at his school raffle (thankfully, gave most of them away). The last day of term. Triple happiness.

It feels right to be watching this game from afar.

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Housekeeping: if there are any WA-based Richmond fans travelling to Melbourne and would like me to write a fan profile on them for the club’s website, please send me an email dugaldjellie@gmail.com These interviews need to be done face-to-face for them to work.

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Watched a delayed broadcast of the game. Then watched it all again with Mr Six-year-old on Saturday afternoon, with pen and paper.

“Dad, what are you writing?

“Notes, sweetie, notes.”

Random musings:

Kane Lambert is a livewire, all hustle, nothing flash or flamboyant; workmanlike. Reminds me of Nathan Foley. High energy. Love the way he gets back behind his mark quickly, looking to open up as many options for himself. He’s always looking to make something happen. Reckon Dimma – like so many of us fans – admire these footballers who have travelled a longer road to reach the big league. With adversity comes fortitude; nothing is taken for granted.

Big Griff in headgear. Nick Vlastuin looks good with No. 1 on his back, looks meant to be.

A highlight of the night, watching Dan Rioli, Jacob Townsend, Corey Ellis, Connor Menadue and Lambert. All contributed. Young players on centre stage – opening night, a big crowd, nowhere to hide – and none are overawed. A night like this = about 10 games of experience.

Freeze-frame the screen and watch where Menadue makes his run from for our first goal. He’s run at least half the length of the MCG to get on the end of Griff’s kick. “He made a long run from the middle of the ground to get that,” says Richo, never one to waste words.

David Astbury was solid (although big Levi did slip him a few times). Looked composed. Good intercept marks. Make a deal with myself: if he plays 10 consecutive games at the start of this season, if he can stay uninjured and keep his form, I’m finally making that long-promised trip to Tatyoon to write a story about his hometown (it’s not actually a town, looking at Google Maps, more like a windblown farming community). David, such an old-fashioned name. Always good to have a Dave in your team, playing down back.

Dylan Grimes, very good, as were Nick Vlastuin and, of course, our man Rance.

More notes on Lambert: his tackles are bear-hugs, he curls up into his opponent, smothers him, makes him bear his weight. Short steps, but no half-steps.

Townsend was superb in his Richmond debut. Excellent at picking up the ball below his knees. He bends his back, stoops to conquer. When he runs he looks like Dan Jackson. Every team loves an inside bloodnut (Lingy, anyone?). Jacob looks the goods.

Sam Lloyd. Some comments on social media about how he only performed in the last quarter. Not true. He made little contributions all night. It’s just the game wasn’t being played on his terms, early. But what of his tackle on Marc Murphy in the first quarter? Inspiring. Lloyd hadn’t been in the game so he made something happen. He charged off the square at a centre bounce, and crunched their captain in a fair tackle. He got himself involved, lifted all around.

Carlton were very good on Thursday night, but we were just a bit better. That’s all you need to be.

Embed from Getty Images

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A TTBB ultimatum this season: no criticism of the players for performance, skill errors. The only exception, acts of selfishness. Football, it’s a team game. All in the crowd play their part, as we expect those on the field to do.

So unfortunately Dan Rioli, on debut, gets a rebuke. When Jack has the opportunity for an unimpeded shot at goal from a blunt angle, always let him take the kick.

A football game is a series of acts, swings in momentum, and this error (selfishness or inexperience or exuberance) cost us. Dan took the advantage and missed his shot. Carlton kicks four consecutive goals and took the lead, gaining the ascendancy.

Football is also a confidence game. We let them get their confidence. Corey Ellis’s snap goal late in the third was very important.

Early in the last, I thought we’d blown it. Then up steps Jack and Sam Lloyd, and the crowd are on their feet, roaring for us, and we squeak over the line.

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Friday night, Collingwood, licking their wounds, rattled, unsure of themselves. Don’t give them a sniff, Tigers. Jump them, and keep running away with the game. Compound their misery. Then after the final siren, all respectfully shake Adam Treloar’s hand without saying a word. Keep an air of dignity.

Every league footballer has ego, each need be acknowledged. The greatest insult is always a deafening silence, a void for him to think about words he has thrown about.

Cannot be there on Friday night. Babysitting duties. Zora Simic is in town, the missus going out. Two academics, a bar, and their night might go anywhere.

But I know where I’ll be. Glued to the television, with my heart at the G, barracking for our boys.

Come on Richmond, make us proud, make our spirits sing.

Tiger tiger burning bright

Email: dugaldjellie@gmail.com

Twitter: @dugaldjellie

Facebook: Dugald Jellie

So it’s come to this

22/09/2015 By Chris 2 Comments

With the Tiges gorn, many in Melbourne and here in Tasmania will be willing on the Hawks and the Roos in their respective trips to Perth this week. A 1970s flashback grand final, or in fact an all-Tassie Launceston v Hobart grand final; would be Good For Football.

We have put these graphics up for this week on the Swan Street billboard. If you know any Hawks or Roos supporters, let them know that these designs below are available on t-shirts and whatnot here on Redbubble, or just search ‘Footy Enigmas’.

The Swan Street billboard

13/09/2015 By Chris Leave a Comment

Dugald is a man with connections. One of his pals named Dan runs an outdoor advertising company IOM. Dan wanted some “local Richmond content” to put up on his new screen, on the wall of the Central Club Hotel, Swan St. So Dugald wrote a few things and I knocked up layouts, and boom – TTBB is on show on the main drag of Richmond 3121, in between the paid ads.

sleeping

bones

maurice

CNUMiE-U8AAdDQn

For the last few days Dan has been running a couple of specials for us. They will stay up until 6.00 this evening – when the Swans’ opponent for next week at ANZ will be revealed.

roadkill

bbq

Finding our way home

09/09/2015 By Corbo 5 Comments

The image that belongs here has been relocated to avoid triggering feelings of anger, sadness and deja vu in Richmond people. You can see it here but don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Who among us really knew where we were going? And why?

The pessimist said to the optimist “I don’t reckon this can possibly get any worse” and the optimist goes “nah, I reckon it can”.

These blokes have been on our shoulders for decades now. We know how they work, but we never know who to believe. We’ve managed them with booze and laughter and dysfunction and dreams of Nathan Brown …. or Harley Bennell. It’s been a kind of delusional, addictive, glorious, Tiger bipolar. That’s shaped us all.

It would be lazy to use a butterfly analogy as a metaphor for the Tigers emergence. And it wouldn’t sit with blokes like Nick Vlastuin, Kamdyn McIntosh, Jake Batchelor or Dylan Grimes; let alone with Dimma or Dusty. A butterfly changes from a grub pretty quick. Plus life in a cocoon is pretty stable.

Nah, I reckon an eel. Yeah, a shortfin eel. Swimming in Boomerang Creek. Then she slithers though cow shit, over busted stubbies and through inorganic, industrial waste. She navigates her way, on instinct, past greasy gravelly truck stops and through inner city, resort style lives. She’s drawn downstream, overland, and upcurrent. She gets dry and dusty and salty. Bitten, lost and scared. She’s seen it all, without ever understanding why.

Then she finds herself a thousand nautical miles away, in shallow tropical waters. Kind of a fish out of water in an osmotic reverse. She looks back, gives birth, and dies.

The little fingerling, smaller than a grain of rice and an orphan, takes a blind look around and goes “what am I meant to do now?”. It starts wiggling, without knowing, towards Boomerang Creek. Which is a pretty nice place.

You see it? 33 years of pain and misery. The lost footy tipping competitions, the stuffed up drafts, the busted leg, Spud, the countless slabs and bottles paid to smug mates; like charity, the ephemeral threats to call the Department of Child Protection when you buy your newborn a yellow and black jump suit. The pity, the scorn, the self-loathing, the Carlton loathing, the failed attempts to kick the habit; to get off this cruel, beautiful luge. We’ve seen and done and felt and heard it all.

Yeah, its been a long (dare I use the overused?) journey.

Who among us really knew where we were going? And why? How were we gonna get there? What was gonna happen? Were we ever gonna get home?

But deep, deep, deep in our footy DNA. The tiny bits that make us all Tigers, we knew. We knew we’d be OK. and that we’d get home.

And we’re almost there.