Never quiet in Tiger volcano
One of the Crowd
By Martin Flanagan
The Age
February 19, 2005
Went with my daughter on Thursday to watch the Tigers train. We have been watching them together for years. We were at Waverley Park the day Hawk Jason Dunstall kicked 13 goals and broke the ground record. Scotty Turner, the Richmond full-back, shook his hand. Dunstall kicked four more.
Grief, Tiges, those who have followed you over the past 20 years have known grief! You're the team that most people I know pull me along to watch.
Why, Tiges, why, since you mostly disappoint? What is your strange appeal? I hated you as a kid. Let's be honest here. I barracked for Geelong in the '67 grand final and resented every premiership Richmond won thereafter. Realised Royce Hart was probably as good a footballer as I would ever see but never admitted it.
This week, I went into the Whale's pub and had a beer. Best collection of footy memorabilia of any pub in town. There was a painting of Hart with that low lean he had when he ran, which meant that, in addition to being superbly sure in the air, he moved the ball forward with the skill of a smaller man once it hit the ground.
Which reminds me of Richo, Hart's heir. By my reckoning, the Tiger forwards I saw shooting for goal at practice on Thursday scored about five goals 55 behinds. I said as much to a photographer, who replied: "After last year, I reckon they'd settle for that."
As we were speaking, Richo had a shot from outside 50. His legs somehow get wildly far apart. It's like a kid kicking at a ball while executing a sideways leap. Well, not exactly, but he has poor balance at impact.
The kick went high and to the right, as so many of Richo's do, bouncing in front of the point post. For something completely different, Richo turned and looked the other way, like a mystic seeking inspiration.
Then, off one pace, he turned and whacked it. POW! The ball passed between the uprights with the hard, direct flight of a sweetly hit golf ball. Remember that you read it here first. I have the answer to Richo's kicking problem. Wherever he stands after taking a mark, face him in the opposite direction, then tell him to turn and kick it.
Every year, somewhere, you read a story that the Tigers should get rid of Richo. Get rid of him?! Modern sport is starved for characters. This bloke's got it all - genius, foolishness, nobility, tantrums.
There's a book about Aboriginal culture called Dingo Makes Us Human. Richo makes us human. Look how hard he tries, how high he flies, how hard he falls. If you incline to the view that life's a comedy, he's a wonderful clown. But one thing's for sure, he can fill the whole stage.
As a club, the Tigers have the politics of some Third World island. Their supporters are mad. Seeking the teams for last night's game, I went to a website for Tiger fans. Their squad was listed under the single word "Richmond". The other team was listed under the single word "Scum".
The website contained a section on quotes from great people. I recorded the following. Mahatma Gandhi: "We must become the change we want to see." Anna Nicole Smith: "Marrying into money was not a good thing for me." Jack Dyer: "Kevin Bartlett's older than he's ever been before."
Truth is, I like the craziness of Tigers' fans. I will never forget going to the first game after September 11 with a profound sense of foreboding, standing alongside the Tiger Army and gradually being overcome by the sheer insanity of their passion.
And it would be wrong of me not to admit that there have been plenty of Tigers players whose careers I have followed with interest.
Like Wayne Campbell, an ambitious footballer who would have played in premierships at other clubs but stayed and won four best and fairests.
Like Duncan Kellaway, so fearless and so fair. Big Benny Gale has given plenty, too. His speech, as president of the players' association, before the 2003 grand final on the beliefs and aspirations of the game was magnificent.
I would also have to admit that when former Tigers' coach Tony Jewell was our local baker, once or twice I didn't get home with the sliced bread for the kids' lunches before they left for school. What a wonderfully affable man to talk footy with! And what a great moustache! An orange hedge. Birds could nest in it and he would never know.
I wrote this column because I kept reading stories about Richmond in the paper. Why all the stories, I asked myself. Because somehow at Tigerland nothing is hidden.
http://www.realfooty.theage.com.au/realfooty/articles/2005/02/18/1108709431443.html
