When I first moved to Melbourne, back in 1999, when Ian Healy was still the incumbent Australian wicketkeeper and Ray Warren was a fresh-faced young commentator aged 98 or so, I knew little about the Richmond Tigers.
I knew their mascot was the same as that of my team, the Balmain Tigers, who were about to fold. I knew that Kevin Bartlett had played for them, although I wasn’t entirely clear on who Kevin Bartlett was. And I knew they were the favoured team of the woman who was about to become my wife.
Clearly, I was not an Australian Rules expert at the time, although I had an allegiance to the Swans that survived my move south. But I had married a Tiger fan, and so I became that second-most-cursed of creatures: the Tiger-in-law.
As a Tiger-in-law, I have been spared the endless angst of the natural-born Tiger, and over the years the Swans have provided me great joy. But I’ve seen the hollow-eyed agony of my Richmond brethren, and my heart has ached for them. They’re not bad people, the Tiger army: they have simply been so worn down by the hellish injustice of the world that nothing seems to matter anymore.
If their relentless nihilism causes them to look at society with a jaundiced eye and behave as if the only thing to look forward to in life is its blessed end, can you blame them?
They remember the 2002 season, when they were promised the team would go at least a step further than the previous year’s preliminary final, only to find that the recruitment of Adam Houlihan proved less transformative than expected.
They remember 2005, when the Tigers rocketed to the top of the ladder, and then Matthew Whelan dived on Nathan Brown’s leg, everyone in Australia vomited, and Richmond finished twelfth.
They remember… well, the last 35 years. It’s all burnt deeply into their brains, and they have learnt to never trust the world’s false promises: more than anyone else, Richmond fans know that happiness is a lie and hope is a prank played on the unwary.
But I urge you, my Tiger comrades, to turn those frowns upside down. Rejoice, for all is well. Richmond has won two games in a row to start the AFL season, and they have been against the bitterest of enemies, Carlton and Collingwood.
In seven days, the Tiger faithful have been given reason to smile, and to cheer, and to turn to each other, eyes ablaze with wild surmise – could this be the year? Could we finally be on our way to the promised land – the land that runs with milk and honey and a complete absence of stress-induced stomach cramps?
Of course, the answer is no. But let’s say, for now, that it’s yes. There will be those – the Richmond coach, whoever he is, among them – who say we must be cautious, we must be sober, we must not let ourselves get carried away with two wins at the start of the season against fairly weak sides. We must, they will say, keep the lid on.
They are wrong. We must take the lid off. We must send the lid flying as ’twere by erupting toy snakes. We must fire the lid skywards and let our joy spurt uncontrollably from the opening of whatever unsettling vessel the lid was on in the first place. The idea of a lidded container must fill us with disgust.
Because how often do you get to enjoy a really good lid-lifting? The sensation of a removed lid is a beautiful one. The blood pumps with new vigour through your arteries. The sun shines more brightly on your upturned face. Birdsong is more melodic, supermarket queues seem to move faster. When your team’s lid is off, it feels like anything is possible, and being alive is the greatest of all things to be.
Richmond fans: you deserve that feeling. You’ve taken so many kicks to the solar plexus over the decades that I just want you to walk down the street with the sweet scent in the air that comes with unbounded hope and confidence in your football team. It’s like the whole world is decked with lavender. I want you to know what that feels like, Tiger army.
And you need to start feeling it now. Because god only knows when the window will close. You have two wins in a row, that’s such a rare blessing you must not let it go to waste. Any day now, the streak could end, the ride will be over, and the lid will be screwed back on tight. Hearts will sink and tears will well once more.
Faithful Tigers, you need to know some happiness before that happens. So please, go crazy, go wild, scream your euphoria from the rooftops. Take it as read that a flag is imminent. Mark grand final Day in your calendars with misty, joyous eyes. Like a man on Death Row writing letters to himself about a pardon, make yourself believe. Drink in the experience of feeling that glory awaits. And then once you find out it didn’t… well at least you felt it for a few days.
At least you’ve lived, Tiger fans. All I want for you is to live.
How good to see Ben Cousins back and looking fitter and healthier than ever!
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