Jesus H. Christ, Richmond. I don’t even barrack for you, and that still nearly had me taken out on a stretcher.
This time last year, I wrote about how Richmond losing to Carlton in Round 1 was a yearly ritual to mark the changing of the seasons, footy’s equivalent of sacrificing a strong young man on a flaming hilltop pyre to entreat a good harvest from the gods.
This, I said, always presaged another middling year from the yellow and black – some good matches, some terrible ones, and a finish not far out of the finals that would have the optimists talking about next season.
Richmond fans got outraged in their droves, and chastised me for judging too soon, then sat and watched as the season I had predicted unfolded to the letter.
For me, Richmond’s Sisyphean ordeal has always begun with that first-up loss to Carlton. They must have won this match at some stage in my life, but I sure as hell can’t remember it.
Until today, of course. Because last night, they finally did.
For an hour or so there, I thought my world had changed irrevocably. The Richmond side that came out for Round 1, 2013, genuinely did not look like any Richmond side I had ever seen.
Sure, they went behind early. Three stirring goals to five points would have been enough to deflate some earlier Punt Road teams.
But this lot stayed calm, fought back with two goals, and went into quarter time level, with a goal for the lead denied on the siren. The second quarter, they piled on seven to one.
As the third quarter went pretty much goal for goal, with both sides adding five, I was seeing something new about this Tiger team.
Chris Judd kicked two goals and a point in a minute. The commentators tried to hype the comeback. Fans waited for the Tigers to fold. I never for a minute thought they would. They swept forward, put on the pressure to win some umpiring calls, and restored both goals.
More than this, they didn’t look nervous. They didn’t look shaky. They looked like they were certain to run out winners. This was a Richmond I had never seen in this fixture. It was a Richmond I had faith in.
Dustin Martin, Trent Cotchin, and Brett Deledio had all produced moments of determined brilliance when needed. Jake King was fierce and creative up forward. Alex Rance made a couple of crucial last-man saves.
Riewoldt wasn’t much in the play, sacrificing his own game for Ty Vickery, who stepped into the breach. The bearded forward led hard to the wings, smashed several packs, accidentally knocked out Mitch Robinson, and booted three goals.
Richmond scored 14 for the match without Riewoldt contributing one, an unheard-of arrangement.
Even in the last quarter, as Carlton kicked three to get back within 19 points after ten minutes of play, I remained confident. Only with the fourth did it start to unravel.
Jeff Garlett nailed two in quick time, and another point made it one goal the difference with a few minutes to play. The Tiges weren’t falling apart, but Carlton were dominating.
In the end, Richmond’s win came down to Chris Yarran’s poor kicking. He missed twice in those three minutes: once on the snap from a pack in front of goal, once running in uncontested from 40 metres.
Either would have won it, both should have been nailed. From the second kick-in, the Tigers were able to clear down to their end of the ground, where a Luke McGuane tackle held it up long enough to kill the clock.
But what a fortunate escape it had been.
So what does this mean for the Tigers? The new-look confident side that I saw in the second and third quarters still nearly contrived to drop the game in the manner of their predecessors.
But they didn’t’ look like their predecessors on the ground. They looked full of belief. It means this escape could be the most important stroke of fortune they’ve received since drafting Deledio in 2004.
Too many times in 2012, we saw the Tigers freak and freeze when holding an advantage late in the match. It was a club-wide trait.
Had it happened again here, it could have tainted their season. A stroke of fortune from Yarran’s boot, and belief can now strengthen in the Tiger camp.
As Paul Kelly and Kev Carmody often remind us, from little things, big things grow.
Still, I do suggest they amend the song to “We never win until the final siren’s gone.” Late the next morning and my heart rate is only just going back to normal.
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