My Sunday begins on the golf course, not long after dawn. The Tigers are to play at the `G in the early game and a golfing buddy is heading north to chase the sun in a few days. Finishing a round of golf and making it to the MCG on time presents a challenge.
We tee off in the grey, early half-light of the wintry morning, rugged up for protection from the bitter wind that whistles past our ears. Gentle rain is falling. Our movements are awkward and ginger, stiff backs needing time to loosen up on a nippy morning.
The air is heavy with moisture. The ground is soft, spongy, saturated with water. When I swing my club it feels like I am trying to hit a marshmallow off the top of a blancmange. I must look a sight when I return home in mud-splattered clothes. My long-suffering partner orders me directly to the shower and everything else into the washing machine. My golf trousers walk themselves to the laundry and jump in, needing no further encouragement.
The business end of the football season is imminent. The clan gathers outside Gate 2. Train and tram delays, biting cold and steadily falling drizzle have not deterred us. Expectation is rising again, a now-familiar optimism swells. As each star returns from long-term injury, the prospect of another finals tilt escalates until the romance of possibilities ahead excites us.
Soon, we are seated under cover, enjoying the best vantage points available to our group of five.
Before the game, Sydney Stack is the name on our lips, having impressed us all with daring play and skilful execution in his rookie year. In days to come, will people really go to the footy just to watch him play? Is this already happening so soon into his career?
Siddy’s talents are immediately on display as he dances around hapless opponents in the opening minutes and kicks truly in wet and miserable conditions, opening the scoring, making a mockery of my earlier difficulties on a muddy golf course. Soon, he celebrates a second goal with gusto, until a senior team-mate tells him it hit the post and to run to where he should be. A truculent look flashes across his face, reminding us of his tender years. Boy, do we Tiger fans love our cult heroes!
Richmond control the early gambits of the game. Dylan Grimes and Bachar Houli are steady down back, Captain Cotchin and his Tattooed Buddy are slick in the middle. The Tom and Jack Show is functioning like clockwork.
When the ball hits the ground, a wolf-pack of snarling small forwards pounces and goes to work, both chaotic and organised at the same time. They pressure and squeeze every attempted exit from our forward fifty, keeping the GWS defence off-balance. The siren rings at an inopportune moment, costing a certain goal, but the Tigers have a comfortable lead at the first break.
What a magnificent place the MCG is! How wonderful it is to be here on such a dreary day, watching good football from seats so protected from the elements. Before our eyes, these two strong teams crack in, finals aspirations on the line.
GWS are behind and grow desperate to claw their way back. Jeremy Cameron, the leader in this year’s Coleman Medal race, scores two brilliant goals in a minute as half-time beckons, giving his team a chance, reminding us of his talent. Damn, this lead is not as safe as it should be!
When fortunes are on the line like this, champion players emerge, casting their looming, threatening shadows. Toby Greene is at his annoying best. We mutter our dark thoughts and quietly wish that he played for us. Nick Haynes drifts across packs, moving gracefully and handling the slippery ball with surety. Daniel Rioli is playing his best game of the season.
But, as good as they all are, the third quarter belongs to one man: Kane Lambert. In steady rain, under immense pressure, he runs hard and with commitment. He marks strongly, scores repeatedly, protects his team’s lead and thwarts the Giants at every turn. At the final break, the gap between the teams is almost decisive but danger still awaits the over-confident.
A tight arm-wrestle continues to the end of the game. In general play, both teams are evenly-matched. In a contested game, the Tigers display their class more often.
Young Shai Bolton is busy and effective, continually linking up with team-mates, creating many opportunities, securing his place in this team. Houli is ever-present, a source of constant drive, gliding across the ground. Nick Vlastuin, playing without an opponent is free to read the play and intercept loose balls. He controls the game at the back. His nominal opponent, Lachie Whitfield, does the same, 60 metres away. The Tom and Jack Show continues to impress. When was the last time we had two tall forwards with so much to offer?
Soon, we are on our feet, belting out our mighty anthem. We pour reluctantly out of the MCG to face the elements again. As we trudge towards Jolimont Station in the grey, fading half-light of the early afternoon, we are well-pleased with the endeavours of our team.
That’s how winter is in Melbourne.
(L-R) Joe's daughter Amy, her partner Matt, Joe De Petro
Joe De Petro is a Financial Planner and life-long Tiger tragic who has raised his three adult children as diehard Tiger fans. In some circles, the last of these things is considered an act of cruelty.
RICHMOND 4.4 6.7 10.13 13.16 (94)
GREATER WESTERN SYDNEY 0.2 4.5 6.7 9.13 (67)
GOALS
Richmond: Lambert 3, Lynch 3, Castagna 2, Stack, Riewoldt, Bolton, Chol, Edwards
Greater Western Sydney: Cameron 3, Hill 3, Greene 2, Daniels
Official crowd: 38,986 at the MCG