I feel like this is our first 21st century grand final in many ways; strange as it is to say. We won premierships in 2017 and 2019 by a collective 137 points, against sides that had no idea of the gaping chasm in ability until the second quarter.
In the past, we put our feet up in the premiership quarter while our players started their victory lap 60 minutes early. By the fourth quarter, the bashful among us began Norm Smith medal considerations while the haughty taunted our hapless opponents in perfect harmony. This week, we can’t expect to hear the Richmond equivalent of the fat lady singing so soon.
We watched those grand finals in 2017 and 2019 with supreme optimism masquerading as quiet confidence. With our beloved Richmond players close by, and our tiger family and friends only a tram ride or cab fare away from a hug and a song. This year, our Victorian faithful must try to connect with state enforced limitations, while the mighty tigers battle it out against our one true rival for the holy grail. In a city world’s away from the sacred turf of the MCG.
Back home, we are still under pressure from the virus, but like our tiger heroes we can overcome this plague together.
You don't need to congregate in person to worship at the altar of Richmond after all. “No matter where you are, we can hear your roar.”
So if you can’t embrace your tiger comrade, embrace the uniqueness that makes this quintessentially a Richmond year. If you can’t sing arm in arm in before the game, shout the song from the rooftops so the whole of Melbourne knows what time it is. What time is it again? It’s *smile*ing tiger time.
EAT EM ALIVE
