Yellow and Black -- it's in the blood
richmondfc.com.au
2:23:18 PM Wed 9 July, 2003
In the fourth of our new feature series, Lyall Johnson, Football Writer for The Age newspaper tells why the Tigers are so special to him . . .
The afternoon of the 1972 Grand Final was the defining moment of my life as a Richmond supporter.
Weaving around my mate's loungeroom wearing boxing gloves, I remember two things - windmill punches raining down on my head, and my disappointment as the radio (I think tuned to 3DB) told the tale of Richmond going down in the highest scoring Grand Final in history.
Some collective, cosmic connection linking our defeats...? Who knows.
I played and loved footy, but at age six I didn't really have a football team. My father wanted me to barrack for his beloved Geelong but I didn't like the jumpers. (I did, however, have what even diehard supporters can only describe as a 'thing' for the Richmond jumpers. I still associate Kevin Bartlett with his famous lace up one. Very cool and tough. And to this day I still have the jumper - not a lace up, sadly - my parents bought me when I was about 12, with it's thin yellow stripe, long sleeves and yellow cuffs!)
At the time, my young mind knew a few players (thanks mainly to the old Scanlen's football cards I collected), which, if anything and to my shame now, almost made me a Carlton supporter. I used to think Geoff Southby was pretty good and, let's face it, Alex Jesaulenko was pretty thrilling to watch.
But that day, as my mate Grant did a fair job of knocking the stuffing out of me with his new boxing gloves, my dismay at Richmond's loss made me realise my heart was with the Tigers and the even greater names that made up our great team.
The lovely kicking *smile* Clay at full back, Francis Bourke on a wing beside Paul Sproule in the centre, the nuggety Kevin Sheedy in the back pocket before he could convince coach Tommy Hafey years later to let him play on the ball, the massive and scary Neil
Balme in the forward pocket, Kevin Morris as ruck rover and little Bartlett the rover. Believe it or not Ian Stewart started on the bench!
But of all of them, it was the skipper, the man who would be named the greatest centre half for ward to ever play Australian Rules Football, that captured me. Royce Hart.
For a young football fan at the time it was impossible not to be impressed by Hart. His leap and vice-like grip on the ball, his beautiful long left foot kicks, his frightening courage and single-minded determination and concentration. He was the clean, superbly talented and inspiring leader of one of the toughest (some would say dirtiest, and quite frankly, any Richmond supporter worth their salt wears that tag as a badge of honour) teams in any era of the game.
I was only one and half at the time - I'm not sure if we even had a TV - but somehow 'that mark' in the final quarter of the 1967 Grand Final when Hart leapt over the shoulder of Geelong's Peter Walker has been etched into my psyche. My parents were there in the top of the Olympic Stand barracking for the Cats...perhaps they first told me about it?
As all children do, I created a 'lucky number' for myself. Four has always been mine thanks to Hart. Throughout my limited football career I always tried to snaffle that number at the start of the season, it's always on my Tatts tickets.
Even now I have an Inaugural Richmond Hall of Fame dinner invitation signed by the great man in my drawer at The Age.
But obviously, being a Tiger supporter for life involves more than just the influence of one player.
Each person chooses to follow a team for reasons of their own, and for better or worse they tend to stick with that club through thick and thin. You could write a university thesis on how supporters form such passionate and loyal allegiances to a bunch of blokes who, in many cases, they have never met, and whose success or failure on a Saturday afternoon can have such a profound influence on their lives. And I don't pretent to know the
reasons why.
But for me, even with the lack of success on and off the field over the past two decades, being a Richmond supporter has always been about being associated with the best, which I believe comes from the Richmond team of the 70's being the toughest, the strongest, the most glamourous of them all. There was an arrogance about them that said you had never seen football
until you had seen it played by the Tigers. They brought to life the motto 'Eat 'Em Alive', which I used to scream out when I watched the Big League replay on a Saturday evening.
Even with our lacklustre on field performances over the past 20 years and poor management at Punt Road throughout the '80s and early '90s when the club was run into the ground, somehow this passion still runs deep through the club.
I don't have a kind word for the supporters who have not either signed up this year or who don't attend games, but I do have some understanding. Passion that burns so bright can be difficult to sustain, and the double edge of disappointment can easily take hold.
It is not good to live in the past, but with such great history behind our club, it is important to learn from the greats. Richmond has always had a never say die attitude, especially the likes of Hart, Sheedy, Bourke and Clay (and before them greats such as Jack Dyer and Billy Barrot). They would they would never give up fighting just because things were not going their way.
They have taught me that. I now have a media pass and get into any AFL game for free, but I still buy my membership each year. And for many years, especially those that were even leaner than the past couple, you would find me - rain, hail or shine - usually in the Ponsford or the outer at PrincesPark or Waverley, often on my own, staying to the final siren and cheering the lads on.
That was the ''Tiger of old'' spirit I grew up with. How can one not love a club that inspires such passion?
richmondfc.com.au
2:23:18 PM Wed 9 July, 2003
In the fourth of our new feature series, Lyall Johnson, Football Writer for The Age newspaper tells why the Tigers are so special to him . . .
The afternoon of the 1972 Grand Final was the defining moment of my life as a Richmond supporter.
Weaving around my mate's loungeroom wearing boxing gloves, I remember two things - windmill punches raining down on my head, and my disappointment as the radio (I think tuned to 3DB) told the tale of Richmond going down in the highest scoring Grand Final in history.
Some collective, cosmic connection linking our defeats...? Who knows.
I played and loved footy, but at age six I didn't really have a football team. My father wanted me to barrack for his beloved Geelong but I didn't like the jumpers. (I did, however, have what even diehard supporters can only describe as a 'thing' for the Richmond jumpers. I still associate Kevin Bartlett with his famous lace up one. Very cool and tough. And to this day I still have the jumper - not a lace up, sadly - my parents bought me when I was about 12, with it's thin yellow stripe, long sleeves and yellow cuffs!)
At the time, my young mind knew a few players (thanks mainly to the old Scanlen's football cards I collected), which, if anything and to my shame now, almost made me a Carlton supporter. I used to think Geoff Southby was pretty good and, let's face it, Alex Jesaulenko was pretty thrilling to watch.
But that day, as my mate Grant did a fair job of knocking the stuffing out of me with his new boxing gloves, my dismay at Richmond's loss made me realise my heart was with the Tigers and the even greater names that made up our great team.
The lovely kicking *smile* Clay at full back, Francis Bourke on a wing beside Paul Sproule in the centre, the nuggety Kevin Sheedy in the back pocket before he could convince coach Tommy Hafey years later to let him play on the ball, the massive and scary Neil
Balme in the forward pocket, Kevin Morris as ruck rover and little Bartlett the rover. Believe it or not Ian Stewart started on the bench!
But of all of them, it was the skipper, the man who would be named the greatest centre half for ward to ever play Australian Rules Football, that captured me. Royce Hart.
For a young football fan at the time it was impossible not to be impressed by Hart. His leap and vice-like grip on the ball, his beautiful long left foot kicks, his frightening courage and single-minded determination and concentration. He was the clean, superbly talented and inspiring leader of one of the toughest (some would say dirtiest, and quite frankly, any Richmond supporter worth their salt wears that tag as a badge of honour) teams in any era of the game.
I was only one and half at the time - I'm not sure if we even had a TV - but somehow 'that mark' in the final quarter of the 1967 Grand Final when Hart leapt over the shoulder of Geelong's Peter Walker has been etched into my psyche. My parents were there in the top of the Olympic Stand barracking for the Cats...perhaps they first told me about it?
As all children do, I created a 'lucky number' for myself. Four has always been mine thanks to Hart. Throughout my limited football career I always tried to snaffle that number at the start of the season, it's always on my Tatts tickets.
Even now I have an Inaugural Richmond Hall of Fame dinner invitation signed by the great man in my drawer at The Age.
But obviously, being a Tiger supporter for life involves more than just the influence of one player.
Each person chooses to follow a team for reasons of their own, and for better or worse they tend to stick with that club through thick and thin. You could write a university thesis on how supporters form such passionate and loyal allegiances to a bunch of blokes who, in many cases, they have never met, and whose success or failure on a Saturday afternoon can have such a profound influence on their lives. And I don't pretent to know the
reasons why.
But for me, even with the lack of success on and off the field over the past two decades, being a Richmond supporter has always been about being associated with the best, which I believe comes from the Richmond team of the 70's being the toughest, the strongest, the most glamourous of them all. There was an arrogance about them that said you had never seen football
until you had seen it played by the Tigers. They brought to life the motto 'Eat 'Em Alive', which I used to scream out when I watched the Big League replay on a Saturday evening.
Even with our lacklustre on field performances over the past 20 years and poor management at Punt Road throughout the '80s and early '90s when the club was run into the ground, somehow this passion still runs deep through the club.
I don't have a kind word for the supporters who have not either signed up this year or who don't attend games, but I do have some understanding. Passion that burns so bright can be difficult to sustain, and the double edge of disappointment can easily take hold.
It is not good to live in the past, but with such great history behind our club, it is important to learn from the greats. Richmond has always had a never say die attitude, especially the likes of Hart, Sheedy, Bourke and Clay (and before them greats such as Jack Dyer and Billy Barrot). They would they would never give up fighting just because things were not going their way.
They have taught me that. I now have a media pass and get into any AFL game for free, but I still buy my membership each year. And for many years, especially those that were even leaner than the past couple, you would find me - rain, hail or shine - usually in the Ponsford or the outer at PrincesPark or Waverley, often on my own, staying to the final siren and cheering the lads on.
That was the ''Tiger of old'' spirit I grew up with. How can one not love a club that inspires such passion?
