I’m not sure I have what it takes to be a sports spectator. Yesterdays game (Tigers v Melbourne at the G) almost put me in hospital – I guess I should’ve headed the warning sign of seeing a guy who had a heart attack before he even got into the game.
The first three quarters were magnificent; we kicked long, kicked straight, accurately and played with purpose. Richo was on fire and the team looked like the Richmond of old. Then came the final quarter. Ten minutes in we were 46 points up – an unassailable lead in normal season with a normal team. What happened for the next twenty minutes had me struck dumb with terror as we stopped and the Demons surged – with two minutes to go we were five points down and seemed set to lose by a measly point again. How they managed to defend for those 120 seconds when the ball hovered around Melbourne’s goal must have involved some form of divine intervention; that final siren was sweeter than any sound I have heard. Rae had been screaming her lungs out all quarter but I saved my voice for the end – ‘Tigerland’ rang out loud and clear, and I’m still singing it the next morning.
One victory in ten games, but we’ll take it and love it.