Given it’s been 50 years since ‘The Royce Hart Story’ was published in 1970, we thought it was worthwhile to revisit some of what the Richmond ‘Immortal’ wrote in his ground-breaking book. Today, we present Hart’s thoughts on the Tigers’ drought-breaking 1967 Grand Final triumph.
“I will never forget that game . . . It was the culmination of a plan drawn up in the summer of 1967. We started our preparation the second week in January and trained three nights a week, including Sunday, right up to the Grand Final. About the middle of the season we were given a let-up and then coach Tom Hafey drove us to our goal.
Everyone had a part to play in our great victory. It was a team effort . . .
At the MCG, Richmond has a small room where Tom takes us for our pre-match address, away from all the hustle and bustle of the dressing room. I can remember one of the points of this (Grand Final day) talk which will always stick in my mind. Tom had corresponded with athletics coach Percy Cerutty. Before the season the Tigers spent a week-end at his Portsea training camp, running up and down the sand dunes. He wrote a letter to Tom on the eve of the Grand Final and Tom read it to us. I can remember one point in it regarding Herb Elliott’s mile races. It said anyone could keep with Herb for three laps but in the fourth lap, when the pressure was really on, he would draw away to win well. He likened this to football. Anyone can keep with a good side for three quarters, but it was that vital final term that mattered when the best team would take control and win well. This was the theme on which Hafey based his talk – and that was exactly what happened. Towards the end of the game, like Elliott, we finished on top in the last lap.
I can remember running onto the ground in the Grand Final. I felt as though I was walking on a cloud. To hear 109,396 fans screaming at fever pitch is a memory that will live with me forever. I can’t even recall running my first warm-up lap. All I could hear was a deafening explosion with streamers flying everywhere. It was not until I cooled down that I realized how fast I had been running.
That crescendo of voices echoed around the ground again as umpire Peter Sheales bounced the ball in the centre. We didn’t start too well as Geelong got the break on us with a couple of quick goals. When I kicked our first goal we were trailing but were not particularly worried, because none of our players had appeared in a Grand Final before and naturally we were nervous . . .
We led at half-time but despite this Hafey was not satisfied. He had us expected us to do better because we had beaten Geelong on two previous occasions early in the season . . .
At three-quarter time I remember his final remarks when he again referred to Herb Elliott’s last lap. This was to be our finishing burst. Tom said the last quarter of a Grand Final sorts out the men from the boys and this is when all good players should rise to the occasion. This really stuck in my mind. As the team broke up to take up their positions, every player thought to himself: ‘Am I a good player or just another also-ran?’
Geelong went to a ten-point lead and everybody thought it was curtains for Richmond. You could tell by the murmurs of the Tiger supporters they were beginning to lose heart. But what they didn’t realize was that, because of the pounding Tom Hafey had dished out during training, we were the fittest team in the League that season. Then, John Ronaldson came to the rescue with two unbelievable goals to put us back in the game. Rover Kevin Bartlett actually sealed the match with another soon after and, for the first time, we realized the flag was ours. It was a great relief.
Halfway through the last term I can recall the incident that many believe was the mark of the year. I was playing on State centre half-back Peter Walker when the Cats’ full-back Roy West kicked out. I was determined not to let Walker get the ball and I came in from the side and got a ride on his shoulder as we both flew for the mark. I grabbed at the ball for dear life and booted it downfield. It wasn’t until I saw the replay on TV that I realized how high it was.
In the dressing rooms afterwards champagne flowed like water and there was not a happier man than our captain, Fred Swift, who had led us to the flag in his last game with the Tigers. Outside, Tiger fans waited patiently for us to appear. A few minutes meant nothing to them after waiting twenty-four years for this moment.
That night the city of Richmond was a blaze of colour. The Town Hall was decked with black and yellow streamers and there was Freddie Swift, robed in the mayoral regalia, ringing the victory bell before thousands of cheering Richmondites in the streets below.
When I finally crawled into bed in the early hours of Sunday morning to rest my weary bones, I looked back, for the first time, on the day that had been my greatest in football.”