Leaving us behind again (for now) are some teams that have been down the bottom and back to the top several times since we comfortably commanded a regular spot in the 8 (or the 5 for that matter, it has been so long). Those sides are yo-yos, and the Tigers, well we seem to just be yos.
I know, I know. We're not too faraway. We're so close. I made it to Etihad last Sunday with my mate Simon. He and I have cried tears into each other's beers for many seasons. With the roof closed Etihad reminds me of one of those large warehouse sheds that are popping up everywhere now, full of cheap tools. After the match on Sunday, I was the cheapest tool in place.
Frustrated at seeing another massive opportunity slip out of our hands, I was crying out 'I'm sick of it, I can't take it anymore' as we left. Simon said that about 50% of the people around us had looks of quiet agreement, while the other 50% looked at me like I was a truly repugnant and useless spanner. I deserved scorn, but the primal scream inside me had to come out. I just don't get to the footy often enough these days.
Losing when you are rubbish is strangely bearable. You know you're always up against it, so you're happy just to hang in there, and maybe, just maybe, cause an upset and sing for glory. Losing when you're good is much harder. The buzz that was building at the ground in the last quarter on Sunday was the buzz of fans who understand we're getting good and who are starting to anticipate victories. It was a tentatively confident buzz, one that's been a long time missing down at Richmond. Few Tigers fans were that surprised that we were there - right there - against the top-of-the-table Eagles. We dominated play in the last 15 minutes but couldn't take our chances. It was cruel, so cruel. Lids just missed one he attempted from beyond the 50.
You hardly expect anyone to kick those these days, but Lids can. Jack missed one from where he shouldn't - he knew it. Just so cruel. Because if we had have won that one, the psychological lift for the players and the fans would have been terrific. Converting hope into belief is tough, but a victory on Sunday would have loudly announced a conversion.
Instead, we remain a quietly emerging threat. Maybe that is the way it must be if we are after deep and long-lasting success. There's been a lot to love about those promising 9 hours of good footy. It wasn't so long ago that we'd give anything for just 1 hour of good footy in an entire season. There were days when the Talking Suntan was coaching us that I'd have given anything for just a minute. Richmond fans surely must know it more than any others: patience is a virtue. Like waiting for Jack to finally take a speccy.
On the road this week out to Port Adelaide. Playing Port at home is like entering the wilderness. Stick to your intended path and you'll be fine, but stray and some evil things will happen. We need more marks inside 50 and / or our crumbing goal kickers to step up. Above all else, we need conversion. If we fly home stuck with 1 win from 6 games it won't be because we are hopeless but because we don't yet believe enough to take our chances. Faraway, so close.
Eat em alive Tigers, eat em alive.
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