Round 9, 2005

 

 

TigerWatch, Week 9:

 

We’ve turned.

 

It’s finally happened. We admit we were wrong. It’s time to recant and re-assess our entire world view. We finally concede that Richmond are The Real Deal, now that they have won at the Gabbatoir. Having done so much to talk down the Tiges over the years, we now feel obliged to talk them up to an equally ridiculous extent, in a vain bid for forgiveness from vengeful Tiger fans.

 

When the Tigers are firing it is Good for Football. One reason that Victorians should put aside some of their earlier prejudices and embrace the national competition is that interstate sides add something different because they all have their own unique sub-cultures and style, whereas many of the Melbourne teams have become homogenised and too alike. Richmond, on the other hand, has managed to maintain a unique identity and culture over the past two decades, at a time when other clubs have lost theirs. Admittedly, a lot of this is due to its unique record of failure and incompetence, but nonetheless, there is something unique about Tigermania that no other team can match. It adds an extra dimension to the AFL. I can't think of any other team that is worth devoting weekly column inches to in each invective. Could anyone imagine a weekly "DonWatch" or "HawkWatch"? How boring would that be?

 

The period of the national competition (1982-present) has coincided with Richmond's decline as a football club. Richmond supporters have maintained their distinct culture in this period as all oppressed minorities do - through the solidarity of shared suffering.  This creates a bond akin to that of the Poles between 1939 and 1989, although at least some of Poles' defeats were brave failures.

 

But now, at last the tide as turned and Richmond and their fans should now be accorded respect and gratuitous flattery. Accordingly, we make the following big statements:

• Terrance and Phillip (aka Richo and Dr Pink) are the modern day equivalent of Royce Hart and Frances Bourke;

• Terry Wallace is the modern day Tommy Hafey. All that’s missing is the white T-Shirt on a 10 degree July day;

• Shane Tuck is the next Kevin Bartlett. The only question that remains is will he play as many games as his KB (403) or his old man (425);

• The Round 22 re-match between Richmond and Geelong now looms at the Match of the Year and, given that Richmond are unlikely to lose a game before then, it will be Geelong’s last chance to knock them off for top spot. This game should immediately be transferred from Unskilled Stadium to the MCG, which is likely to be at a capacity of 90,000 by then. And by jingo, they’ll need every last one of those seats to accommodate the Tiger army, and every last car park space to fit all those yellow and black bandwagons.

Furthermore, a new Golden Era for Richmond is about to dawn. We make the following big predictions:

• Just as Tommy Hafey led Richmond to their drought-breaking flag with a controversial win over Geelong in the 1967 Grand Final, Plow will lead the Tiges to victory over the Cats in this year’s decider. Just like in ’67, Darren Gaspar will mark a Peter Riccardi long-bomb over the goal line in the dying seconds, yet the blind and corrupt goal umpire will allow him to play on and steal the game.

• Kevin Bartlett will bury the hatchet and return to Tigerland, at the head of a triumphal procession down Bridge Rd, much like Nelson Mandela’s triumphant return from exile through the streets of Cape Town in 1990.

• David Cloke will beg for forgiveness and attempt to get transfers from Collingwood for his three sons.

• Caroline Wilson will resign as a journalist and take up an alternative career as a nun with a vow of silence, with her last words being that she has caused so much hurt to Richmond with her ill-chosen words that she feels obliged to give up the power of speech.

• Just as the oppressed Poles had the good fortune to have one of their countrymen ascend to the papacy and lead them to freedom, we predict that former Tiger George Pell will rise to be the next Pope, and that this historic event will also be the harbinger of the liberation of Richmond fans as a people.

In other news this week, the Crows gave us a history lesson of the world since 1991 by demonstrating all facets of their history against the Saints. Their abominable first quarter constituted the chapter on the Robert Shaw era of dullness, mediocrity and taggers who couldn’t even tag. The second quarter, however, was the Cornes chapter in the Adelaide history book, as the Crows turned on a vintage all-out nothing-to-lose performance reminiscent of Round 1, 1991. The third quarter was the Ayres era in microcosm – solid, reliable, yet ultimately unspectacular, with McLeod spending just a bit too long on the bench as well. The last quarter finale was a re-run of all that was glorious in the glorious Blight era, and resembled the last quarter of the ’97 Grand Final as 18 hapless, leaderless Saints were brushed aside by Crow power.

 

Hawthorn, meanwhile, in its ongoing search for an easy win, finally found a team softer than itself. Essendon, no doubt stung by Fremantle’s audacious bid to steal its crown last week, showed that it is still the team to beat for the last quarter fade out medal in 2005 (Angry Docker Fan – do you read me? Are you still out there?). And up at the Swamp, the Dogs and Swans put on a match befitting the two sides which generate the two lowest care factors in 2005.

 

But more pressing concerns than these require our close attention this week.

 

Now that Richmond have ascended to the top of the tree, they now owe it to other clubs to share in some of their successful formula. For example, if ever a team needed to inject some of the Richmond passion into its ranks it is North Melbourne. What the Roos desperately need now is a passionate and highly volatile breed of supporters who will turn on coach Laidley and the players and teach them the meaning of the word “accountability”. The only thing worse than the way they folded on Sunday is not having anyone in the club to turn feral on them and remind them of how bad they really were. As Richmond have demonstrated, they essential prerequisite of success is a period of failure that is marked by regular vitriolic belittling by its supporter base.

 

Notwithstanding the admirable competency and overall evenness of the Geelong contribution last Sunday (bar of course Cameron Mooney, who looked more likely to take out Carl Williams than participate effectively in a football match on the weekend) the North Melbourne performance on Sunday, as a Southern Baptist priest would put it, was an abomination. Nothing more, nothing less. 

 

After five consecutive wins, the Junkyard Mutt has since contrived to instill in his forces levels of courage, passion, skill and tactical nous unequalled in the competition so far this season, with the obvious exception of Carlton. The writing on the wall is beginning to appear for Pagan. Blue supporters, especially having tasted March premiership success (care factor now, Dennis?), will be feeling more compelled than ever to feed their narcissistic tendencies and, much like a bastion of Gallic toothless wenches on Bastille Day 1789, demand that heads roll. That Pagan is looking less like Otto Rehhagel (Greek coach and superhero of Euro 2004) and more like Alketas Panagoulias (coach of the laughable Greek national team at the 1994 World Cup) would not be lost on Carlton's Mediterranean contingent.

 

However, our innate (and inane) propensity to stick the boot into Carlton at every turn has led us to digress from the prime issue at hand. North fans have been unceremoniously backed into a corner by the Junkyard Mutt, and now have no choice but to turn. In fact, if North fans were NOT to turn this week, the rest of the football world would be entitled to think that the resignation and defeatism which had afflicted Geelong supporters for forty years had somehow transcended up the Geelong Road and found a loving new home in the Haunted House at Arden Street (however - loved the new-found Geelong ARROGANCE in the outer on the weekend: die-hards who know their team is on the cusp of greatness and couldn't give a Peking duck about opposition insecurities and weaknesses). 

 

It is in the best interests of the club (and dare I say it, the game of football itself) for North fans to turn, much like England soccer supporters did with such frightful zeal on then manager Bobby Robson after the bore draw against the Irish in the 1990 World Cup. That the English responded with some of the most exciting football of the tournament, only to lose out to eventual champion West Germany on penalties in the semis, is now famous history, and worthy justification for feral fans to take it out on the team at the slightest inkling of crisis time.

 

Well this IS crisis time.

 

That the Junkyard Mutt should be the primary target for turning fans seems self-evident. Even Bill Hayden's trusty drover's dog, had he/she been privileged enough to experience first-hand the collective coaching expertise of Malthouse and Pagan as a young pup, would have been clearly capable of taking this Roo team to some finals action at least once in the past three years. The first five games proved they were good enough, albeit with lashings of Shinboner Shitscared, no doubt cultivated by Laidley, the chief executioner, embalmer and undertaker of the Shinboner Spirit at Princes Park in Round 16 last year.

 

Whilst some media commentators have labelled Laidley as 'intense', footballinvective.com vehemently disagrees. Parkin was intense - how he managed not to burst an aneurysm in his head throughout his entire coaching career still remains a real-life case study at the Royal Melbourne Hospital Department of Neurosciences. Chocko is intense - just ask his mum, plus he doesn't drink. Malthouse is intense - unless you have been living on the Planet Neptune for the past 20 years, no explanations required there. However, intensity is the price of genius, the price of professionalism, the price of excellence, the price of premierships. Laidley possesses none of these attributes, and thus cannot be reasonably labeled as 'intense'. Anxious, yes. Frenetic, yes. Angry, obviously. Agitated, definitely. But intense - not unless you consider Julian Clary a raving heterosexual. Unlike the other top dogs that live in the AFL neighbourhood, the Junkyard Mutt remains a neutered poodle cross - ultimately soft, with no real pedigree and no real balls.

 

Moreover, the Mutt should take a leaf out of ex-teammate Woosha's coaching manual. Despite the Eagles being no better than middle-of-the-road fare for the past three seasons, Worsfold has done just enough to push his side into the finals and give his young team a taste of things to come. This year, Porn United are reaping the benefits of the seeds they have sown. Contrast with North, who have been challenging for finals the past two seasons, but the Mutt suffers from acute neurosis whenever it appear achievable, and the Rooboys sadly drop away. Too much negative energy for any football side to be asked to cope with.

 

For some peculiar reason, the Mutt has seen fit to provide a shelter for discarded and unloved DOBMs, all physically and psychologically scarred, each for varying reasons. Further evidence of the tactical insanity which drives the club. Needless to say, the overall contribution from the Roo DOBM department has been as effective this season as appeasement was in 1938. For example:

1.      Nathan Thompson - Mutt trades the first two Roo picks of 2004 for the 'Arab', akin to trading in two E55 Mercedes Benzes for a girly light green Hyundai Excel without air conditioning;

2.      Corey McKernan - organ donor forms filled out yet, Corey?

3.      Saverio Rocca - Malthouse already has massive problems with the Collingwood forward line; he didn't need another headache nor a pizza shop owner;

4.      Drew Petrie - a broken man at just 22 years of age? Will he be the big man equivalent of Darren Cuthbertson?

5.      Leigh Colbert - like Judas Iscariot, Colbert has paid dearly for his treacherous ways, with a body that creaks like the Tinman in the 'Wizard of Oz', and a soul that if not entirely sold, must surely be on a long-term lease;

6.      Shannon Watt - ask Corey where you can pick up those organ donor forms, if you don't mind.

 

Criticism should also be fairly directed at El Presidente Allan Aylett, who is presently displaying all the incompetence requisite of any head of state in a Central/South American banana republic. Re-signing Laidley, an unproven dud, to the end of 2007 ranks as one of the dentist's more zany and hare-brained escapades. Proclaiming the Mutt last season as the conduit to imminent premiership success is like Bob Hawke telling all Australians that no child in Australia will be living in poverty by 1990 - sure, it is a cosy motherhood statement, but only severe dementia would ever permit such a comment to reach the public domain.

 

Laidley should be mindful and acutely aware that North fans have a record of turning on under-performing coaches. Wayne Schimmelbusch, former darling of the Arden Street faithful, record games holder, the epitome of 1970s/1980s Shinboner Spirit, rightly earned the wrath of all and sundry after the pre-season humiliation in 1993 against the Crows. This was the necessary trigger for the most successful period in Roo history. Denis Pagan, tired of winning U/19 VFL premierships, tries his hand at senior football. He anoints Wayne Carey as the Chosen One. Carey, as the Scriptures had ordained, goes on to dominate the world. (and Stevens' missus). Schwass sheds his lairish ways and becomes the swashbuckling midfielder extraordinaire. Micky is transformed from below average full back to Chief Defender of the Shinboner Spirit, ably assisted by sidekick psycho Glenn Archer.

 

Twelve years on, the parallels are uncanny, yet comfortingly familiar. A former premiership hero (Laidley) stands at the precipice, and should he not have the good grace to go quietly into the night, must be pushed by bloodthirsty Roo fans, for whom success has now become a birthright. Daniel Wells stands on the brink of world domination, but has no worthy mentor to reveal to him his true destiny. The General Leigh is ready to assume the mantle of Chief Defender of the Spirit, again to be ably assisted by sidekick psycho Glenn Archer. Shannon Grant finally seems keen to abandon the overtly lairish behaviour of the past and justify the enormous faith put in him by the club when they traded Schwass.

 

Evidently however, the season is not lost. North lie seventh after nine rounds. Should North finish seventh at season's end, considerable progress would have been made. However, much like tsarist Russia circa 1917, the rot has set in at Arden Street. Thus, the ideal socio-cultural environment for football revolution is in place. All people's revolutions require a revered leader, a Messiah. Russia's 'Messiah' (and we do use that term very loosely), was Vladimir Ilich Lenin.

 

North can go one better - much, much better:

 

Blighty.

 

The BBB Plan is Go. Long live The Revolution.

 

 

Hero of the week: Mark Ricciuto - a proud supporter of this website, the Roo showed the Saints that he is what Nick Riewoldt ain't - a balls-and-all leader. his extraordinary capacity to pinpoint 50m passes to blonde mullets in the goal square and roost the occasional long goal is simply the pinnacle of SA lair refinement

 

Cult figure of the week: The FGY* in the outer at Unskilled on Sunday, summed up the mood of the day most eloquently, after Colbert lost out in yet another one-on-one tussle, with probably the best delivered lines of the year (Cannes film festival and this website included): 

 

"You could've been captain today, Colbert"....(pause)

(crowd giggles)

"But you didn't Didn't want it, did you?"....(further pause)"

crowd laughs)

"Well we don't want you either!"

(crowd cheers)

(oh-so laconically)"......... So F**k off." 

(crowd hysterical; high-fives all round)

 

A hot favourite in the cult figure of the year award, in an otherwise desperately even field.

 

Clanger of the week: Michael Stevens pleaded 'no contest' to a first degree charge of LWA on Sunday, after bouncing the ball gratefully into the hands of a chasing James Kelly in the final quarter instead of kicking for goal from 50. Now that once loyal supporters have turned on their club, scapegoating is the name of the game, and the inevitable consequence of such under-performance. Hence, Stevens is merely a victim of circumstance.

 

 

* F.G.Y. - Feral Geelong Yobbo