DozzyThe Tiger Heart Is A Fragile Thing
April 9th 2009 01:20
Well the Tiges had a crack last Saturday against Geelong didn’t they? Dare say you could mark that one down as an ‘honourable loss’. And that is probably the absolute worst thing you could say to a Richmond supporter this week apart from mouthing the words ‘Wallace’ and ‘contract extension’ - ‘coffee enema’ would probably be more warmly received.
Supporting Richmond is a heavy emotional burden. The afflicted carry it around like an Irishman does Catholic guilt. Forever aware that the days following an ‘honourable loss’ are just small chinks of light breaking through the all-encompassing greyness of a footy season. For a glorious mid-week stretch the food tastes a little better and the air seems a little cleaner and Herald Sun hacks are showering your team with plaudits like ‘gutsy’ and ‘brave’. It usually takes to about the eight minute mark of the second quarter on the following Friday night before the whole charade is shattered and you realise that Greg Tivendale/Darren Gaspar/Kane Pettifer/Jordan McMahon/Richard Tambling are complete frauds and are proceeding to get spanked to such an extent that even the weird guy from I.T with the sweaty top lip and a face like an old man’s knee starts to snigger when you break down in tears next to the water cooler on Monday morning.
But shit, that’s what supporting Richmond is all about. Tiger fans understand this. That’s the burden of their faith. Just like Collingwood supporters acknowledging their tendency to lack basic literacy skills and a left incisor tooth. Or North fans coming to terms with the fact that our Greatest Ever Footballer is a shit bloke and we have the financial security of an Icelandic bank.
So what was Eddie McGuire doing? In his capacity ‘as a commentator’ he’s mouthing off about the Tigers and predicting an early exit for Wallace. Is he not aware of the old adage ‘No one gives my wife/girlfriend/brother shit but me’? He’s instigated a shit-fight with the club that invented them. Can you imagine if the situation was reversed and the Tigers had a pop at the Magpie hierarchy? McGuire would probably issue a fatwa on anyone caught wearing yellow and black before lapsing into the early throes of a conniption fit. Honestly, it’s almost as if he truly believes that he’s overseeing the second incarnation of the Roman Empire sometimes.
Like when Eugene Arocca decided to take up the position of CEO at North after the Magpies overlooked him for the role and McGuire said ‘You walk out that door and you can never come back.’ Jesus, it’s a footy club Eddie, not the fucking Sopranos. Ever heard of career advancement? The bloke has ambition. Calm. Down.
There’s another thing wrong with the whole stinking situation, the term ‘as a commentator’ hits a dud note with me. Eddie’s reputation for live commentary has diminished to the level of a slightly less hysterical Daryl Eastlake. He was an undeniably great host of the Footy Show, and is probably quite serviceable as the main man on Millionaire if I actually gave two fucks about gameshows, but his footy work is below par. He’s a Collingwood man, not a footy man. And that makes all the difference in a good call.
Bruce is the pinnacle. Why? Because his passion for the game, while quite disturbing on occasions, transcends any bias toward his own team. His throaty calls of ‘CAAAAAREY’ were a calling card. Then there’s those passages of play in a crucial stage of a big game on a Friday night in front of a bumper crowd that still make the hair stand on end.
‘Cameron over the top to Daffy, Daffy squares it to Campbell. Campbell, gets around one, gets around two then feeds off to Broderick under pressure who looks in board to Maxfield. Maxfield runs to 50, go on Stuey kick a goal, Tiges in front!’
Ricky Nixon drove his car under a tram while drunk and then fled the scene of the accident.
Read that sentence over a few times. I defy you not to feel all warm and fuzzy inside. The first time I heard that news was like the first time I heard ‘Hey Jude’.
It’s great to see that even in theses times of financial hardship, when corporations are handing out million dollar executive bonuses and the rest of us have resorted to drinking vanilla essence on a Friday night, there’s still room for a genuine prick to get his comeuppance.
Make no mistake, that was a win for the good guys.
Nuff said.
But shit, that’s what supporting Richmond is all about. Tiger fans understand this. That’s the burden of their faith. Just like Collingwood supporters acknowledging their tendency to lack basic literacy skills and a left incisor tooth. Or North fans coming to terms with the fact that our Greatest Ever Footballer is a shit bloke and we have the financial security of an Icelandic bank.
Like when Eugene Arocca decided to take up the position of CEO at North after the Magpies overlooked him for the role and McGuire said ‘You walk out that door and you can never come back.’ Jesus, it’s a footy club Eddie, not the fucking Sopranos. Ever heard of career advancement? The bloke has ambition. Calm. Down.
The Collingwood brains trust
There’s another thing wrong with the whole stinking situation, the term ‘as a commentator’ hits a dud note with me. Eddie’s reputation for live commentary has diminished to the level of a slightly less hysterical Daryl Eastlake. He was an undeniably great host of the Footy Show, and is probably quite serviceable as the main man on Millionaire if I actually gave two fucks about gameshows, but his footy work is below par. He’s a Collingwood man, not a footy man. And that makes all the difference in a good call.
Bruce is the pinnacle. Why? Because his passion for the game, while quite disturbing on occasions, transcends any bias toward his own team. His throaty calls of ‘CAAAAAREY’ were a calling card. Then there’s those passages of play in a crucial stage of a big game on a Friday night in front of a bumper crowd that still make the hair stand on end.
‘Cameron over the top to Daffy, Daffy squares it to Campbell. Campbell, gets around one, gets around two then feeds off to Broderick under pressure who looks in board to Maxfield. Maxfield runs to 50, go on Stuey kick a goal, Tiges in front!’
Ricky Nixon drove his car under a tram while drunk and then fled the scene of the accident.
Read that sentence over a few times. I defy you not to feel all warm and fuzzy inside. The first time I heard that news was like the first time I heard ‘Hey Jude’.
Nixon's car: A beautiful thing
It’s great to see that even in theses times of financial hardship, when corporations are handing out million dollar executive bonuses and the rest of us have resorted to drinking vanilla essence on a Friday night, there’s still room for a genuine prick to get his comeuppance.
Make no mistake, that was a win for the good guys.
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Comment by Norm
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