Round 14 – Richmond v Brisbane: Happy Days

Kyneton town visibly bristles in the stark winter cold, an unwelcome wind wailing down the main street. Sinking further into my jacket and cursing the thin t-shirt that possesses an ineptitude at keeping the brisk wind at bay, I stumble down the pavement with Mother in tow and dive into the warmth of a coffee shop.

 

It’s Saturday. School, as they say, is out, but the plummeting temperatures are most un-summer like. I have no plans for the holidays except a kaleidoscope of writing, sleep and blissful ignorance. Having recently discovered the joys of mid-year exams, my fantasy of winter hibernation has been approached with relish.

 

Latte in hand and remarkably well thawed, I scan the papers, again noticing that the Tiges are to play at the G in a couple of hours. For me, today is not a day for footy. My inner Tiger obsession, however, is stirring within the depths of my chest. I tell it, politely, to bugger off.

 

The other half of our family are in Melbourne, for the footy and the food. Mum and I are spending the day cooking and stoking the fire. Due to the former’s rather unorthodox persuasion, I have promised to ignore the footy.

 

Both parent and I know, despite my feeble resistance, that footy is a thing that shall not be ignored. Not ever.

 

Back at home where my hands are just beginning to move again, I last all but three torturous minutes before 774 blares through the speakers. Mum looks upon me with an expression of poorly disguised hilarity.

 

Shuddup.

 

The smug trio of Whateley, McClure and White soon inform me that the rekindled flame that is Ben Griffiths has the lurgy. Therefore, he shall not grace the G with his helmeted visage. Jake Batchelor has a sore back, and will join big Ben on the sidelines. Angry redhead Townsend and untried but nonetheless well tatted Nathan Broad are to replace the pair.

 

Mum and I get stuck into éclairs while Brisbane get stuck into an early two goal buffer, courtesy of youngsters Schache and Taylor. The pastry cream simmers happily away as the Tiggers find the keys and rumble into gear wresting control of the game. The lads from BrisVegas are celebrating the Roys’ 100th anniversary of the 1916 premiership, but can’t quite stand up to the occasion.

 

Into the fridge with the cream and into the choux pastry it is, as the Tigers begin to bludgeon the hapless Lions into a pulp. Gerard Whateley sounds unnaturally bored as the Tigers effectively end the game in the second stanza. The Lions oblige and join Richmond in a half and-a-bit of junk time.

 

Happy with the lack of contest over the airwaves, the éclairs, begging for some attention for the last half an hour, finally get a vague attempt of TLC. The choux is carefully piped and shoved into the oven – Jack chalks up another. Chocolate is diced and simmers contentedly over boiling water – Shedda and Vlas add a few more, before Josh Walker replies. Cream comes out of the fridge, choux pastry is almost done – the Roys grab another through Eric Hipwood.

 

A pointed look from Mum, brandishing a wooden spoon, and the radio goes silent for a while as the chocolate melts into a pool of heavenly elixir.

 

All the bits and pieces go into the fridge to set, giving Mum a welcome rest and myself a precious ten minutes to obsess over the happenings in Jolimont. The Lions are being galumphed to death by what sounds to be a painfully bored Richmond. The surprisingly un-fickle Footy Gods have decreed that today’s bore is best broadcasted over the airwaves, thus averting the many eyeballs of the footy community from the snoozefest. However, due to exemplary audio imagery from Whateley and co, I am despairingly able to draw conclusion that the poor old Lions seem to be in the process of being chewed on by the Tigers, who, nonsensically, have no teeth to sink into the carcass.

 

Thus, the celebration of the Lions of Old has turned into an awful yet compelling spectacle where the Roys are gummed to death by a confused yet ravenous Tiger. Apparently Ty Vickery even managed to fluke a goal from the pocket, adding another three years to his contract.

 

The choccy, meanwhile, has thickened. Leaving the Tiges to a final quarter of botty-spanking, I return to the kitchen to assemble the éclairs. Not overly happy with the flavour of the chocolate or the thickness of the cream, Mum and I look upon our shabby but still tasty snacks with mixed feelings. Meanwhile, the Tiges have a seven goal lead to walk away with and Dusty’s picked up another 30-odd possessions, along with approximately 3.11 million don’t-argues.

 

All in all, everything goes well. Dad and Ollie return from the G with flushed faces and extended exultations. They then eat half of the éclairs.

 

Happy days.

 

RICHMOND                5.4       9.8       14.11    17.15     (117)

FITZROY                      2.0       4.0       6.3        11.9       (75)

 

GOALS

Richmond: Riewoldt 4, Edwards 2, Menadue 2, Lloyd 2, Vlastuin 2, Deledio, Cotchin, Vickery, Miles, Ellis

Fitzroy: Hipwood 3, Taylor 2, Green, Walker, Schache, Jansen, Martin, Hanley

 

BEST

Richmond: Martin, Riewoldt, Vlastuin, Rance, Menadue, Ellis, Hampson.

Fitzroy: Hipwood, Rockliff, Jansen, Mayes, S.Martin.

Comments

  1. Good work Paddy. I was in Kyneton on the weekend and can confirm it was very cold, fortunately my team had a bye and and I could enjoy the fire, those eclairs sound tempting.

  2. Good effort Paddy, I think you made a good choice listening to Gerard Whateley from home. The eclairs did sound good, you’ll need to make more when we get home in two weeks.

    I shall look forward to your report on tonite’s game; a win over Port would greatly improve their standing on the Ladder.

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