Round 22 – Richmond v Hawthorn: The Twelfth Dimension

 

Richmond v Hawthorn

1:10pm, Sunday August 14

MCG

 

 

If there are four dimensions in the universe – height, length, width and time, Richmond entered a mysterious new dimension, previously unknown, where they took grateful opponents along with them and committed the most outrageous errors, crushing their chances in a series of excruciating losses by a goal or less. I had to ask myself whether I had inadvertently caused a ripple in the time/space continuum and was partly responsible for Richmond’s woes. After all, I had consciously changed my match day routine by no longer wearing the same scarf to games every week, opting instead to don a different one for each match so all of the items in my collection enjoyed an outing.
String theory, a model attempting to explain the structural nature of the universe, suggests there are actually eleven dimensions. Maybe the Tigers have blundered into one of them. But I’ll leave that to the physicists, because, after all, how long is a piece of string?

 

At the beginning of July Richmond beat the Eagles at the MCG, as expected, but lost Dusty for an extended period when he experienced hamstring tightness in the second half. A crying shame, as he was best on ground up to that point.

 

This was followed by the Gold Coast cataclysm at Metricon, a venue where the Tigers had been unbeatable in recent years. Richmond led by 40 points early in the third quarter. Things fell apart in the second half. In the last term Maurice Rioli and Jake Aarts missed shots that would have put the game beyond doubt. Then Castagna received a handball from Bolton, ran into the open goal and had his kick smothered by defender Charlie Ballard. Noah Anderson goaled after the siren to steal a two-point win for the Queenslanders. It was a repeat of the trauma of 2012 when ex-rugby league international Karmichael Hunt did the same thing to us. Watching the whole agonising spectacle on the TV, I sank down off the sofa onto the carpet, almost giving into the impulse to crawl off the rug and bang my head repeatedly on the family room parquetry floor. It was only the presence of my friend Adam that prevented me from doing this. Ever the optimist, he said farewell, gathered up the leftover pizza and departed for an evening of Texas Hold’em Poker with family members.

 

If only I could learn from his example. This debacle was followed by an inexplicable loss to bottom team North Melbourne. The Tigers displayed the most appalling inaccuracy in front of goal. On my own on this occasion and with Richmond trailing by a significant margin, I casually remarked to a fellow spectator at half time that I would rather lose by five goals than drop another close one. But of course, teams at the foot of the table are notorious for relinquishing leads and falling at the last hurdle. Sure enough, Jack Graham struck at the 17-minute mark to put the Tigers up by three points. Then Zurhaar regained the lead for the Roos. Deep in time on Noah Cumberland reeled in an outstanding contested mark and passed to Jake Aarts. Aarts took the mark. With his opponent slipping over and effectively out of the contest, he played on but failed to notice Bailey Scott sprinting back to assist. Aarts launched a desperate handball in the direction of McIntosh, who was also under pressure and gave it back to Aarts. His rushed kick was punched through for a behind and the Tigers had set their last chance ablaze. We suffered the indignity of a four-point defeat to an outfit that couldn’t get close to any other team in the competition.

 

Let’s not forget the single-digit defeats to Sydney and Geelong earlier in the season.

 

I felt like I was stuck on the Giant Drop at Dreamworld. I rise to a lofty height – look at the view! Is that sunlight glinting off more premiership silverware in the distance? Then it’s down, down into the nether regions in an instant, leaving my guts behind and cursing the fact that I signed up for this years ago and there’s no exit clause in the contract. Then do it all again. With no-one to restrain my madness, I carried on like a petulant teenager as I beat a rapid retreat from Marvel Stadium.

 

Then there was the draw with Fremantle at the same venue a week later. With a couple of minutes to go, Noah Balta lined up for goal with a level of concentration that was as intense as anything witnessed in the history of human endeavour. Unfortunately his 30 seconds expired, he was commanded to play on and his kick was smothered by the lurking Michael Frederick. A Richmond fan behind me counted down the seconds as Marlion Pickett launched one final attack and located Cumberland on the lead, who marked with a second remaining and well within range. ‘Stand!’ we shrieked. Noah had no way of knowing how much time was left. He followed his natural instinct and aggressively played on. The siren sounded and the umpire raised both hands in the air to halt our young tyro in his tracks.

 

‘Why didn’t someone tell him to stop?’ I lamented. I wasn’t upset with the third-gamer, as he was only trying to win it for us. But what about the senior players around him? Watching the replay on the following day, I observed that Riewoldt had indeed urged him to stay where he was. But Noah, being a left footer, had turned away from Jack and couldn’t hear him due to the noise of the crowd.

 

Fortunes change. Richmond met Brisbane at the MCG. I was composing our finals obituary 18 minutes into the second quarter when we trailed by a seemingly match-killing 42 points. There was a collective groan from Richmond supporters as we watched the big screen to see Dylan Grimes descending the steps into the change rooms and clutching his right hamstring.

 

But then Bolton, Lynch, Riewoldt, Daniel Rioli and Baker lifted. The Tigers clawed their way back into the game.

 

Rioli surged into attack and goaled to put the Tigers up by a point at the 16-minute mark of the last quarter. Another close one, just what we needed. In what outlandish manner would the Tigers lose this one? I allowed my imagination to roam, not really believing that we could win it. Instead, it was the Lions who threw the game away with a series of crucial errors. Robinson sprayed his shot at goal from 15 metres out and McInerney pushed Balta in the back in the act of shepherding through an accurate shot from McCarthy. Finally, at the 28-minute mark, defender Darcy Gardiner took the mark, played on and allowed five-goal hero Noah Cumberland to get a hand on the ball. The ball deflected to Cotchin, who caressed it to the unmarked Tom Lynch. He had no trouble in booting the sealer for the Tigers from point-blank range.

 

Port Adelaide were next. Richmond’s pressure, swarming and rapid-fire bursts into an open forward line, so potent in their flag-winning seasons, returned with a vengeance at the Adelaide Oval. The second half was played out in virtual silence before an assembly of hometown fans bitterly disappointed with the performance of their team. The Tigers climbed back into the eight as St. Kilda went down to Geelong at the Cattery.

 

The Saints fell into perdition again when they kicked themselves out of contention in a tight struggle with Brisbane at the Docklands on the following Friday night. All that remained to play finals was for the Tigers to overcome Hawthorn at the MCG on the Sunday. This would put them beyond the reach of both St. Kilda and the Western Bulldogs with one game of the regular season still to come.

 

Toby Nankervis won the toss and opted to kick with the wind to the city-end goals. Richmond pretty much control the Hawks from the opening bounce and lead by 31 points at the first change. The Hawthorn defence is perilously bereft of experience and the Richmond forwards take maximum advantage. I declare that victory is inevitable and the finals beckon when Tom Lynch boots his sixth major to propel the Tigers to a 43-point lead 13 minutes into the third quarter. Nine minutes later the margin is out to 74 points in a scintillating run of eight unanswered goals. Long Tom produces his eighth during that sequence, his most productive effort in Richmond colours.

 

An all-star cast of Prestia, Daniel Rioli, Short, Cotchin, Vlaustin, Broad, Balta and McIntosh add their expertise to Lynch’s award-winning performance. Maurice Rioli darts, lunges, capers and sows blind panic into the ranks of Hawthorn defenders desperate to clear the ball from their defensive zone.

 

Supporters urge their men to ‘kick it to Tom’ in the last quarter so that he can bring up the magical ten. It’s all to no avail, as the Tigers are out-scored and chances are limited when the game is well within your keeping and you’re kicking into a steady breeze.

 

So Dimma has led us into the finals again. It’s anybody’s guess as to whom we’ll play in our elimination final in three week’s time. The Western Bulldogs can still make it if they beat Hawthorn in the final round and Carlton falls to Collingwood. I wonder. Luke Beveridge found a way to take his team all the way to a flag in 2016 after finishing seventh. Did he come across a portal in a broom cupboard at the back of the EJ Whitten Stand leading to a weird twelfth dimension where the normal rules of team ascendency in September are reversed? Would he be willing to share this intelligence with a fellow coach for say, Richmond’s first round selection in the 2022 national draft?
Just asking.

 

 

RICHMOND             6.2       9.3        18.5       20.8 (128)
HAWTHORN            1.1       4.5        5.10        9.13 (67)

 

GOALS  
Richmond: Lynch 8, Cumberland, Edwards, Prestia, M.Rioli 2, Bolton, Castagna, Cotchin, Miller
Hawthorn:
Breust, Gunston 2, Koschitzke, McEvoy, Serong, Shiels, Sicily

 

BEST  
Richmond: Lynch, Prestia, Cotchin, D.Rioli, Short, M.Rioli
Hawthorn:
Sicily, Newcombe, Scrimshaw, Maginness, McEvoy, Mitchell

 

 

 

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Comments

  1. I share your pain, John. After the draw with Freo, I thought that the only other way we could lose a tight game would be if we had accidentally put 19 on the field and the Umpire called a count.

    I described the Hawthorn game as “stress-free football” which is an odd experience for us. I think Richmond people were born to suffer for their art…and so we will again this week as we (probably) confront “the curse of the sacked coach” for the second time this year. How many sacked coaches this year? Two. How many times did it coincide with an upcoming Richmond game? Two. Is this yet another dimension?

  2. John Green says

    Yes, we’re living in strange times, Ian. But surely the Bombers are in such a demoralised state that they can’t possibly get up against the Tigers on Saturday night? Then again, it’s like Richmond is caught up in the television series ‘Stranger Things’. At least we’re in the finals. I can’t see us going all the way, but it’s a good chance for some of our younger boys to get a taste.

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