The Cape of Bravado- Preliminary Final: Collingwood v Richmond, Friday 21 September, MCG

 

 

It wasn’t meant to end like this.

 

But then again, maybe it was.

 

Sometimes there’s a remarkable symmetry about this AFL caper. As Brodie Grundy roved his own ruckwork and strolled into goal to seal Friday’s Preliminary Final, my mind went back to his similar goal at the beginning of the 2016 season, with just four seconds left on the clock, consigning Richmond to a one-point defeat.

 

That defeat marked the beginning of a three-year journey for the Richmond Football Club that has spanned the depths of despair and the heights of ecstasy. That night – a gut-wrenching, inept loss at the hands of a clearly inferior opponent – marked the moment where the Tigers had to admit its problems. The season unravelled from that point on, but at least we were no longer glossing over the cracks. We all know how things turned around through 2017, reaching the peak of a Premiership. The consistent quality of our 2018 season, if anything, pointed towards even greater achievements to come. Until Friday night saw our remarkable odyssey come to an untimely end.

 

I know there will come a time, maybe this weekend, maybe years away, when this wonderful team starts to unravel, when savvy opponents start to unpick our structures and tactics, when age and fatigue start to affect these superbly athletic bodies.

 

So I wrote back in April. Easy words then, as the Tigers surged to top spot with a barnstorming win over the hated black and white. I wrote of appreciating the great times they’d given us, of living in the moment, of accepting that we were riding a brief, beautiful wave in an otherwise turbulent, messy sea.

 

“Maybe this weekend, maybe years away”. Well, actually, yes, this weekend just gone. That big wave suddenly dumped us on the rocks, our ultimate objective just a few agonising days away. The evil hour, postponed week after week, with a growing sense that we might be on the cusp of something quite remarkable, arrived with all the delicacy of a sledgehammer.

 

So, no matter how much it hurts, it comes the time to put those April sentiments to the test.

 

The truth is, I was mentally prepared for this outcome. So much so that I watched the game dispassionately as though it was a replay of what I’d already visualised. I’d rationalised long before that the lottery system that is the AFL finals allows, nay encourages, football’s equivalent of a smash and grab raid. In two rogue hours, six glorious months’ work can be reduced to dust. This is not a complaint. It worked beautifully in our favour last year. But the record of 25 years of the Final 8 shows only 8 minor premiers have won the flag. The system is skewed towards teams that time their run rather than rewarding consistently high performance. Collingwood was particularly well-placed to take advantage of this. At long last, they had close to a full-strength team. Home ground advantage was neutralised. Most importantly, they had some momentum whereas Richmond had been treading water for over a month. To the Magpies’ inestimable credit, they executed their raid perfectly.

 

Without in any way denigrating the quality of their performance, the other factor that Collingwood has in spades is bravado. In Bob Murphy’s interview with Adam Gilchrist, the “cape of bravado” was an interesting topic. Gilly noted that all players and clubs wear the cape to some extent but some do so much better than others. My reflection was that Collingwood – the club and its fans – wear the cape better than most. Whoever thinks that collective will doesn’t affect the result wasn’t there at last year’s Preliminary Final where the Tigers, backed by 90,000 fans didn’t just don the cape of bravado, they virtually suffocated the GWS Giants with it.   But on Friday night, we more than met our match in the bravado stakes. Despite Collingwood being a pronounced underdog, all week, their talk was loud, defiant and overwhelmingly believing. It was an obvious tactic for trying to unhinge a side that emphasised faith in its system with an almost religious zeal, but it was certainly effective. On the strength of that performance and the enormous shot of confidence such a win must give them, the Magpies should win the Grand Final comfortably.

 

Meanwhile, Richmond must reflect on an enormous opportunity lost. And yes, I mean enormous. I’ve repeatedly dismissed the theories that Richmond had this flag parcelled up. There were too many strong competitors for this to be the case. But we were the best performed team over the 2018 season and had given ourselves the best possible chance of winning it. Back-to-back flags don’t occur often (well, twice in 110 years in our case), and even with the acquisition of Tom Lynch apparently a fait accompli, it’s doubtful that the superb equilibrium and stability of the 2018 Tigers line-up will be matched in the years ahead. Our key men will all be a year older, our charmed run with injuries surely can’t continue (indeed, it was a factor on Friday) and this year’s finals have seen some powerful contenders emerge.

 

No, 2018 was there for the taking and we blew it. I can handle being beaten fair and square, but I know as I watch (if I watch) the Magpies and the Eagles fighting for the cup this Saturday, the magnitude of what we’ve thrown away will hit home hard.

 

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