Thirty-seven years of ritual humiliation, scorn, being laughed at and mocked, finishing ninth, being more tabby cat than Tiger tough.

Here we go again. Ructions and rumblings by board challengers - “put us in charge, we’ll sack the coach”.

Hang on. Steady heads win out (thanks Peggy and Brendon!). Self-appraisal, rethinking our approach and a mental reloading. (It’s easy in hindsight.)

Oh, how we mocked the coach when he said his boys – who finished 13^th in 2016 on the back of a Swans flogging – were the best collection of players he’d worked with.

But wait, something has stirred the beast. 

Five from five start the season, but true to form three defeats, snatched so Richmond-like from the jaws of victory. Then … re-focus and the top eight is locked down, then top four.

Finals are a hurdle that produce more mirth from opposition supporters. Haven’t won won in 16 years. How about slaying the kings and then, for good measure, knocking out the fresh princes?

Richmond is in the Grand Final. Once it’s rightful place, but based on the last three-and-a-half decades, how could you possibly believe that? Unthinkable.

There was also no way I was missing it.

Ticket purchased – membership really does pay off! – the walk to the ground, the atmosphere amiable and expectant, everyone is happy, team colours proudly wrapped around all our necks: red, blue, yellow, black. Buy the Record, find your seat. Wait. Wait. Do not get your hopes up.

September 30, 2017 there was a collective breath being held by the Yellow and Black army. Joyous celebrations for actually making the big dance, but nervous laughter and sideways glances stalked the bravado. 

The MCG fills up; a murder of Crows, an ambush of Tigers.

Players warm up, the National Anthem, banners broken. The centre bounce brings a sound wave; it is a physical entity, the noise generated at the ‘G.

Sprayed shots on goal and Adelaide make the most of its opportunities. The mighty roar as Richmond gets its first through Josh Caddy.

The game is on!

Down at quarter time, just got to stay with these champion Crows in the second and be within striking distance at half-time. But, no, the Tiges are up at the big break? Adelaide are held goalless? It’s ok, we’ll come crashing back to reality, although our third quarters of late have been overwhelming …

Ten minutes into the second half and a tiger-wave has rolled over the ground, the contest is all-but done. The shock is sinking in. Is it possible? Could we win it? No, Adelaide have kicked a goal ... there’s still time for the Tiger of old, well, actually, the Tiger of the recent past, to raise its head.

I’m receiving texts from an excited new convert and Dusty lover – “Can I get excited now?”. Not yet. Just wait, I’ve seen this before.

Richmond surely cannot lose from here, up at three-quarter time and Adelaide have looked shell-shocked for 45 minutes. Fourth quarter the result is sealed early, but big Tex and Co kick a couple and the breath is being held again. These boys are good and if anyone can come back from here they can …

No, they can’t.

Jacob Townsend - Leeton’s Towno, our Towno! – has intercepted a kick-in and goaled. It’s pretty much the final nail, a mistake that sums up Adelaide’s afternoon and absolutely deflates and devastates.

A young fella says 19 seconds to go, “I’m going down to the fence”. Now. Now is the time to let out the breath and grin. Take it all in.

The siren sounds, the roar is unleashed as the crowd erupts

Unbe-freakin’-lievable. Richmond has won a premiership. That makes 11, but it must surely rank as its best, coming from nowhere to take everything, as no club has done before; 13^th to first.

Over 109 years the club has averaged a premiership every 10 seasons. Waiting 37 seasons has pent up plenty of emotions for men, women and children. And now they are released.

Some have said this Richmond side is the worst team ever to win a premiership? Really, Grant Thomas?

Having read his comments in context, I get what he’s saying, but … that’s a back-handed compliment for a group of “no-names” that just comprehensively shellacked the “best team” in the competition.

Adelaide had the biggest forward line, the best defenders and a pretty good bunch of midfielders. They were the highest scoring team in the competition.

Some said Richmond had all the help the AFL could throw at it, getting a home final that should have been away and influencing the MRP – geez, I wish we’d had that “support” when we were trying to Save Our Skins through the 80s and 90s.

Richmond “only” had two Brownlow medallists, a multiple Coleman medallist and the All-Australian captain … then crickets. Apparently.

What we had was a teenager the Crows overlooked multiple times in the draft, a “meatball” returning home from the Sunshine State, discards from powerhouse clubs Sydney and Geelong, and Leeton’s own hard-nut Townsend, who has astounded all at the tail end of the season and shown just how hard a Phantom can tackle! 

Plus, the boys the club has shown faith in for multiple seasons – Ellis, Astbury, Grimes, Vlastuin, Grigg, Houli (who was robbed of a Norm Smith, I reckon; but if you’re going to lose it to anyone, why not Dusty?) – who have come into their own over the duration. None of them were household names, unless your household bleeds Yellow and Black.

A team of champions or a champion team? You decide, but the Tiges have the choccies.

As a Richmond supporter, I know what it means to be down. Some fans may be rowdy hooligans (like every club has), but I have learned a humility in supporting a club that has been the lowest of the low and then reached the pinnacle. I will never take this for granted or gloat, but as a proud member I will celebrate it roundly in my own way now that it has happened.

Are we a Fighting Fury? Yes. Because we are from Tigerland.

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