There’s been a lot of Tiger love this week, that’s for sure.
Amazing really. They hear the song once and suddenly, the media remember that, secretly, deep in their essential being, everyone just yearns to be a Tiger fan in a successful era.
What better way to spend an afternoon?
Take the train to the MCG, pitying the lambs to the slaughter in the wrong colours. Smell the giddy anticipation in the air. Feel the electric buzz from the crowd. Thrill to the sea of Yellow-and-Black when the players burst onto the field. Listen to the Tiger Army chants from the Grog Squad at three-quarter time with a contented smile on your face. Thump your seat to the chant of “Rich---mond, da da. da. Rich---mond, da da. da ” in the final quarter.
Taste the victory as you lose control of your madly beating heart when the siren sounds. Sing the song with gusto (three times) at the end. Erupt excitedly from the stadium surrounded by the might of the Yellow-and-black throng, a whirling mass of excitement, exhilaration and pure pleasure.
You belong. You are cosmic, astral, celestial, zen, as one with the pulsing life force of the universe.
I suppose after the next loss they will be able to claim that this was just another false dawn.
