The second quarter was a term of missed opportunities and the statistics showed just that. For once the free kick count weighed heavily in our favour, 11 to one, and we entered our forward fifty on 16 occasions for a return of 13 scores. The only problem was that tally equated to 4.9 on the scoreboard, which is simply not good enough.
To make matters worse we came out after half time looking lacklustre and like we didn’t want to win the game. Again, with the possibility of sneaking into the finals, still a reality at that point, to not seize the game against a lower ranked opponent was simply not good enough.
With a win in mind I journeyed across to Victoria by car for the first time in about seven years. This time I was co-driver with my mum as we made our way to Bacchus Marsh, west of Melbourne, to spend the weekend with an old friend.
On Saturday we sampled some of Victoria’s finest country as we travelled to the tiny town of Trentham for morning tea. By lunchtime we hade scoured Daylesford’s finest antique store, The Mill Market, where I picked up every old footy book I could find. A collector’s edition Mark Ricciuto Coke can was also a prized discovery but only until the lady at the counter mistook it for rubbish and crunched it in half.
We were up and at it on Sunday to catch the 9:56 train from Bacchus Marsh Train Station. After a 50 minute trip we arrived in an icy cold Melbourne and headed to the G’ via tram.
Our seats, located under the Southern Stand, were well protected from the threatening clouds but not from a throng of noisy teenage girls cheering on their boyfriends in the curtain raiser game.
Their enthusiastic yells of support were nothing like my own catchcries for the Crows that reflected a rollercoaster opening quarter.
The Tigers were on the prowl early but we swooped to command about 10 minutes of play before Richmond fought their way back on top.
Down by eight points at quarter time we looked around the mark but were struggling to come to grips with a swirly breeze. Our work around goal was also leaving a lot to be desired with Dangerfield and Walker second-guessing themselves from gettable positions.
Richmond stretched out to a 14-point lead in the opening minute of the second quarter but despite the growing deficit we were able to click into gear. Sloane and Danger kicked behinds before Vince nailed a goal from a long distance. Walker shook off his yips and converted and Douglas drilled one on the run.
All of a sudden we looked like a different team. The ball was moved forward with assertion, our handballs and kicks were hitting targets and our zone defence was acting like a 10ft high brick wall largely being led by a petite Jason Porplyzia who was playing himself into form.
More shots on goal resulted however they weren’t being rewarded as Tippett, Walker, Griffin, Sloane and Tippett again, all missed their chances to score. At long last though Sloane scored a six-pointer on the cusp of half time.
During the break I casted my eyes across the ground to the scoreboard and after witnessing a total domination of the Tigers I could only let out a frustrated sigh at the lopsided goals and behinds column. It was a familiar sight.
The game was ours to win or lose in the third term. With a safety net 19-point lead it was time to kick on and leave Richmond for dead though we had other ideas.
We were able to hang on for most of the quarter but once the going got tough we were out of there. A couple of sprayed shots from Dangerfield and an out on the full from Porplyzia saw my blood pressure rise to an all time high. Richmond eventually robbed us of the lead and held a goal advantage at three quarter time.
From here on the game panned out in mind numbingly predictable fashion. Our heads dropped and we shifted gear from drive to neutral. You wouldn’t have thought that we were the team with a chance to take the last spot in the finals.
The rain and hail came at an inconvenient time although it reflected my mood to a tee. I was frankly fed up at the game in front of me and it was beginning to really dawn on me that I wouldn’t be making a trip back to the G’ in September. My finals dreams were flattened just like the Mark Ricciuto collectable Coke can I so desperately wanted.
We headed back to Bacchus that evening after attending what turned out to be a small post match function in the Ponsford Stand. On Monday we headed home where on the seven-hour drive I kept myself amused by aimlessly staring out the window and pondering the season gone by. Fortunately I had Andrew McLeod’s new book to keep me entertained otherwise.
With a month of our 2010 footy season to go I’m hoping that we can at least finish off on a high by beginning to build a side that produces the type of football that will win us games in the years to come.
