The Tiger Trinity is Almost Gone

The Tiger Trinity is Almost Gone

GuyWhoLikesSport

Richmond’s Holy Trinity is two-thirds gone.

What it has meant for the last seven years is gone entirely.

Trent Cotchin, the Father and Jack Riewoldt, the Son, play their final games this Saturday against North Melbourne at the MCG.

Dustin Martin, the Holy Spirit is contracted for one more year at Tigerland, but who could blame him for leaving after all that he’s given us?

 

Richmond’s dynasty, in retrospect, ended when the final siren rang out in Brisbane. It will end symbolically when the numbers 8 and 9 walk off the field for the last time.

This reality really struck me most forcefully while watching the two retirement speeches.

Both reserved kind words for Richmond icons that were no longer Richmond people day-to-day.

They saved their most tender words for Damien Hardwick, the recently burnt-out but even more recently “more energized than ever” future coach of the Gold Coast Suns. Both men mentioned Peggy O’Neal, now replaced by John O’Rourke.

The future of Brendon Gale, another formative figure in the club’s rebuilt foundations, is as clear as mud.

 

Both mentioned Shane Edwards and Alex Rance, retired. Jack mentioned Cotchin. The luminaries are mostly gone.

Thankfully, however, this is an article to reminisce on a glorious past not to talk about a gloomy future (is this how England, as a nation, feels?).

The past seven years for us Tiger fans have been utopic, and the two men that retire on Saturday have been the foundation for that utopia.

Despite having been drafted in such different circumstances, Cotchin’s and Reiwoldt’s careers have inscrutably mirrored one another.

Cotchin was the consolation prize in the Kreuzer Cup.

The fact that Richmond lost the Kreuzer Cup in 2008 and Suck for Scully in 2009 and walked away with two generational players as a result of those losses is under discussed.

Sometimes you need luck in footy, folks.

Cotchin came in with the expectation that he would transform the footy club.

Juddy or Dusty? The greatest draft picks of all time, 20-1A baby faced Cotch on draft day 2007 

After a couple of false starts, he did. I have written about Cotchin, and his impact, a lot and I will not regurgitate my thoughts here.

Jack, on the other hand, came in as Nick’s chubby cousin. He leaves as an AFL player that can be identified by just his first name.

Riewoldt's Richmond recruitment recollectionBack when Jack was just known as Nick’s Cousin. 

The first skinny-fat key forward prospect you have ever seen in your life. He was spring-heeled, sort of, given the pooch that he sported. He was pick 13 in the 2006 draft. He wasn’t meant to win 3 Colemans, 3 All-Australian jackets, 3 premierships.

He also, crucially, wasn’t meant to be a leader. Jack is “the Son” not for the man that he has become at the end of his career, but for the man that he was at the start.

Jack’s big breakout year was in 2010 when he kicked 78 goals in 22 games. Richmond went 6-16. Jack gleefully took the Richardson mantle of “the reason to go to the footy”.

 

When he kicked 10 goals against West Coast it was the happiest that I had been at the footy since…well, since Richo kicked 10 against the Bulldogs a couple of years earlier.

But Jack knew he was the only ticket item and, it would be fair to say, became an expert in “I” statements. He would tell you himself that he was a “me, me, me” footballer early in his career.

I remember a losing game where Jack had six or seven to three-quarter-time against the Saints, an underrated favourite whipping boy of his over the years.

The Saints sent Brendon Goddard to patrol half-back, as they so often did.

As Jack saw Goddard walk back there to start the fourth term, even with the Tigers down, with a cheeky grin on his face you could clearly see Jack mouth “you comin’ to me?”.

In 2011, again against St Kilda, Jack fell hard in a marking contest and was wobblily taken from the field with a concussion.

He was clearly out and should not have played any further part. However, Jack was captured by Channel 7 cameras – literally crawling up the race – trying to talk his way back onto the field. Dimma was not impressed.

In 2014, he had a dig at Dimma’s gameplan, saying we were trying to play too much like Hawthorn (he was right incidentally,, given the premierships were won playing in a style that was the antithesis of a Hawthorn style).

He then issued a media embargo to himself and was spotted running from onlooking cameras and getting onto trains, making the story 10x bigger and 100x more about Jack Riewoldt.

Jack had a huge ego. Elite forwards need that, and in a bad team it was good to have someone who had a bit of pride. But it wore thin, even for Jack.

Early in his career you wondered whether Jack would rather win a game or kick 8 goals. In 2017 and beyond, you wished Jack would take a shot occasionally instead of constantly looking inboard.

This is where my earlier comment that Cotchin and Riewoldt’s careers since 2017 have mirrored one another comes to be.

Both men sacrificed their individual games for the betterment of the team. That has had, strangely, the same impact on their legacies both at the club and in the broader footy world. Both men’s willingness to sacrifice their own games has led to increased reverence inside the walls of the Richmond Football Club, and the opposite outside of them.

This is a question Fox Footy actually asked: would you rather have had Trent Cotchin or Isaac Smith’s career? Garry Lyon , at least, said Isaac Smith.

Give me a f**king break.

Which one is getting a statue outside their club?

Which one makes every single teammate tear up when they talk about the privilege of playing with him?

You can shove your four flags. Give me the triple premiership captain.

Would you rather Nick Riewoldt or Jack? Well, Nick was probably the better player. Jack had the better career. He had the better career by not shooting to be the better player.

Personally, I have deeply loved both men.

My girlfriend isn’t Australian.

I had to teach her this weird game of ours.

The player that she gravitated to, instantly, was Jack. She loved the way he leapt at the ball with abandon.

I could use Jack to explain the game because he never ever made a bad choice.

He is perhaps the smartest player that I have ever seen don a Richmond guernsey.

The fact that he has been able to play so deep into his post-prime with his athleticism long-faded (I don’t think he could have jumped over a piece of paper more than once an hour for the last 5 years) is a testament to his nous more than anything else.

But she also loved him because he was so often the man for the big occasion. He was the defining physical presence forward of centre when the game was there to be won in the 2017 Grand Final.

We just had to put Jack and The Killers in this blog. 

I remember a message she sent when Jack kicked one from the boundary in the ANZAC Eve game, also in 2017. It simply read “JACK JACK JACK JACK”. I was at the game. I got the message unsolicited. I knew she was in.

Cotchin, I have loved because of the metamorphosis. I was concerned that he was destined to be our Marc Murphy. He became our General Patton. At peace when at war.

He wanted opposing fans and players to loathe him. He soaked it up as he teetered right on the edge. He knew that he could take it, and he also knew that he could back it up.

Rhys Mathieson he was not.

Not only did he sharpen his edge on the field, but he dulled his edge off it. I don’t know how he pulled off that personality high-wire act. Maybe his manners off the field let him get away with more on the field?

Who knows. Who cares. All I know is that Cotchin went from one of my most reviled players through the early part of his career, to one of my most loved for the second part.

They are two of the greatest that I have ever seen.

So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you men. Thank you for all of it. Thank you on behalf of all of us.