What football – and the Tigers – taught my six-year-old son
At quarter time things didn’t look good. Richmond, playing its first AFL grand final since 1982, trailed by 11 points against an Adelaide side that looked ready to break loose. I thought I could see the writing on the wall and, to try to manage the expectations of my six-year-old son, Billy, I declared the Tigers were up against it. “I don’t like the look of this, at all,” I muttered. Quicker than Jason Castagna in the forward 50, Billy shot back. “It’s only the first quarter … Belieeeve,”...