Introduction

Richmond entered 2025 under the darkest of clouds. A wooden spoon in 2024 had stripped away the aura of a dynasty and left only questions: was this the beginning of another 30-year exile from finals, or the start of a new climb? Supporters braced themselves for pain. Pundits sharpened their knives. And the Tigers themselves — battered, bruised, but still proud — knew there was no shortcut back to respectability.

Observation: A wooden spoon is more than just a ladder position; it’s a psychological scar.

Question: Can a club recover quickly from that kind of humiliation, or does it take years to truly scrub it from the psyche?

The early noise was brutal. “They won’t win a game,” was the common refrain in pre-season previews. Even the most loyal Tiger fans quietly admitted they feared the same. How do you replace icons like Dustin Martin and Dylan Grimes? How do you find spirit after losing legends? How do you play without the safety net of experience?

Observation: The narrative before a ball was bounced was one of doom.

Question: Does external disrespect fuel a rebuild, or does it weigh on young shoulders who don’t yet know how to carry it?

And then came Round 1. Down 41 points to Carlton, the Tigers looked exactly as predicted: slow, outclassed, beaten. But then something stirred. Kids who had never worn the jumper before refused to fold. They ran, tackled, pressured, and kicked. By the final siren, Richmond had somehow won. A single game in March suddenly reframed an entire season.

Observation: That comeback wasn’t just a win; it was a cultural marker.

Question: Did it ignite belief in a new era, or set unrealistic expectations for a team still learning to crawl?

The months that followed were inconsistent, but not hopeless. There were crushing defeats, but also moments of brilliance. Youngsters flashed their potential. Veterans dug deep. Adem Yze’s fingerprints became clearer with every passing round. Richmond were still losing, but they were losing differently — with spirit, with identity, with glimpses of tomorrow.

Observation: Losing with purpose is very different from losing without direction.

Question: Is that difference enough to keep supporters engaged, or do fans inevitably crave results over process?

Now, as the dust settles on 2025, Richmond sits 17th with five wins. On paper, a poor return. But beneath the ladder position lies a season full of storylines, lessons, and symbols. The Tigers are rebuilding not only their list but their home ground. They are rebuilding culture, style, and spirit. It is messy, it is frustrating, and yet, in its own way, it is hopeful.

Observation: 2025 was not about winning games; it was about building a future.

Question: But will that future come quickly enough to satisfy a supporter base that has known both famine and feast?

1. Setting the Scene: When Rock Bottom Becomes the Launch Pad

Richmond’s 2024 campaign was supposed to be the end of a golden age, but in reality, it was more like a funeral procession. The wins dried up, the injuries piled up, and the Tigers limped through the season as if the dynasty had not just ended but been ripped from underneath them. Bottom of the ladder. Wooden spoon. Humiliation. For a supporter base that had ridden the highs of three flags in four years, this was the cruel slap of reality.

So when the experts lined up in March 2025 to write the obituaries in advance, you could hardly blame them. “They won’t win a game,” became the lazy headline. Bookmakers slashed odds on a winless campaign. Even Tiger fans, hardened and hopeful, were bracing themselves for pain. If 2024 was rock bottom, then surely 2025 was the start of an even deeper descent.

And yet, football has a way of laughing at predictions.

In Round 1, against an opponent who had embarrassed them before, Richmond looked finished. Carlton surged to a 41-point lead. Supporters were muttering, “Here we go again.” Social media was bracing itself for the memes. And then it happened: belief. The young Tigers, many of them playing their first senior minutes, decided they hadn’t read the script. They ran, tackled, harassed, and suddenly goals began to flow. By the final siren, it was Richmond by a kick — the kind of comeback that doesn’t just bank four points, but plants a seed of something bigger.

Observation: That night wasn’t about the ladder. It wasn’t even about the margin. It was about spirit. A team tipped for irrelevance had turned humiliation into triumph.

Question: But did that one game set a dangerous tone? Did we, as fans, suddenly believe the rebuild would be quick and painless, when in reality it was only the first step of a long, uncertain road?

The rest of the season, predictably, swung back and forth. There were heavy defeats where the gulf between Richmond and genuine contenders was clear. There were moments of brilliance from kids who didn’t look overawed. There were patches of football that teased a future identity — bursts of corridor speed, passages of relentless pressure, glimpses of a team refusing to die.

Observation: At 5–18 by season’s end, the ladder says Richmond were second-last. But context changes everything. For a side that was meant to be non-competitive, those five wins matter. They are proof of resilience, proof of buy-in, proof that the players trust what Adem Yze is building.

Question: Is it dangerous to measure success by “better than expected” when expectations were so low? Or is that exactly how you have to view the early years of a rebuild?

The beauty — and the curse — of 2025 is that Richmond managed to be both dreadful and hopeful at the same time. Dreadful in the cold, hard maths of the ladder. Hopeful in the way they played, in the spirit they showed, and in the seeds they planted.

Observation: The rebuild is not a mirage. It’s not just marketing spin. There are genuine foundations being laid.

Question: But will those foundations hold when the pressure really comes — when fans get restless, when the losses pile up, when the honeymoon period for the new coach ends?

2. The Yze Effect: A Team That Looks Different

Adem Yze didn’t walk into Punt Road with promises of quick fixes. He walked in with a steady voice, an open hand, and a simple message: this would take time. In a game obsessed with instant gratification — where coaches are measured by win-loss tallies before they’ve even unpacked their desks — Yze was upfront. Richmond weren’t reloading; they were rebuilding. And he was prepared to wear the scars of that reality.

From the outside, that honesty was refreshing. From the inside, it was galvanising. Players spoke about clarity. Fans spoke about transparency. Suddenly, the narrative shifted: Richmond weren’t a fallen giant, they were a work in progress. And that matters, because football is as much about perception as it is about performance.

Observation: Yze has instilled a sense of direction. Even in losses, Richmond look like a side playing to a plan. Their ball movement is more daring. Their willingness to take the corridor has re-emerged. Their pressure, though inconsistent, has a bite when it comes.

Question: Is this shift in style enough to sustain belief during a rebuild, or does style without substance eventually wear thin?

By mid-season, commentators noted that Richmond “looked like a Yze team.” That’s not a throwaway line. In 2024, they looked like a Hardwick hangover — tired, patched-up, still playing an outdated brand. In 2025, the fingerprints are Yze’s. Even when the scoreboard is ugly, you can see the intent: run, spread, and attack with daring.

Observation: Yze hasn’t tried to imitate the Hardwick era; he’s ripped the page out and written his own.

Question: Will Tiger fans, used to the grind-and-surge premiership blueprint, embrace this more expansive style? Or will nostalgia for the old way gnaw at patience when the results lag?

Coaching is about more than tactics; it’s about relationships. Watch the body language. Young players like Sam Lalor, Harry Armstrong, and Tom Brown sprint off the ground and head straight for Yze. He listens, he teaches, he pats a shoulder, he corrects without humiliation. For kids trying to find their place in the chaos of AFL, that matters more than any whiteboard.

Observation: Yze has earned trust — not just from the veterans, but from the kids who will define the next decade.

Question: Can trust alone carry a group through the inevitable storms of a rebuild? Or will cracks appear the first time selection pressure bites or gameplans get exposed?

Importantly, Yze hasn’t hidden behind excuses. Injuries, youth, disruptions — all valid reasons for poor performances. But he hasn’t leaned on them. Instead, he’s owned the losses. He’s spoken about development, about contest, about accountability. For a supporter base that has endured both the highs of dynasties and the lows of irrelevance, that bluntness has been strangely comforting.

Observation: Yze isn’t selling hope; he’s building it. Slowly, deliberately, brick by brick.

Question: Will Richmond’s board and supporters stay patient enough to let those bricks stack into something substantial, or will the temptation to fast-track success undermine the process?

By season’s end, the Tigers were still losing more often than not. But they were losing differently. They were losing with identity. They were losing with effort. They were losing in a way that made you think: give this man three more drafts, give these kids 50 more games, and see what happens.

Observation: In a league where coaching jobs are often judged on survival, Yze has already achieved something rarer — he has changed the tone around a struggling side.

Question: But how long can tone and identity protect a coach when wins remain scarce? And if 2026 looks too much like 2025, will the patience that feels abundant now still be there?

3. The Draft Haul: Kids With Point-of-Difference

Rebuilds live and die by recruitment. You can talk all you like about culture, resilience, or “the Tiger way,” but if the talent isn’t there, everything else collapses under the weight of reality. Richmond knew this heading into the 2024 draft. They had a war chest of selections — seven first-round picks — and a choice to make: spread the risk or double down on stars. They did both.

It’s easy to look at a draft board and see names. It’s harder to see identities. But Richmond didn’t just draft footballers; they drafted variety. They drafted point-of-difference.

Observation: Sam Lalor, taken at No. 1, walked straight into Round 1 and looked like he belonged. Eighteen disposals, two goals, and a Rising Star nomination. The kid didn’t look wide-eyed; he looked wired. Confident, hungry, and already shaping as the kind of midfielder who doesn’t wait to be invited into the contest.

Question: Are we watching the next franchise player in real time? Or are we burdening a teenager with the weight of being “the one” before his body and mind are ready?

Observation: Harry Armstrong is the tall forward with presence. At 193cm, he gives Richmond something they’ve lacked outside Tom Lynch: a young key who can both crash packs and finish. He’s raw — no question — but you can already see the habits: leading at the ball carrier, presenting high, staying in contests.

Question: In a side struggling to score, is it fair to throw him the responsibility of being “the next big Tiger forward”? Or does that risk crushing him before he’s had a chance to grow into his body?

Observation: Josh Smillie is the prototype inside midfielder: big frame, stoppage instincts, and the ability to shift momentum when the ball is in dispute. He hasn’t had a clean run yet with injuries, but his profile is the kind you build midfields around.

Question: Is Smillie’s body a question mark that could derail his promise? Or does the patience invested in him now become the payoff in three years’ time when he’s a contested beast?

Observation: Luke Trainor, the speedster, gives Richmond a burst they’ve desperately lacked. His ability to break lines, even in short glimpses, changes the geometry of the game. Suddenly defences have to shift. Suddenly inside players have an outlet.

Question: Can pace alone make him a mainstay? Or will he need to add polish before he graduates from cameo to constant?

Observation: Then there’s the layer underneath: Tom Brown and Sam Banks. Both now into their third seasons, both more comfortable in the system, both trusted with responsibility off half-back. They aren’t rookies anymore; they’re bridges. They connect the old and the new.

Question: Do we underestimate the importance of players like Brown and Banks, not for their star power but for their ability to stabilise a transition?

What makes this haul so intriguing isn’t just the names; it’s the mix. Richmond didn’t go seven times for “best available.” They went for balance: inside grunt, outside run, intercept defence, and tall targets. They drafted a team, not just a collection.

Observation: Variety is a weapon. If one kid fails, another with a different profile can still fill the void.

Question: But does that variety risk spreading development too thin? Can one coaching group realistically bring seven different profiles to AFL level at once?

And here’s the subtle but crucial part: these kids have shown moments. Not just effort. Not just potential. Moments. Lalor’s goals. Armstrong’s contested mark. Trainor’s dash. Smillie’s strength in a pre-season hit-out. These are the flashes that supporters cling to. These are the reasons you sit in the rain in August watching a 17th-placed team and still go home with hope.

Observation: Richmond’s draft strategy has given the Tiger Army something no ladder position can erase: belief in tomorrow.

Question: Will tomorrow come quickly enough for the fans who have tasted glory and don’t want to wait another decade? Or is patience the hardest, but most essential, part of this rebuild?

4. The Gibcus Factor: A Defence Rediscovered

Every rebuild needs a cornerstone, and in Richmond’s case, that cornerstone is a 21-year-old key defender who has already been through more heartache than most. Josh Gibcus isn’t just a name on a team sheet; he’s a symbol of what this rebuild might yet become.

For nearly two years, Gibcus was a ghost. A highly touted top-10 pick whose body betrayed him before he’d had a chance to prove himself. Hamstrings, setbacks, the whispers of “will he ever get back?” They lingered over Punt Road like a dark cloud. Supporters began to ask if he’d be another of those cursed “what if” stories that litter AFL history.

And then came the return. Gibcus finally walked back out at AFL level, the jumper hugging his frame tighter, his movements cautious but committed. You could almost hear Tiger fans exhale. It wasn’t just that he played; it was that he immediately looked like he belonged again. Intercepting, spoiling, directing traffic — doing the things Richmond had so badly missed without him.

Observation: Gibcus’ presence changes everything. With him at fullback, Nick Vlastuin can play freer as an interceptor. Nathan Broad can return to being the glue defender rather than the pillar. Suddenly, the entire backline looks organised, not improvised.

Question: Can one young player really be the difference between chaos and structure? And what happens if, heaven forbid, his body fails him again?

Because that’s the risk here. Richmond’s defence has been held together with tape and trust. They’ve asked too much of journeymen, shifted midfielders back, and overplayed veterans. With Gibcus back, it feels like a reset — but it also feels fragile. One bad twist, one unlucky knock, and it all threatens to unravel again.

Observation: The defensive unit — Gibcus, Vlastuin, Broad, with Tom Brown and Sam Banks adding youthful polish — is perhaps the one line on the ground that already looks “future-proofed.” There’s a balance of intercepting, lockdown, and rebound.

Question: Is it dangerous to assume stability when two of those key pieces (Gibcus and Brown) are still so young? Or is this exactly how dynasties start — with a backline that matures together?

What makes Gibcus’ return so important isn’t just the immediate impact; it’s the psychological lift. Players look taller when he’s out there. The midfield presses higher knowing someone can mop up. The crowd roars louder knowing there’s a kid down back who won’t be bullied. Confidence radiates outward.

Observation: A backline is more than numbers; it’s a mood. And Gibcus has shifted Richmond’s mood.

Question: Will that mood hold when they face the league’s elite forwards week after week? Or will we be reminded that resilience isn’t built in one comeback match, but across seasons?

Consider also what it means for Adem Yze. Every coach needs a system, and every system needs a platform. Without Gibcus, Yze was patching holes. With him, Yze has something to build around. That changes match reviews, training drills, and even draft strategies. Instead of scrambling for stopgaps, the club can now plan with intent.

Observation: Gibcus gives Richmond the freedom to think long-term in defence, not just about surviving the next fortnight.

Question: Can the Tigers resist the temptation to rush his development further, and instead allow him to become the anchor naturally over time? Or will desperation for wins accelerate expectations unfairly?

And finally, there’s the supporter lens. In a year where losses outnumber wins, moments matter. Watching a kid like Gibcus soar for a contested intercept isn’t just a highlight — it’s a reminder of why you endure the pain. It’s a glimpse of a future where Richmond’s backline could once again be the envy of the league.

Observation: Gibcus has become more than a player; he’s become a promise.

Question: Will that promise be fulfilled as the rebuild matures, or will it remain another tantalising “what could have been” in Tigerland’s long and complicated story?

5. Contest, Pressure, and the Missing Piece

If there is one non-negotiable in modern AFL, it is contest. Win the ball. Apply pressure. Force turnovers. It sounds simple, but it separates the good from the great. Richmond’s golden era was built on it: manic pressure, relentless tackles, bodies flying in like it was a street fight in yellow and black. In 2025, that edge remains the piece of the puzzle Richmond still can’t quite lock in.

Week after week, you can see the flashes. A five-minute burst where Taranto, Hopper, and Prestia dominate a clearance chain and suddenly the ball is locked inside 50. A quarter where the tackling pressure swarms an opposition into coughing up possession. These bursts remind you of what the Tigers used to do better than anyone. But then, just as quickly, it evaporates. Opponents waltz out the front of stoppages. Tackles slip. Contest numbers slide.

Observation: Richmond’s greatest inconsistency is around the ball. Their midfield wins in patches but fails to sustain.

Question: Can a team stacked with kids really be expected to hold their own against hardened premiership midfields? Or is the pain we’re seeing simply the tuition fees of a rebuild?

Consider the bodies. Lalor and Smillie are teenagers. They’re learning what it feels like to get crunched by seasoned campaigners like Christian Petracca or Patrick Cripps. Armstrong and Trainor bring speed but not yet the physical size. It’s no wonder Richmond gets bullied in the clinches.

Observation: The kids are brave but still physically underdone — and it shows most at stoppages.

Question: Should we view those struggles as failings, or as inevitabilities that will harden them for the future?

Then there are the senior midfielders. Tim Taranto is a warrior. Jacob Hopper, when fit, is a contested ball magnet. Dion Prestia, even in limited bursts, still knows how to find the pill. But the problem is depth. Too often, when those three aren’t firing, the midfield collapses. There’s no second wave, no cavalry charge.

Observation: Richmond’s midfield is two-deep and overexposed.

Question: Is it sustainable to lean so heavily on a handful of players? Or will it burn them out before the kids are ready to share the load?

Pressure, too, is part of the story. Richmond’s forward-half pressure used to terrify teams. In 2025, it’s inconsistent. Some days, the kids fly in like kamikazes. Other days, they’re bypassed too easily. Richmond’s defensive profile plummets when pressure drops, because the backline can’t absorb wave after wave without support from upfield.

Observation: Pressure is the Tigers’ barometer. When it spikes, they compete. When it drops, they crumble.

Question: Can you build a sustainable game plan around such inconsistency? Or do you need to accept that young teams can only give pressure in bursts, not for four quarters?

There’s also the psychological factor. Contest isn’t just physical; it’s mental. It’s about intent. Do you want to put your body on the line? Do you want to get dirty? Yze has spoken about this — that belief and commitment matter just as much as tactics. When Richmond believe, they throw themselves in. When belief wavers, contests are lost before they begin.

Observation: The contest problem is as much in the head as it is in the body.

Question: Is that mental fragility a product of youth, or is it a cultural scar left from 2024’s spoon season? And how long does it take to erase that scar?

The optimist’s view is clear: every week, the kids get more experience. Every week, they harden. Every week, they learn what AFL-level pressure truly means. The pessimist’s view is just as clear: until Richmond can consistently win contest and apply pressure, they’ll remain an easy kill for teams with established midfields.

Observation: Contest is the missing piece that separates Richmond from being competitive every week rather than in bursts.

Question: Will that piece arrive naturally as these kids grow, or does Richmond need another injection of ready-made midfield power to bridge the gap?

6. Senior Leaders: Pressure and Patience

A rebuild isn’t just about the kids. It’s about the guardians — the older heads who steady the ship, absorb the pressure, and teach by example. At Richmond in 2025, those guardians are carrying a heavier load than perhaps any other group in the league.

Think about what’s being asked of them. Tom Lynch, the spearhead forward who has battled injury after injury, is told to hold a forward line that changes weekly. Toby Nankervis, the co-captain and ruck warrior, must compete against younger, fresher bodies while mentoring a new crop of midfielders. Dion Prestia, body held together by tape and grit, is asked to give one more season of wisdom and class. Add to them Taranto and Hopper — not veterans in age but already burdened with leadership responsibility — and you start to see the weight pressing down on Tigerland’s senior core.

Observation: Richmond’s veterans are being asked to do two jobs at once: perform at AFL level and mentor the next generation.

Question: Is it realistic to expect players fighting their own battles with injury and age to also carry the emotional and developmental load of a rebuild?

Tom Lynch is the most obvious case study. At his best, he’s one of the competition’s premier key forwards — a contested marking beast who straightens the entire side. But in 2025, frustration has boiled over. Double-teamed without consistent delivery, his temper has flared. A mid-season suspension highlighted his struggles, not just physically but mentally. You could see it: the clenched fists, the animated protests, the body language of a man sick of being isolated.

Observation: Lynch’s leadership has been compromised by his own battle with form and injury.

Question: Can Richmond afford to lean on him as the face of the forward line, or should they start planning for a world where Lynch is the support act rather than the main event?

Toby Nankervis tells another story. He’s heart and soul — the kind of captain who leads through sweat, bruises, and self-sacrifice. His ruck contests are still ferocious, but the years are catching up. He plays sore, he plays tired, and yet he plays. Younger rucks can jump over him, but few can match his heart.

Observation: Nankervis is the emotional leader of this side, setting standards that kids will remember.

Question: But how many more years can he keep doing it? And what happens when the Tigers no longer have his competitive spirit at the centre bounce?

Then there’s Dion Prestia. Once dubbed the “Human Meatball,” Prestia is now more like the wise uncle. He can still find the footy, still give composure, but his minutes are managed and his bursts are short. His role has shifted from being the engine to being the teacher — showing Lalor and Smillie what it means to survive the midfield grind.

Observation: Prestia’s value is now measured in lessons taught, not possessions won.

Question: Is that enough in the brutal weekly churn of AFL, or does sentiment risk clouding selection decisions?

Even Taranto and Hopper — supposedly in their prime — are veterans by responsibility. They’re the midfield anchors, the ones who set the tone. Without them, Richmond’s midfield collapses. With them, it competes. That’s an incredible weight for two players who should be just part of a broader mix, not the entire recipe.

Observation: Taranto and Hopper are the stopgaps between the old and the new.

Question: Can two players realistically bridge a generational gap on their own? Or are we mistaking their hard numbers for long-term solutions?

The balance is delicate. Veterans provide leadership, but they also occupy spots that could go to kids. They deliver steadiness, but sometimes at the cost of development. Yet without them, the kids drown. That’s the paradox of a rebuild.

Observation: Richmond’s senior core is both a blessing and a burden.

Question: How long can they carry this dual role before something gives — their bodies, their patience, or the fans’ tolerance for seeing the same old faces in a rebuilding side?

7. The Forward Puzzle: Where Do the Goals Come From?

In every rebuild, there’s a question that gnaws at you, louder than all the others: how are we going to score? For Richmond in 2025, that question has become almost existential. Because while the midfield has shown glimpses, and the backline is starting to take shape, the forward line feels like an unsolved riddle.

On paper, Tom Lynch is still the main target. He’s the man defenders fear, the contested-marking beast who can drag a game Richmond’s way. But reality has been cruel. Lynch’s body has betrayed him in recent years, and when he does play, he’s often swamped by double-teams. His frustration has spilled over — sometimes visibly in his body language, sometimes officially in the form of suspensions. He’s not the reliable 60-goal forward anymore; he’s the frustrated leader trying to do it all alone.

Observation: Lynch is no longer the unstoppable weapon he once was, and the system around him isn’t supporting him.

Question: Can Richmond afford to keep structuring their forward line around him, or is it time to reframe him as the support act to a new generation of targets?

That new generation is where things get interesting. Harry Armstrong, the raw key forward prospect, has shown flashes of what he could become. A strong lead. A contested mark. A goal that lifts the crowd. But flashes aren’t enough when the team is desperate for consistent scoring. Armstrong is still a project, still learning the craft, and asking him to shoulder too much now risks crushing him under expectation.

Observation: Armstrong has the profile to be the next great Tiger forward, but right now he’s being judged on potential, not production.

Question: Should Richmond protect him from too much responsibility too soon, or does throwing him in the deep end accelerate the development he’ll need to survive?

Then there’s Mykelti Lefau, who had looked like an exciting foil to Lynch before injury struck. His absence left a hole in the structure and robbed Richmond of a second tall option. Without him, opposition defences can collapse onto Lynch and neutralise Richmond’s only genuine key threat.

Observation: Injuries to secondary forwards have exposed how fragile Richmond’s forward set-up really is.

Question: Is it smart list management to gamble on unproven kids and injury-prone talls, or should the Tigers have invested in a stopgap forward to ease the pressure?

At ground level, the picture isn’t much clearer. The small forwards are energetic but inconsistent. There are moments of brilliance — a crumbing goal, a pressure act, a clever kick inside 50 — but not enough sustained influence. Richmond’s golden-era forward line worked because the smalls — Rioli, Castagna, Lambert — turned chaos into opportunity. In 2025, chaos too often just turns into turnovers.

Observation: Richmond’s small forwards bring effort but lack the polish and scoreboard impact of their premiership predecessors.

Question: Can effort alone carry a forward line at AFL level, or does Richmond need to find a genuine match-winning small forward in the next draft?

The statistics tell a blunt story. Richmond are on track to finish the season without cracking 1,000 points scored — a line in the sand that usually separates finals contenders from the also-rans. It doesn’t matter how brave your kids are, or how honest your midfield works, if you can’t kick winning scores.

Observation: The Tigers’ inability to generate consistent scoring chains is the single biggest reason they sit near the bottom of the ladder.

Question: Is the problem the forward personnel, or the ball movement feeding them? And if it’s both, which needs to be fixed first?

What makes the forward puzzle so daunting is that it’s not a one-year fix. Even if Armstrong develops. Even if Lynch gets fit. Even if a small forward emerges. It takes years to craft a functioning, reliable forward system. Richmond fans know this — they watched it evolve across 2017–2020. The fear is that they’ll be waiting just as long again.

Observation: Richmond’s forward line isn’t just incomplete; it’s unstable.

Question: Will the Tigers be patient enough to let it grow organically, or will the temptation to trade aggressively for ready-made forwards pull them off their rebuild course?

8. Off-Field: Rebuilding the Home as Well as the Team

If the on-field rebuild is about players and game style, the off-field rebuild is about bricks, mortar, and vision. For Richmond, 2025 is as much about construction zones as it is about contested ball. Punt Road, the spiritual home of the Tigers, is being torn apart and rebuilt. It’s noisy, dusty, inconvenient — but it’s also symbolic. Just as the playing list is being reshaped, so too is the very ground the Tigers call home.

The redevelopment of the Jack Dyer Stand is not just a cosmetic facelift. It’s the largest infrastructure project in Richmond’s history — a multimillion-dollar transformation that will deliver a bigger oval, expanded facilities, underground car parking, and a genuine community hub. By 2027, Punt Road will look unrecognisable. But right now, it’s a construction site.

Observation: Richmond are literally rebuilding their foundations, on and off the field, at the same time.

Question: Does doing both simultaneously risk overextending the club’s resources — financial, emotional, and cultural — or is it the perfect alignment of timing to refresh everything at once?

The short-term pain is obvious. With Punt Road unavailable for full-time training, the Tigers are eyeing Waverley Park as a temporary base. For players, that means longer commutes, unfamiliar facilities, and the loss of the “home advantage” of training on their own ground. For staff, it means logistical headaches. And for supporters, it means seeing their beloved Punt Road fenced off, machinery where memories used to be.

Observation: Losing Punt Road, even temporarily, strips away a piece of Richmond’s identity.

Question: Will the players and fans embrace the sacrifice as necessary, or will the absence of home soil slowly erode the club’s spiritual connection?

The financial balancing act is another layer. Richmond have explored the possibility of selling a home game at Marvel Stadium to Tasmania or Sydney as a way of funding the redevelopment. From a business perspective, it makes sense — quick cash, broader exposure, another step in national branding. From a supporter perspective, it’s more complicated. Tigers fans are famously parochial. Home games are sacred.

Observation: Richmond’s off-field ambition requires sacrifices that may test supporter patience.

Question: Will fans accept a “sold” home game as part of the rebuild, or will it feel like yet another cost of a painful era?

And then there’s the symbolism. Redeveloping Punt Road while rebuilding the list is not a coincidence; it’s a statement. The club is saying: we are not just planning for today. We are building for tomorrow. The next dynasty — if it comes — will have a brand-new home base and a brand-new core of players. That synchronicity is powerful.

Observation: Richmond’s leadership has aligned on-field and off-field timelines in a way that shows rare long-term vision.

Question: But how fragile is that alignment? What happens if the rebuild stalls on the field while the redevelopment races ahead off it? Does shiny infrastructure mean anything if the team inside it is losing?

For now, supporters are being asked to trust the process. They’re told that the inconvenience of training away from Punt Road is worth it. That the frustration of losing home games is a necessary evil. That the cranes and scaffolding will one day give way to a temple fit for the Tiger Army.

Observation: The redevelopment is a metaphor for the entire Richmond project: messy now, beautiful later.

Question: But how much “messy now” can Tigerland endure before patience wears thin?

9. Culture and Identity: Yze’s Honesty and the Tigers’ Spirit

Every club in a rebuild talks about culture. Most of it is buzzwords. “Standards.” “Resilience.” “Connection.” But at Richmond in 2025, you can actually see culture being rebuilt in real time — and it looks different to what came before.

Under Damien Hardwick, culture was built on defiance. The Tigers’ dynasty wasn’t supposed to happen. Pundits dismissed them, wrote them off as irrelevant, and then were blindsided by the surge-and-chaos brand that delivered three flags. That culture was about silencing doubters.

Adem Yze’s culture is about something else entirely: honesty. He’s not promising miracles. He’s not telling players or fans that Richmond are around the corner from contention. Instead, he’s stripping away illusions and making the rebuild’s challenges part of the story, not a secret to hide.

Observation: Yze has made honesty the cornerstone of Richmond’s new culture — a rare trait in a game built on spin.

Question: Will Tiger fans continue to reward that honesty if the win-loss column stays ugly? Or does honesty have an expiry date in the AFL industry?

Watch the way players respond to him. Lalor runs off the ground and straight into Yze’s arms for a quick word. Armstrong listens with intent on the bench. Even veterans like Nankervis and Vlastuin speak about him with a quiet respect. He is not a firebrand coach. He doesn’t tear strips off players. He teaches. And in a season where kids are learning on the fly, that style matters.

Observation: Richmond’s young players are not just being developed technically, but culturally — learning what accountability and resilience look like.

Question: Does gentle teaching risk creating a soft edge, or is it exactly what this generation needs after inheriting the wreckage of 2024’s wooden spoon?

The Tigers’ spirit has also shifted. In 2024, losses felt inevitable — the team looked beaten before games even began. In 2025, even in defeats, there is a fight. You can see it in the way they celebrate small wins: a smother in the backline, a contested mark by a teenager, a chase-down tackle that lifts the bench. Spirit isn’t measured in ladder position; it’s measured in whether a team plays like they believe.

Observation: Richmond may lose games, but they rarely look like they’ve given up.

Question: Is spirit enough to sustain a supporter base who’ve tasted premierships? Or will fans inevitably demand more than “honourable losses” in the years ahead?

The other cultural layer is expectation. Richmond fans are among the most passionate in the league. They lived through 37 years without a flag, then drank from the well three times in four seasons. That pendulum swing between famine and feast makes patience difficult. Yze is asking for patience. The board is asking for patience. But Tiger fans are conditioned to crave both meaning and success.

Observation: Richmond’s cultural challenge is not just within the four walls of the club, but in managing the restless energy of its fan base.

Question: Can the Tigers convince their supporters that resilience and growth are victories in themselves? Or will the demand for instant gratification eventually fracture the bond between team and fans?

And finally, there’s the intangible: belief. Culture is fragile. One bad month can undo a year’s worth of progress. One ugly off-field story can unravel trust. But so far, Yze has kept Richmond grounded, united, and forward-looking. There is no sugar-coating, but there is no despair either.

Observation: Belief is the invisible thread running through Richmond’s 2025 story — fragile, but present.

Question: Will that belief grow stronger with each small win, or will the grind of losing seasons erode it before the rebuild truly takes hold?

10. So Far, So Good — But the Road Ahead is Brutal

Richmond’s 2025 season will not be remembered for finals appearances, thrilling streaks, or silverware. It will be remembered for something subtler but perhaps more important: survival with purpose. A team written off as unwatchable has proven they are watchable. A club tipped for irrelevance has shown it still matters. A supporter base bracing for misery has been handed at least a measure of hope.

Five wins. Seventeen losses. Seventeenth on the ladder. On paper, it looks ugly. But context transforms the story. This was meant to be a one-win, maybe two-win season. Instead, there were moments to cling to: the Round 1 comeback from 41 points down against Carlton; the sight of Lalor streaming through the middle and slotting goals; Armstrong clunking a contested grab that silenced critics; Gibcus returning after 500 days and reminding us what a backline looks like with him in it.

Observation: The ladder tells one story; the lived experience tells another. Richmond may be losing, but they are not lifeless.

Question: How much weight should we give to “improvement within defeat”? Is it enough to justify patience, or do wins remain the only currency that truly counts?

The road ahead is, undeniably, brutal. 2026 will still be rocky. These kids will still be learning. The veterans will still be straddling the line between mentoring and carrying. And the competition will not wait. No team gives you a free pass because you’re young and rebuilding. They’ll smell weakness and attack it. That’s the reality Richmond must face.

Observation: The Tigers’ journey is still at the start, not the end.

Question: Will supporters embrace the grind of two or three more years in the wilderness, or will frustration boil over before the foundations can bear fruit?

Off-field, the Punt Road redevelopment looms like both a promise and a threat. By 2027, Richmond could have the best facilities in the AFL. But in the meantime, they are displaced, disrupted, and juggling finances. The synergy of building both team and home base simultaneously is poetic — but it’s also fraught with risk.

Observation: Richmond are building tomorrow today — but building tomorrow is expensive, inconvenient, and often painful.

Question: Can the club manage the optics of short-term pain without losing sight of the long-term payoff? Or will supporter impatience turn into cynicism if results don’t match investment?

The biggest challenge of all, though, is emotional. Richmond’s identity has always been tied to struggle. The Tiger Army prides itself on loyalty, resilience, and fight. They stuck through 37 years without a flag. They roared through three premierships. They understand pain and they understand joy. But in 2025, they are being asked to re-learn patience, and that’s never easy after tasting glory.

Observation: Richmond’s cultural battle is not just rebuilding players, but reshaping expectations of fans who have lived both extremes.

Question: Will the Tiger Army find pride in the small wins and moments of growth, or will the memory of recent flags make anything less than contention feel unbearable?

Ultimately, 2025 should be remembered as a beginning. The year Adem Yze stamped his game style. The year the kids showed glimpses. The year Punt Road started its transformation. The year Richmond looked beaten but refused to be broken.

Observation: “So far, so good” might be the most accurate summary of Richmond’s rebuild to date. Not perfect. Not painless. But purposeful.

Question: In three or four years, will we look back on 2025 as the foundation stone of the next great Richmond era — or as another false dawn in a club history filled with them?

Conclusion

Richmond’s 2025 season closes with more losses than wins, more pain than celebration, but also more hope than despair. For a team predicted to go winless, five victories — and several close calls — represent something far greater than numbers. They represent defiance. They represent growth. They represent the flickering light at the end of a dark tunnel.

Observation: Progress doesn’t always show up on the ladder.

Question: Will history remember this year as a step forward, or dismiss it as another season wasted at the bottom?

The kids have shown flashes. Lalor’s Rising Star moment. Armstrong’s contested grabs. Trainor’s bursts of pace. Smillie’s raw strength when fit. Brown and Banks stepping up in responsibility. These aren’t illusions — they are markers of a list being reshaped with intent.

Observation: Richmond’s youth is not just potential; it’s visible progress.

Question: Can those flashes evolve into consistent weapons, or will injuries and inexperience slow their rise?

The veterans have carried, sometimes wearily, sometimes heroically. Lynch fighting double-teams. Nankervis rucking on battered legs. Prestia teaching the kids with his limited minutes. Taranto and Hopper playing roles bigger than their shoulders should bear. They’ve kept the team from collapsing entirely, but their days of dominance are fading.

Observation: Experience remains the glue, but the glue is thinning.

Question: How long can Richmond lean on this group before the rebuild demands they step aside?

Off the field, the cranes at Punt Road are just as symbolic as the kids on the grass. The Jack Dyer Stand is being torn down and rebuilt. Training sessions will be shifted. Home games may be sold. The physical discomfort mirrors the football discomfort: messy now, beautiful later.

Observation: The Tigers are rebuilding everything, everywhere, all at once.

Question: Is that ambitious synchrony genius, or will it stretch the club too far while wins remain scarce?

And yet, through all of this, the Tiger spirit remains. The crowd still roars. The players still fight. The belief — fragile but real — still flickers. It is not easy to stay loyal through pain, but Richmond fans know struggle. They have lived it before. They may live it again. But they also know what comes when patience and faith finally pay off.

Observation: Richmond 2025 is less about results and more about resilience.

Question: When the dust settles years from now, will we say 2025 was the year the next dynasty was born, or simply another false dawn in the rollercoaster that is Tigerland?

For now, the only certainty is this: the journey is underway. The bricks are being laid, both on the field and at Punt Road. The kids are learning. The veterans are mentoring.

The coach is teaching. The fans are waiting. Richmond’s story is far from finished. And maybe, just maybe, 2025 will be remembered not as a year of losses, but as the year the Tigers remembered how to fight.

Observation: In struggle lies identity.

Question: And the question every Tiger fan must ask themselves is this — are we willing to endure the pain now to roar again tomorrow?

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