It’s come to this. Friday night lights, a game of football beneath a waning moon, blessed by rain, and we’re half the story, but for our half of the crowd we are everything. We hope always for the best, but hardly can us Richmond fans remember a season like this.

A double-chance, at the G, Dusty in a bullocking mood. ‘Our boys’ playing out of their skins, thrilling us with what they’ve done, might do, with their commitment to each other. Our hearts are aflutter, our feet barely touch the ground, and as cold winds blow in Melbourne, hard rain falls, we couldn’t be happier.

For this beautiful tease of Friday night, we wish for our players only the best. We know it is not easy, this crucible, with so much in the offing, against such imperious foes, confronting history (when did we last beat them?), but you must know we are with you, beside you, wanting only what you have worked so tirelessly for.

We are your fans, your partners, your mums and dads, children, friends, confidants, admirers, the ones you see when you look to the crowd, ordinary people, willing you on. Our gratification is the admiration for what 22 young men can achieve, and do for each other on a field of grass.

Our messages are of support and goodwill, from all parts of Australia and beyond.

Matthew Frost, in London, sends a family photo, and all his love. “We’ll be watching the game on Saturday morning in our colours,” he writes. “I’ll call my 83-year-old dad before the game for luck, who’s in Adelaide with my brother, Steve. They’ll be watching it on the telly. We’ll be going nuts over here if we win.” 

Rick Ward sends his support from Dubai. “The kids are so excited. They made the sign and the message for Bachar Houli, being Eid Al Adha this weekend. We also have our inflatable Trent Cotchin. My boys have only been to the ’G once, when Geelong ran over the top of us last year, so we’re looking for reversed fortunes.”

Betty Kenny, 71, a widow from Seaford (“home of the Seaford Tigers”) near Frankston, sends a pic from behind her parked car. “My mother lived in Richmond and she’d tell me and my sister stories of ‘Captain Blood’ at Punt Road,” she says. “Tickets for this Friday were a bit more than I can afford, but I’ll be watching.”

We are many in the crowd, but essentially, we are one. Some call us the ‘Tiger Army’, a large body of people organised for a cause, but we come with love and respect, not weapons of hurt. We know it’s only a game, but that is not to dismiss our regard, and the deeper meanings we might find in team sport. In football, there is life, belonging, an unending belief.

Use us – our numbers, our passion – for strength and resolve. You offer the fleeting gift of youth and athleticism, we provide the age-old art of barracking. You are the chosen few, we are the ordained masses. Let us carry your burdens, your doubts and fears, give them to us to hold in the stands as we shout ourselves hoarse.

Trout (formerly of Woodend), found usually in the cheer squad, offers only four words: THE WAIT IS OVER.

Connor Blake, 9, from the Mornington peninsula, asks: WHY NOT US?

Donnie Davidson, a schoolteacher from Ballarat, declares: RICHMOND IT’S TIME.  

Bachar Houli has a supporter group of his own. The Daghistani girls (Mariam, 12, Rhaneem, 14 and Sireen, 9) hold up their homemade banner - FEAR THE BEARD – outside their house in Thomastown. Chris Rees, from Hobart, clutches a WE LOVE BACHAR sign before a snow-capped Mt Wellington, while his mild-mannered eldest son, Marcus, 15, suggests: CRUSH GEELONG. 

Andie Hensley holds-up her inspired artwork in Sydney (OUR TIGERS, OUR HEROES, OUR BEATING HEART) with her boy, John (“by the time we took that photo he was exhausted from the 99 other ‘takes’”). Verran Fehlberg and his daughters send love from Perth. Judith Taylor and Jack, 11, and Janah, 10, blow kisses from Queensland. “We love Richmond and go to all the games they play in Queensland,” she writes. “We’re coming down to see my 87-year-old dad at Port Fairy in the September school holidays and we hope to be with him to watch Richmond play.”

Susan Roll sends a digital message – GO GET EM BOYS! – from Portland, in south-west Victoria (home of the Portland Tigers). “It’s a long way from Punt Road,” she says. “Making the trek for the game on Friday, tight timeline from finishing work to getting to the G, but I’ll be there!” 

We’re coming from all parts this Friday, boys. You will hear us roar, cheer, sing our song, barrack like we haven’t barracked for the longest time. It’s all on the line, our hearts are stripped bare, we could do anything.

Use our support as a reassurance. Pass on your anxieties to us. Give us a task and we’ll shoulder the load. We are all in this together, as one club, with its many parts. All we ask is that you play for each other, and in doing so, you’ll be playing for us.

To each player in Friday night’s team, and all who’ve represented the yellow and black to bring us to this juncture, do you think we’re proud of you? My goodness, you don’t even know the half of it!

Honour, courage, the best of luck – and knock ’em dead.

And our last (hand-drawn) word, from Florence Nichols, from Coburg: “GRRREAT WORK TIGES”