Not the Adelaide defensive dam. That breached in the third term when Richmond kicked five goals to one to all but confirm they would indeed be drinking from an 11th premiership cup later that night.

This was a dam of emotion. The success-starved, anxiety-riddled Tigers fans didn't allow themselves to really accept what was unfolding until Townsend's sealer.

That extended the margin to 40 points with less than 10 minutes to play. I turned around in the Punt Road end of the ground, deep in the bowels of this historic venue, and witnessed grown men no longer able to contain their tears. I was one of them.

So was chief executive Brendon Gale, president Peggy O'Neal and club legend Matthew Richardson. The inconceivable had finally happened.

These were different to the Tiger tears we'd all known for so long; tears of heartbreak, failure, disappointment and embarrassment.

This was an outpouring of pure jubilation, a realisation that at long last Richmond was again the best team in the land.

Forget the constant in-fighting and bickering since the last premiership in 1980; the horrible floggings, the perennial failings, the almost non-existence of finals football and the hovering cloud of financial implosion through ever-expanding debt.

Forget the endless jeers from opposition supporters, the pity they always carried, the stories of success they enjoyed as the Tiger Army wallowed in the depths of despair.

Every Richmond fan has their stories of supporting this club through thick and thin. My uncle John made sure I was bleeding yellow and black before I was even sentient 30-odd years ago, and I've never known anything else.

Through the false dawns of 1995 and 2001; the butchered draft picks; the years of finishing ninth.

Punching walls and slamming doors after close losses. Telling loved ones to bugger off so you could wallow in the foul taste of another defeat.

I once lost my Richmond cap on holidays, and spent the next two hours desperately trying to track it down, without success. That still irks me.

It's funny to step back and consider how ridiculous that kind of behaviour actually is. But seek out another Tigers supporter and they'll regale you with similar tales of irrationality.

Richmond fans have always possessed a passion that seemed to grow, not wither, during the darkest of droughts. Young gun Connor Menadue won the half-time sprint on Saturday, and the Tiger Army went ballistic, such was the volume of success they craved.

One man had come all the way from Perth just to watch the game at Punt Road Oval. He couldn't get a ticket to the MCG and he'd also made the round trip for Richmond's qualifying and preliminary final wins.

Another man, 83 years a Richmond member, was also forced to watch from Punt Road given the dearth of available tickets at the capacity MCG.

They both enjoyed it all the same.

Late in that fourth quarter their hero, Dustin Martin, kicked his second goal and tears turned to celebration; more hugging and kissing of random strangers, all united at long last with a premiership.

They remained long after the final siren singing the famous Richmond Tigers song.

Then they marched down to Swan Street in Richmond, where about five or six blocks had been shut down to traffic and trams to facilitate a massive street party.

Local police kept an eye on proceedings from either end, but they rarely intervened until the early hours of Sunday morning as the faithful released 37 years of torture.

One lady decided to stand atop a police car before an officer came over and pulled her back to Earth, reminding her that jumping on police cars wasn't acceptable behaviour. He then shook her hand and let her rejoin the party – the cop was a proud Tigers man, too.

Fans climbed on top of Swan Street shop fronts and led endless renditions of the Tigers song. An Adelaide scarf was even set alight.

Entrepreneurial types raided bottle shops and were on-selling their wares to thirsty revellers in the street who weren't willing to go and stand in the lines snaking out from every pub within a reasonable radius.

Publicans in Richmond will be salivating at the weeks and months to come. The sleeping giant is awake, and the celebrations have only just begun.