Only weeks ago, an exciting new future beckoned for the Wests Tigers where their sole headache was getting better dunnies for Campbelltown Stadium.

With a stable administration and an exciting spine spearheaded by Penrith premiership stars, the joint venture brimmed with hope of a return to the glory of ninth place – maybe even higher.

Once the season began with a handful of encouraging wins and a newfound defensive resolve – plus reversing years of pilfering on the Roosters by getting the best of Terrell May – the faithful dared to dream.

Was this finally it? Could years of wooden spoons and existential angst at the Tigers finally be over?

No.

This new dawn at the Tigers was nothing but more false branding, much like a US Marine printed on an Anzac jersey.

As we now know, normal business has resumed at the Concord-based club with the good times over before they began, with all the heartening chat about actual footy buried under crisis meetings, legal writs and so many club statements that the PR team registered on the VB Hard Earned Index.

While nobody was naive to think this latest Tigers outfit was on a one-way journey to the top four, most agreed this revamp felt different.

Whether it was the major accomplishments of recruiting astutely, retaining their crop of talented youngsters or not sacking a coach for over 12 months, we all believed CEO Shane Richardson’s new “Crocodile Roll” era would see the Tigers doing the rolling and not the crocking.

While the Easter Monday defeat to the Eels isn’t terminal for their finals chances, you know it’s bleak when conceding 38 points to the team running last isn’t your most wretched event from the weekend.

Put simply, it was the preceding week of unedifying turmoil that was like the old Tigers that were a punchline more than a premiership threat.

Lachlan Galvin. (Photo by Mark Metcalfe/Getty Images)

Considering the Lachie Galvin saga and its crossfire of leaks, undermining and public revolt, fans were wondering if this was Groundhog Day or just a really cruel sequel to Tiger Town.

Add the subsequent round-the-clock media frenzy driven from the backseat by Isaac Moses plus the threat of legal action and the RLPA, and it’s no wonder supporters are craving a return to the “grave humiliation” of Justin Pascoe’s trackie pants.

Sure, it’s nothing new to watch the Tigers entangled in a Gordian knot of spats, release clauses and all the other stuff inflamed by internal politics or Robbie Farah.

But the Galvin fiasco and its putrid timing has reaffirmed one of the game’s saddest truths:

The Wests Tigers are destined to never have nice things.

For all its efforts, the joint venture suffers an incontrovertible malaise that’s woven deep in to the jersey – and we all should’ve known from the jump it was doomed.

By foolishly cross pollinating cosmopolitan Balmain with Campbelltown Fibro, both factions were always destined to resist each other like the same end of two batteries.

That’s why it’s birthed an oligarch’s mansion of folly so infinite we’ve almost forgotten about John Hopoate’s index finger.

Almost.

Whether its the agonising 14-year finals drought or just the inability to retain anyone half-decent, the Tigers are the only side that can be dumped out of finals contention at Leichhardt Oval by a Paul Gallen field goal – just like 2019 – and not a single onlooker was surprised.

Add Lee Hangipantelis fomenting war with fan podcasts, the Luke Brooks barbecue and the botched Anzac jerseys, and the three consecutive wooden spoons have been a welcome distraction.

It’s this rich history that means any encouraging dawns like 2025 are not only met with skepticism, they also inevitably entice predatory player agents, and just as predictably, pleas for Tim Sheens.

But while many fans blame it all on the club’s shaky political foundations or just Ivan Cleary, the Tigers ails can all be traced back to one specific event:

The 2005 premiership.

Winning a fairytale grand final may have been a good idea at the time, but the Tigers club has laboured with this title around its neck like an Elizabethan collar ever since.

The 2005 Tigers on grand final night. (Photo by Cameron Spencer/Getty Images)

In a history beset by terrible decisions it remains an aberration as curious as Changa’s white boots, a barely plausible freak event that many conspiracy theorists believe was as staged as the moon landing.

And for all its glorious memories, 2005 endures as a night that everything at the Tigers is invariably compared to- and until there’s another one, that’ll never change.

Of course, as some of the most battle-gnarled humans walking the earth’s surface, Tigers fans remain resolute this won’t be another template Tigers year.

But even under the club’s new ‘Team First’ era – a mantra so strong they’ve named a five-eighth this weekend who’s suing the club and thinks the coach is useless – I’d still be encouraging Sheensy to keep his phone on.