Almanac Soccer: Redemption – on the field and in the stands

 

 

Australia vs. Uruguay in 2005 was one of, if not, the most famous football (soccer) matches in this country’s history, and I was there to see it. Growing up in AFL-mad Melbourne, my introduction to the world game was gradual. I saw highlights of European leagues on the news and watched bits and pieces of World Cups in 1990 and 1994, of which my country, Australia, were not a part.

The first soccer match I ever attended was the second-most famous game in the country’s history, and definitely the most infamous, soccer game ever played In Australia – the Socceroos vs Iran in 1997. 12 years old in 1997, I sat in the stands at the MCG with 85,000 other parochial Socceroos supporters.

In the first leg, played away in Tehran, Australia had drawn 1-1, meaning that at the MCG we simply needed a 0-0 draw, or a win, to go through to the 1998 World Cup in France. Australia dominated this match so convincingly, it is no exaggeration to say we should have been 5-0 or 6-0 up at half time. The Socceroos turned the Iranian goal into a shooting gallery, squandering plenty of chances. Only one chance – to a 19-year-old Harry Kewell – was converted.

After half time, Aurelio Vidmar made it 2-0. It seemed a formality that we were set for France 1998. Iran were a shambles and completely outplayed; we had a formidable advantage and were dominating. Then came the cruel twist of fate. Out of nowhere***, Iran scored 2 quick goals to make it 2-2. That’s how the game finished, meaning the two-leg tie finished 3-3, and Iran progressed on the away goals rule. It was a cruel, heartbreaking loss – one, to quote former U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt, that still lives in infamy.

As heartbreaking as it was, this match itself made me fall in love with both the game and the Socceroos. The image of devastated Socceroo Stan Lazaridis, lying on the MCG turf for 10 minutes after the match and having to be helped up and led to the dressing room by a policeman, was moving and gut wrenching at the same time.

Just two months earlier, I had been at the MCG when the Western Bulldogs, my AFL team, lost in similar circumstances. Playing in a Preliminary Final and looking to break a 36-year Grand Final drought, the Bulldogs led for most of the game and looked to be home, only to give up the lead very late and go down by two points. It was, to quote FDR once more, a loss that still lives in infamy.

So when the Socceroos lost to Iran eight weeks later, I felt the pain and related to them immediately. I felt a connection to them, empathizing with the pain of a missed chance. Also, in the world of football, the Socceroos were the underdog and hardly a world power, similar to the Bulldogs in AFL. It seems ironic that a love for a team can be born from such a cruel loss, but that’s how it was for me.

Four years later in 2001, Australia were again playing in a two-leg tie to make the 2002 World Cup in Korea and Japan. Our opponent was Uruguay. In the first leg at the MCG – naturally I was in attendance – we won 1-0, thanks to a Kevin Muscat penalty. However, we then went across the globe to Montevideo for the second leg and lost 3-0.

That return match was played at 6am on a Monday morning Australian time. I watched from my lounge room before school. Afterwards I trudged off to school dejectedly, depressed and shattered at another missed chance for the Socceroos.

Four years later, in 2005, it was time to put my heart through the wringer once more. Another World Cup Qualifying campaign for Australia. This time, thankfully, memorably and historically, the two-match series would be remembered for all the right reasons. Our opponent in 2005 was again, Uruguay. As the MCG was unavailable, the Socceroos’ home game – the second match – would be played at Sydney’s Olympic Stadium.

There was no question as to whether or not I’d be there. My work friend Ben had organised a bunch of tickets, and my Dad was also coming. In the first leg in Montevideo on a Sunday November evening – where we’d been overwhelmed four years earlier – Australia played quite well and solidly but were defeated 1-0.

So, given we had not scored an away goal, the task for us in Sydney – we needed to win by 2 goals. A draw or loss would see Uruguay qualify. If we won 1-0, the aggregate would be 1-1 and extra time, and penalties, would decide the match. On edge after the tense first leg, I made my way to Sydney on Wednesday, the day of the match.

The airport, my flight and Sydney itself were abuzz with green and gold shirts. The match was the biggest thing in town, and there was a real sense this time that this was our chance. I seemed to sense amongst the fans in town the urgency of this match, the pain from the previous defeats – we wanted this so badly. It was our time. I made my way out to Sydney with Dad in the early evening.

Our seats were behind the goals to the left of the stadium, where the most raucous and loudest Australian fans were. The previous qualifying matches I had attended in 1997 and 2001 at the MCG, the atmosphere was fantastic. But this night in Sydney, it was truly extraordinary and surpassed those two matches easily.

We arrived more than an hour before kick-off, and the stadium was bouncing already. Everyone in the crowd was wearing gold. It painted a remarkable picture – a glittering sea of green and gold. Our boys came out to warm up, and the crowd went ballistic. Equally, when the Uruguayan players came out, a cacophony of boos and abuse rattled the stadium.

Eventually, with sickening suddenness, the match was upon us. I was as nervous as hell. Would we finally qualify, or would our hearts be broken yet again? The playing of the two nations’ national anthems prior to the game was extraordinary in itself.

Uruguay’s anthem, played first, was met with a chorus of boos from the crowd which was so loud, you could not hear the music from the speakers, nor the singer on the pitch. I was gobsmacked. I did not approve of the booing, and did not participate myself, but two things struck me.

First off, I knew that this crowd meant business.

Although I didn’t like the booing, the dislike for the Uruguayan team itself was understandable. The team itself was known for gamesmanship, delaying tactics and not so subtle manipulations of the referee. Also, in the 2001 series against Uruguay, our players were spat on and abused by Uruguayan fans upon arrival in Montevideo. So I understood the dislike for the team, but still, I did not like booing.

Secondly, when our anthem was played, 80,000 people sang so loudly, so passionately, that again, you could not hear the music from the speakers, nor the singer. It was a spine-tingling moment. I’m not a particularly patriotic type, nor a big fan of our national anthem, but the rendition of this anthem was truly special. Watching the replay, you can see that our players are almost in tears as the anthem is sung by the crowd. Truly remarkable. And suddenly, the game started and the most nerve wracking and tense 120 minutes (90 would not be enough) of football and drama began.

The opening moments of the game passed without incident. Our side was evidently nervous, the occasion and the crowd so momentous that we sensed our players nerves from the stands. With a few slightly misplaced passes and a first touch here or there that were too heavy, our boys seemed to take a while to find their rhythm. There were a couple of long-range shots our players launched – from Jason Culina and Tony Vidmar. Both were saved easily, but nonetheless had the raucous crowd raising the decibel level in hope.

The first key moment came after about 20 minutes. A Uruguayan goal kick was flicked on, and Alvaro Recoba, Uruguay’s star player, got in behind our defence and was suddenly in on goal, on his powerful left foot, with only our goalkeeper Mark Schwarzer to beat.

The crowd grimaced with the knowledge of what was coming. It was like one of those moments in the movies when a car or plane crash is imminent – everyone braces, wincing, waiting for the inevitable. We all knew what was coming, of course. Recoba would smash it on his left foot, the net would inevitably bulge, which meant an away goal, which meant Australia would have to score 3 to win, a challenge nigh on impossible against the staunch defensive opponent we were playing. Another campaign down the drain, four more years till the next World Cup.

But somehow, Recoba missed and the ball went wide of the post. The crowd murmured in quiet disbelief and relief. We all couldn’t believe it. It was a massive bullet dodged, and we were still a chance to make the World Cup.

Another key moment came about five minutes after Recoba’s missed chance. Recoba again, the nifty, clever player he was, dribbled past Tony Popovic, our brute of a defender. Popovic stuck out his arm to stop Recoba, and part of his forearm hit Recoba’s face.

Recoba, inevitably and predictably, went to ground in agony. The referee showed Popovic a yellow card. From my vantage point, it looked an obvious yellow card, but I hadn’t seen the arm across Recoba’s face – it merely looked like a stock standard cynical foul by a defender looking purely to stop the advance of an opponent. It was only when watching the replay that I saw that Popovic had hit Recoba across the face, and it so easily could have been a red card.

Two bullets dodged now – both involving Recoba. He could have scored an away goal and had one of our players sent off, but we’d dodged both. After this incident, there was activity on the Socceroos’ bench. Harry Kewell, our own star player, had started this most important of games on the bench for form and fitness reasons. I was a big fan of Harry, but after he was relatively quiet in the first leg, I was not unhappy to see him benched. Not only was Harry our star player, but he is from Sydney, so when he was spotted preparing to come on, replacing Popovic, the crowd went absolutely wild.

In the stands, I thought to myself about how I hadn’t minded seeing Harry benched after the first leg, and thought to myself, “Well, if ever there’s a time for you to perform Harry, it’s now.”

And does he! Mere minutes after Kewell had taken the pitch, we were attacking, After some neat passing, the ball found its way to Mark Viduka – our giant striker and my favourite player – who brilliantly flicked it back to Harry, who made an intelligent run into the penalty area. Suddenly the crowd gasped in the same manner it gasped earlier at Recoba’s earlier chance – only this time with anticipation and excitement.

Harry was through on goal and on his own magical left foot! Come on!

But… the crowd gasped again, this time in shocked disappointment, as Harry made possibly the worst miskick of his career. He scuffed the shot completely but, as a result, the ball trickled invitingly across the penalty area to where Mark Bresciano and a Uruguayan defender were waiting. Both lunged at the ball, but Bresciano got to it first. In a split second, the ball smashed against the roof of the net. GOAL!

Suddenly in the crowd, as the net bulged, I was hit by two things. The first is the sheer noise. I’ve been to many sporting events, and the roar when Bresciano scored that goal is still the loudest I’ve ever heard a crowd. It was extraordinary, like being hit suddenly by a fierce gale storm wind – a storm of noise, on this occasion.

The second thing (or things) to hit me were thousands of plastic cups – along with the beer, water and whatever other fluid they held – as everyone around let them fly while jumping up and down in the extraordinary celebration. Dad, Ben and I, and the people behind, beside and behind us, all hugged, bouncing around crazily in the frenzied celebration after the goal.

It was an amazing moment, one I still remember vividly. In the moments after the goal, there was paper on the pitch and a flare set off in the stands. The ground and the crowd were positively heaving. Our players were suddenly pumped and full of energy, and the Uruguayan players were rattled. This was big. It was massive! We were right back in it.

At half time ten minutes later, Dad said to me, “We will win this 3-0.” I silently curse him for his optimism. There’s still a way to go, and I’ve had my heart broken by this Socceroos team before. I messaged my Mum, who was watching back at home, about the goal. She replies, “I jumped so high I had oxygen deprivation! Harry is a God!”

When the second half started, we were in control again. And what’s more, Harry was absolutely on fire. I remembered my earlier thought – “If there was ever a time to perform, Harry, it’s now” – and boy, did he perform! He was fast, dangerous, clever and exhilarating. The Uruguayans were terrified of him.

But although Harry was on fire and although we dominated the second half, no second goal came. The match finished 1-0 in our favour, which means the countries were now level 1-1 on aggregate. We would have to go to extra time. Gulp.

Extra time continued in the same vein as the second half had – we were in control, but just could not get that decisive second goal. The referee eventually blew the whistle for the end of extra time, and that meant the game was going to a penalty shootout.

Gulp, vomit, dry retch.

I messaged Mum as we waited for penalties to begin, basically saying that I felt sick. She did too, came the reply. In short, everyone felt sick. “Surely we can’t lose on a penalty shootout after dominating this match, can we?”, I ask myself. I already know the answer: “It’s the Socceroos, of course we can.”

Ahead of the shootout, Dad asked me the name of Australia’s goalkeeper. No sooner had I responded with “Mark Schwarzer”, he suddenly let rip with a huge, blood curdling roar: “COME ON MARK!” Though I was on the verge of vomiting from stress, I still found it funny.

When the penalty shootout started, I forced myself to turn around and watch it, despite my pessimism and being on the verge of throwing up.

Harry Kewell went first for us. He strolled up to the ball, his run-up almost as casual and cool as if was having a kick before heading for the showers after training. Harry kicked left and the keeper went the wrong way. Goal. I almost smiled, thinking he was never going to miss after how he’d played this night.

Now, Uruguay’s first penalty taker, Dario Rodriguez, stepped forward. Howls of derision and boos echoed thunderously across the stadium. Rodriguez stunted his run-up, trying to put Schwarzer off, but Schwarzer wasn’t buying it. He waited for the kick, dived the right way… and saved it! The crowd let out a thunderous roar. 1-0 our way.

Lucas Neill, our defender who had been brilliant in this game and in Montevideo, was next for us. He has a two-step run-up and easily scores. The crowd thundered another roar of delight. It’s 2-0 to us, and we’re edging closer.

Uruguay’s next penalty taker was Gustavo Varela. If Schwarzer were to save this one for us, we were almost certainly going to win. Varela stepped up and took his kick. Schwarzer again guessed the right way, but just missed saving it. The crowd collectively let out a loud gasp. The tension was unbearable. “How can we be so close, yet so far?”, I ask myself.

Australia’s next penalty was taken by Tony Vidmar, the veteran defender who had photographed leaving the pitch in tears and being consoled by a member of the Australian team staff, after our 2001 Elimination against Uruguay.

There was no time for tears now, though. Having played two great games, Vidmar stepped up and easily slotted his penalty. 3-1 to us. “We are so, so close!”

Uruguay’s next penalty taker, Fabian Estoyanoff, stepped up for Uruguay’s third shot and this time Schwarzer had no chance of saving it. 3-2.

For our fourth penalty, it was Mark Viduka. Viduka was my favourite player, our captain, and he, like Vidmar, had been great in both games.

“We are agonisingly close to winning this. Surely he won’t miss. Surely.”

Viduka missed. A poor, stilted run-up resulted in him hitting the ball weakly, and wide of the post. The crowd moaned in despair.

The next day, de-briefing with my Mum about the game, I remember her saying, “I couldn’t believe Viduka’s penalty! He looked like an old man taking it! It was terrible!” I agreed. I do forgive you though, Mark.

After Viduka’s miss, the restlessness and tension in the crowd was palpable. If Uruguay scored with their next penalty, it would be 3-3, and we’d have squandered our advantage, bringing the shootout to a sudden death stage.

I was sick with disbelief. I felt we were going to blow it again. Marcelo Zalayeta was next for Uruguay. He had a perfectly comfortable run-up, and his shot, to Schwarzer’s left, looked like a well-taken, if regulation penalty. But Schwarzer – unbelievably! Fantastically! Heroically! – dived the right way, stuck out his right hand, and made a brilliant save.

The crowd went absolutely wild with joy and relief. And suddenly, I realised what this meant. “IF WE SCORE THIS NEXT ONE WE’RE THROUGH!” I shouted to everyone and anyone. The woman in the row behind me, disbelieving, the tension getting to her, yelled “WHAT?!” I repeated what I’d said. “OH MY GOD!!”, comes her response.

As we watched the next penalty, her hand was squeezing my shoulder as she struggled to take in what we were witnessing. It was almost comical. For this deciding penalty, it was our striker John Aloisi, who would step up. The crowd knew now that this was it. It all hinged on this. “Score and we are through. It’s that simple.”

There was a hush of expectation as Aloisi began his run-up.

Aloisi hit the ball sweetly. His shot went powerfully to his right, and Uruguay’s keeper dived the right way. For a nano-second, I couldn’t see the ball – but Aloisi had struck it too powerfully for it to be saved. “It’s a goal! We’re through!”

As one, the entire crowd as one leapt and down. It is a scene of utter joy and delight.

The Bresciano scenario from earlier was repeated. Strangers hugged, beer and cups flew everywhere. The stadium was a cauldron of chaos and sheer delirium. “We’re through! We have done it!” Aloisi ripped his shirt off and stormed down the wing in celebration with every Socceroo in mad pursuit. It was a magical moment.

After we all calmed down (and it took some time), there was a presentation on the field, followed by a lap of honour from the players. It was as though we have won the World Cup, not merely qualified for it. The feeling of joy and relief in the stands was amazing. It was an historic moment. Everyone in the stadium knew it, lingering to take it all in.

We went back into the city afterwards, and Sydney was buzzing. Cars were honking, people were jumping on cars, horns and trumpets were going off, as were flares. People danced in the streets.

Soaking up these scenes of celebration, I cast my mind back to that 2001 when we had had victory snatched away from us by Uruguay. Depressed by our defeat, I had gone to my high school library during lunch time the next day and read the newspaper coverage of the defeat. The article told of scenes of celebration and joy around Montevideo after Uruguay’s victory and forlornly pondered the future: “One wonders if we will ever see such scenes in our country for the Socceroos.”

Thankfully, we did. And I was there to see it.

 

 

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