That tournament, once again
Guess what? I was working when the game kicked of at 8:00pm our time. I had the radio on in the office and then, in the second minute, Croatia scored.
Back in the between the draw and the start of the tournament we looked at the draw, our group and thought BRAZIL. We're playing BRAZIL. Who gives a stuff if they stuff us? We're playing BRAZIL!
Every now and then we'd think - and Croatia and Japan and... hmmn... we might, take a point here or there...
Thirty two years ago Australia last took part in the World Cup finals. The uninitiated (those living in that small fraction of the world that isn't steeped in soccer's lore) might think the big question is 'why the absence' - given Australia's propensity for punching way above its weight in the sporting sphere, when in fact the real question is how the hell, against all the odds have we assembled not once but twice a sufficiency of calibre players to qualify.
We couldn't help but believe that we'd acquit ourselves but ...
My greatest fear, before the first ball was kicked in anger, was that we'd go through the three group matches without scoring a goal. We put three past Japan. Our first three goals at the World Cup finals.
My second fear was that we'd go through the three games without gaining a point. But in putting three goals past Japan we won that game and gained three points. Our first three goals and our first three points at the World Cup finals.
My third fear was that we'd be found wanting against Brazil; that we'd fold, look unworthy of our place at football's high table. Posterity records a 2-nil defeat but as so often is the case the final score line is only part of the story. Notwithstanding the pre-tournament sniping, the claims that we were 'too' physical and unsophisticated we outplayed the gods of the beautiful game for substantial portions of the 90 minutes. We left the field with our heads up and our shoulders back, looking forward to the intra-familial confrontation with Croatia to decide which of the two would progress from the group to the last 16.
I say intra-familial because something like three of the starting 11 Croatians are Australia-born and more than half the Aussie 11 have Croatian connections.
Win, lose or draw going into tonight's match we'd accomplished what we'd set out to achieve, and the structural reforms that FIFA have already announced will have more significant impact on the game's domestic development. From now on, IF Fifa is as good as its word (!) we'll no longer be required to hack our way around the Pacific handing out record-setting thrashings to obscure island-nation states that will disappear under the next tsunami or a couple of feet of generally raised sea-level, which ever comes first.
Quite reasonably coming top of the group that comprises us, New Zealand and a motley collection of populated atolls has been considered insufficient grounds for qualification through to the finals so we've had to face off against lucky losers in some other group. In future we'll stand or fall on our f00tball merits and not our ability to to finish first in the Airline Schedules Stakes.
And so tonight, going a goal behind after two minutes. I couldn't bear it so I went for a walk around the building and fiddled with other people's work to pass the time.
At 9:00 or thereabouts I packed up and legged it home to watch the second half of the game. Down 2-1, having once already clawed our way back to the parity which is what we require to go forward.
I learn that we've had a cast iron penalty not granted by the ref. during the first half. And that the keeper (who shall remain nameless) justified his status as a highly suprising replacement for the uninjured Schwarzer by gifting a goal to the Croats. The match is everything to be expected of a crunch game, with so much riding on it and played out by two groups of men with so much in common. Scrappy and generally unattractive; but played with fury and passion, and therefore compelling.
With 12 minutes to go Harry Kewell puts us back on terms (notwithstanding the general view that he was off-side when the ball was passed). Never mind. That was only the start of what were 10 of the most extraordinary minutes of football I've seen.
No referee worth his salt would find himself in the 85th minute being shoved by a player; no ref with the respect of the players, that is. Which strongly suggests that the crucial ineptitude was not that on display in the last minutes, but that which the players had seen earlier in the match and perhaps in previous games.
And it left me thinking: "Boy is Graham Poll crap. Can we not have him as a referee of our next game?"
Not there's much chance of Mr Poll taking another international game, ever.
Back in the between the draw and the start of the tournament we looked at the draw, our group and thought BRAZIL. We're playing BRAZIL. Who gives a stuff if they stuff us? We're playing BRAZIL!
Every now and then we'd think - and Croatia and Japan and... hmmn... we might, take a point here or there...
Thirty two years ago Australia last took part in the World Cup finals. The uninitiated (those living in that small fraction of the world that isn't steeped in soccer's lore) might think the big question is 'why the absence' - given Australia's propensity for punching way above its weight in the sporting sphere, when in fact the real question is how the hell, against all the odds have we assembled not once but twice a sufficiency of calibre players to qualify.
We couldn't help but believe that we'd acquit ourselves but ...
My greatest fear, before the first ball was kicked in anger, was that we'd go through the three group matches without scoring a goal. We put three past Japan. Our first three goals at the World Cup finals.
My second fear was that we'd go through the three games without gaining a point. But in putting three goals past Japan we won that game and gained three points. Our first three goals and our first three points at the World Cup finals.
My third fear was that we'd be found wanting against Brazil; that we'd fold, look unworthy of our place at football's high table. Posterity records a 2-nil defeat but as so often is the case the final score line is only part of the story. Notwithstanding the pre-tournament sniping, the claims that we were 'too' physical and unsophisticated we outplayed the gods of the beautiful game for substantial portions of the 90 minutes. We left the field with our heads up and our shoulders back, looking forward to the intra-familial confrontation with Croatia to decide which of the two would progress from the group to the last 16.
I say intra-familial because something like three of the starting 11 Croatians are Australia-born and more than half the Aussie 11 have Croatian connections.
Win, lose or draw going into tonight's match we'd accomplished what we'd set out to achieve, and the structural reforms that FIFA have already announced will have more significant impact on the game's domestic development. From now on, IF Fifa is as good as its word (!) we'll no longer be required to hack our way around the Pacific handing out record-setting thrashings to obscure island-nation states that will disappear under the next tsunami or a couple of feet of generally raised sea-level, which ever comes first.
Quite reasonably coming top of the group that comprises us, New Zealand and a motley collection of populated atolls has been considered insufficient grounds for qualification through to the finals so we've had to face off against lucky losers in some other group. In future we'll stand or fall on our f00tball merits and not our ability to to finish first in the Airline Schedules Stakes.
And so tonight, going a goal behind after two minutes. I couldn't bear it so I went for a walk around the building and fiddled with other people's work to pass the time.
At 9:00 or thereabouts I packed up and legged it home to watch the second half of the game. Down 2-1, having once already clawed our way back to the parity which is what we require to go forward.
I learn that we've had a cast iron penalty not granted by the ref. during the first half. And that the keeper (who shall remain nameless) justified his status as a highly suprising replacement for the uninjured Schwarzer by gifting a goal to the Croats. The match is everything to be expected of a crunch game, with so much riding on it and played out by two groups of men with so much in common. Scrappy and generally unattractive; but played with fury and passion, and therefore compelling.
With 12 minutes to go Harry Kewell puts us back on terms (notwithstanding the general view that he was off-side when the ball was passed). Never mind. That was only the start of what were 10 of the most extraordinary minutes of football I've seen.
No referee worth his salt would find himself in the 85th minute being shoved by a player; no ref with the respect of the players, that is. Which strongly suggests that the crucial ineptitude was not that on display in the last minutes, but that which the players had seen earlier in the match and perhaps in previous games.
And it left me thinking: "Boy is Graham Poll crap. Can we not have him as a referee of our next game?"
Not there's much chance of Mr Poll taking another international game, ever.
posted by Enyo @ 11:26 pm
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