Gutted

It had to end sooner or later, although it is a heartbreaking way to go out. There were eight seconds of normal time left when the clumsy Italian striker Grosso found an excuse to throw himself to the ground.

The referee pointed to the spot immediately, it was a brave decision. And under awful pressure, Totti stepped up to slot the ball home and bury the dreams of the plucky Socceroos.

So Australia’s first real world cup adventure is over. They feel cheated, angry and gutted. Even the many Italians here don’t know what to think. While they are delighted to progress as Italians, they are distraught that it had be Australia that lost.

But as a football nation Australia now has a history and a touchstone, a point of focus or, if you like, their very own ‘Hand Of God’ moment. Every serious footy nation needs one, today Australia has graduated.

In truth, Australia never looked like scoring, even after Italy had a man harshly sent off. As for the penalty…I don’t think they can complain. Lucas Neill has had a brilliant world cup which might land him a transfer to Barcelona, but it was naïve for a defender to go to ground in the box like that.

If the boot was on the other foot and Australia had been denied such a penalty, they would be equally outraged. Italy were slightly the better of two teams lacking an edge. The result was probably right, it was just the timing which was devastating.

So super coach Guus Hiddink now leaves Oz to take a job with Russia as possibly the best paid coach in the world now. He will take this accolade away from the worthy Sven.

From here it seems that SuperGuus has turned an ordinary bunch of players into a spirited and purposeful outfit. I believe this ability to create something greater than the sum of the parts is called synergy.

The opposite is called Svenergy.

The Fever Gets Stronger

The patient’s condition is not improving. Symptoms include a rash of green and gold, the mercury cracking the thermometer and a puzzling delirium as Adelaide’s quality paper suggests today that Australia might win the world cup.

As a draw with Croatia sets up a knock out match with the Italians, the land Down Under is turning upside down. Work that out.

Once again, I understand that the wave of emptiness and frustration sweeping through England and this house after the Ecuador game must dwarf the euphoria here, and my apologies for labouring this point. But this is a journey into the unknown for the Socceroos, and all the more engaging for that.

So please bear with me, the world cup experience here is an innocent journey of joy and discovery, but also one with fascinating cultural ripples, as Australia’s ethnic fault lines start to widen.

Just in case you weren’t aware of the mix here, please allow me to give you a quick run down, it might explain the footy context.

South Australia was officially settled by the British in 1836, for you trivia types, the only state not born as a penal colony. This followed some failed settlements by whalers and a few close scrapes with prospective Napoleonic colonists, which left many places with French names. Apparently the little chap was very keen to acquire Josephine some pet kangaroos.

When it comes to romance, the French have always been streets ahead!

Not long after this colony was proclaimed a part of the empire, a wurst of Germans arrived, fleeing religious persecution. Among several other notable achievements, these Germans founded the wine industry that this page is so fond of and the state is so proud of. Their wines, surnames and sausages remain a highly visible part of South Aussie life.

As the years passed by, along with all the Brits, other notable ingredients in the pot have included more than a few Serbs, Croats and Greeks alongside enough Italians to support a thriving hair lacquer industry. We happen to live in Adelaide’s ‘Little Italy’ and a great place it is too. Norwood is a wonderful suburb for coffee and cakes as well as sharp clothes, strong aftershave, loud cars and oppressive testosterone.

This mix is replicated around Australia, along with several dozen other nationalities of slightly less significance to the world cup.

Despite all these Mediterranean influences, Australia’s sporting heritage has not included soccer, with cricket, rugby and their own version of football being the predominant team sports. All of which means that there has never been a high profile sporting clash to relish between the southern European teams and Australia. Until now.

The performance against Croatia both animated and fascinated a nation which was a little surprised by the huge Croatian support. Usually this country takes on the world as one. Now we have all sorts of allegiances showing their true colours.

The result was the biggest in Australian soccer’s history, the party unrestrained and the optimism has now bordered on the delusional, as demonstrated by the local press speculating on an Aussie victory in Germany.

We know the delusions are becoming serious as the Prime Minister has been pictured celebrating Harry Kewell’s goal in an unflattering tracksuit, looking like Yoda with a spider in his shoe. Even more hot air was blown into the balloon as the South Australian Premier has launched his own bid to host the World Cup in 2018 at a recent lunch which I attended, (see the circles I move in).

I think it was a bit of a snap announcement on his part, it was certainly a surprise to the audience who were expecting to hear about the prospects for the mining industry. In an effort not to appear as if he is sailing this ship alone, he has been drumming up support from his fellow politicians. Most of them think it is a curious idea while those that do back him have already started fighting over whether the final should be in Melbourne or Sydney, a familiar sporting squabble over here.

Anyway, this enthusiasm is only set to increase as the next game is against Italy. And if the Croatia game was big, this one is going to be massive. But the biggest of all, the one they all want, is a game against England.

It is hard not to get carried away with the Socceroos’ progress, particularly with England promising another dismal and frustrating tournament exit.

However, after watching them beat everyone at pretty much every sport they turn their hands to, I don’t think I could bear them doing too well here. It would be just too much. Mandy on the other hand has green and gold blood.

Have a good week
M&W

A Dose of World Cup Fever

In common with the rest of the planet, World Cup fever has swept across Australia. Since qualifying via penalties against a cynical Uruguay in November, anticipation has been building to a crescendo, and, prior to the first game against Japan, the country was about ready to burst.

I know this will sound pretty mundane to those north of the equator, I guess the excitement here is a mere ripple compared to the tidal wave which has swept the streets of England. But, bear with me, in Australian terms it is remarkable. The country has no real tradition in football and has only qualified once before for the finals (in 1974) and nobody can remember that as they didn’t even score a goal and came home very shortly after they arrived.

Suddenly though, the whole country is footy mad, the streets are decked in green and gold, the politicians have taken their seats on the bandwagon and the man on the street is an overnight expert, sagely discussing Angola’s chances against Mexico.

After a deflating 80 minutes (sound familiar?) against Japan, the Socceroos banged in three goals from absolutely nowhere, surprising everybody including themselves. On a normal day, watching Australia play soccer is only marginally more exciting than watching grass grow, so this was a an incredible moment in their soccer history.

So, in the blink of an eye, the excitement swept straight past optimism and confidence and has now become something resembling their usual sporting swagger and cockiness. The creaky bandwagon soon sprouted wings and jet engines and now resembles the De Lorean in Back to the Future.

After this morning’s plucky but fruitless stab at the Brazilians we will wait and see how the mood changes. I will keep you informed.

Meanwhile, I am suffering from my own World Cup fever as my body tries to adjust to the contortions that my sleeping arrangements need in order to catch a 1.30am or 4.00am kick off. And I am in good company. The whole country is suffering from sleep deprivation and there are plenty of bewildered looking people at Adelaide City Council. They all work in community development.

Meanwhile, as the party got under way in Germany, Mandy got dealt some bum shifts over the weekend and I took the chance to disappear up country for a couple of days.

My new diving club had planned a weekend on the Yorke Peninsula, a 250 mile drive from the city and a great chance to see a bit more of the country.

Aside from being a good place for fishing, not much else seems to happen on the peninsula. It is a big and very, very flat piece of land with small towns scattered sparsely about in order to break the monotony of mile after mile and field after field of sheep.

The towns themselves are typical examples of Australian country settlements. Not being short of room, they manage to make a tiny place spread and sprawl with wide roads and big spaces between the buildings. However, being pretty small, (the word ‘town’ is a relative one in Australia), the places are generally over before they have begun and it’s back to the sheep.

Anyway, weekends away diving in Australia are very similar to those in the UK, which is to say that if you are not in the water, you are probably in the pub. The club boat was being fixed so we jumped in the choppy, murky water and explored under some of the numerous angler infested piers.

Diving under a jetty is always interesting as they tend to act as artificial reefs and, over here at least, the legs of the piers are covered in corals with a great abundance of life and junk to investigate.

It turned out to be my lucky weekend under the pier as I bumped into a creature unique to South Australia and while not particularly rare, very difficult to find, the Leafy Sea Dragon.

As you can see from the picture, it is a little like a special forces sea horse, it doesn’t move very fast, is about 8 inches long and spends it’s days pretending to be a piece of seaweed. And a very cunning disguise it is too. It is not uncommon to see divers pointing animatedly at phantom Leafys which turn out to be clumps of seaweed.

They can be frustrating, but they are amazing creatures and it was my first confirmed Leafy find after making a fool of myself more than once by waving my arms wildly near big lumps of seaweed! So I’m happy now.

Have a good week

M&W

My Kingdom for a Seat

Winter is finally here and the temperature has gone south, it is now a bone chilling 70F during the daytime and I have to roll the sleeves of my shirt down to avoid getting goose bumps.

So, a little like the hype around the Australian soccer team, nicknamed the very cuddly Socceroos, it would seem that the warnings of a dire winter are just so much sound and fury. It’s the summers that are tough, 110F every day for a week is no laughing matter.

I have been a little slack in posting our news lately, but today I have some time on my hands due to a public holiday, this time for the Queen’s birthday.

For a country which largely describes itself as republican, they need no second invitation to take the day off, fire up the barbie, crack open a cold one and sing happy birthday, Your Majesty. And they find it difficult to believe that it is not celebrated in the UK. The fact that it is not her birthday at all doesn’t bother them.

In some quarters Australia is known as the Land of the Long Weekend, partly because nobody does anything on Friday but also because of their willingness to grasp any excuse for a public holiday, even celebrating the birthday of a Queen they feel they are ready to dispense with.

Which leads to a question I was pondering on….how grown up is Australia? Now it is 218 years after a few ships full of miscreants and oddballs landed to form the original colony.

The average Australian politician feels that they are grown up enough to suck up to George Bush and sit at the table of the Western Axis of Evil. At the same time, the average Australian Bruce or Sheila feels that they are grown up enough to break the shackles of empire. They feel this country is no longer an outpost of the ‘old country’ but a vibrant and thriving melting pot of European and Asian influence, unique in it’s outlook, culture and opportunities.

I, on the other hand, have a rather jaundiced and contrary opinion. After participating in the national debacle of the sale of Ashes tickets, this place should feel itself lucky to be an outpost, let alone a principality or colony.

You may or may not have heard of the ‘genius’ scheme of the Australian Cricket Board. This scheme, cunning even by Baldrick’s standards, was to prevent the English from buying all the tickets for this summer/winter’s cricket matches, the most eagerly awaited tickets for a cricket match ever.

For those of you with no interest in Vaughn’s knee or Warney’s sex life (it is only a matter of time before you are), the simple upshot is that the only people who did not forecast the unprecedented demand for tickets were the people organising the sale of those tickets.

A complex system to ensure that the vast majority of seats were taken by Aussies was hatched with the following results;

Within ten minutes of the tickets going on sale to Australians, they were being sold to English fans on EBay. The tickets are being sold in such quantities by Aussies with no intention of going to the match that English fans may well outnumber local fans and the price for the tickets is nowhere near what the speculators had anticipated, purely due to over supply.

The only disappointed people are the genuine Aussie fans who could not get through the totally inadequate ordering system, whether on the phone or the net, both of which crashed repeatedly during the opening day of sales.

So, the upshot of this cunning plan was that the people it was set up to protect are the people left with nothing. And the Cricket Board still have jobs and smugly appear on TV defending themselves. I wouldn’t check my coat in with them.

And, to return to my original point, this is why I feel this country is not grown up yet. If a place cannot organise the orderly sale of tickets to a cricket match then it needs a regal head on it’s coins, a governor for each state and a Queen to make sure they have a glass of hot milk before bed at night.

If I seem a little bitter then I feel I have good reason. In short, I spent the busiest and most tense day of my Australian working life pressing the redial and refresh buttons for nine solid hours.

Eventually, I got most of the tickets I wanted. But what is left of my hair is leaning towards grey.

But, I have four tickets spare for Melbourne on Boxing Day if anyone fancies the holiday of a lifetime……C’mon Monty!

W&M