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From the beginning, Australia’s Asian Cup was full of hope rather than expectation, and it delivered in almost every way.
Crowds from the host cities along our east coast embraced the entertaining group stage matches that would offer the unpredictability inherent in Asian football. Not one draw was played out in the 24 preliminary matches, a remarkable statistic which was indicative of the attacking approach most teams – especially the underdogs – took to each game.
The knockout stages threw up surprises too. Japan lost to the UAE at the first hurdle, and the dramatic Iran versus Iraq encounter resulted in Iran exiting prematurely.
After those omissions, all roads led to an Australia versus Korea Republic final. Korea hadn’t conceded a goal in the 450 minutes they’d played, while Australia – after the dependence on Tim Cahill had just about crippled the team’s confidence over the last 18 months – produced more scorers in the tournament than it had non-Cahill goals in all of 2014.
With Postecoglou’s possession-based style contrasting the strength and resistance of Korea’s defence, as well as pace in attack, the game would surely be played largely on Australia’s boot, where that Korean back four could absorb the pressure and look to slingshot their way past Australia in attack.
Both sides got off to a cagey and nervous start, before the intensity lifted a notch. On 36 minutes, the Socceroos became statues in defence and were very nearly punished by Son Heung-min, who volleyed a shot inches over the bar, and then almost guided a shot on target following more exploitation of inept Australian defending on the flanks.
The aggression that Australia always brings to the table bordered on crossing the line, and the aim became clinging on to parity until the break.
And somehow, against the run of play and not for the first time in the tournament, in the face of the readjusted expectations, Australia scored. Trent Sainsbury, Australia’s finest defensive prospect for years, penetrated the first line of Korea’s doubly packed defence with a piercing, direct pass to Massimo Luongo, who, with his back to goal, turned with the ball on his laces, nudged it slightly in front of himself and drove a shot into the bottom right corner of the goal.
It was stunning, because of how Luongo – a previously unheralded part of League One’s Swindon Town – managed to find the space away from the perennially tight Korean defence, and then the space between the keeper and his left post, which seemed to be accounted for.
Such was the thirst from each Socceroo to be part of history, and make sure they could help their team over the line, that Robbie Kruse – reduced to tears by what appeared to be a serious Achilles tendon injury – briefly rose to his feet and staggered onto the pitch to try and hold up his end, fulfil his role.
It was in vain, and he had to be carted off on a stretcher just as Ivan Franjic collapsed in agony, crouching with an indescribably painful look etched on his face. He too made a courageous effort to prove his fitness by demonstrating to the physios just off to the side of the pitch that he was still able to run. His night ended there.
With four of Australia’s five most recognised on-field defenders on a yellow card, the already feverous tension was made close to unbearable every time one of them contested for a ball. Every successful pass yielded cheers, and Korean possession brought silence from the Australian contingent and the recognisably excited squeal of the visiting fans.
Then, the unthinkable. After expectations had been readjusted again, for the stadium was full of yellow shirts jumping up and down in delirium, with a win just minutes away, the defence vanished, and South Korea pounced. I haven’t actually seen the goal, because as soon as I saw the lack of Australian shirts and abundance of Koreans, I agonised, shut my eyes and heard the squeal fill Stadium Australia.
At the start of extra time I said that if we were to win I would buy the DVD of the match and watch it over and over, savouring the moments of glory and remembering with some fondness how angry I was when they sent it to extra time. However, I’m equally thankful they did because it will ultimately prolonged the joyful experience of the DVD. If we were to have lose, however, it would have become another Lucas Neill moment.
One substitution Australian fans were eager to make in extra time was for the referee, who had embarked on enforcing unkind interpretations of most of the rulebook by the 100-minute mark.
Right on half-time of extra time, Tomi Juric was gallantly protecting the ball from two South Korean defenders at the meeting of the penalty box and touchline. He was fouled thrice, but the referee failed to spot any of them, and Juric brilliantly nutmegged one defender, fired a low ball across the face of goal, which was well parried by Korea’s keeper, but fell into the path of James Troisi, who could barely believe his luck.
Forget squealing, cue yelling, shouting, roaring Australians who thought that their dream had been torn away from them yet again. And, quickly, the mood returned to jubilant anxiety. Australia were getting more chances than they had previously mustered because of the numbers Korea planted in their front half.
The risk, obviously, was being exposed when having to backtrack. With so many players walking the tightrope, one clip from behind brings about a red card and making an already strenuous task of retaining a lead for the final 10 minutes close to unmanageable.
Surely Korea couldn’t find another goal, surely. Their persistence had embodied a fighting spirit not seen in opposition to the Socceroos, but lightning couldn’t strike twice. And it didn’t. Australia won. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t ‘Ange’, but in the same breath it was ‘Ange’, because it was a win.
That’s what Ange does, and that’s what Australians do.
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