It still gives me goose bumps. A whole decade on, any snippet of that famous football night at Sydney’s Olympic Stadium can bring tears, elation and astonishingly, nerves.
It’s like there’s a chance Doc Brown has somehow got into the Delorean and gone back in time to do something to change the end result.
Football fans can get crazy like that. I mean, we blamed a Mozambique witch doctor’s curse for 32 years of glorious failure when it came to qualifying for the World Cup finals.
There will be many articles written, opinions ventured and debates raged in the coming week, a week in which football celebrates the 10th anniversary of probably the most memorable night in Australian sporting history, let alone football history.
It is also a week in which the man most responsible for the change in the game here steps down as chairman of Football Federation Australia. Frank Lowy, along with FFA executives Phil Wolanski and Brian Schwartz will relinquish their positions.
But back to that night.
No Australian football fan needs reminding of the story; the narrative of the Socceroos’ quest for the holy grail of the sport is hard-wired into every heartbeat, every held breath, every shed tear.
And on November 16, 2005, there were tears, but finally they were tears of joy not sorrow. One of my best friends bought me a ticket to that game as a birthday present. He had never been to a Socceroos game in his life.
Afterwards, as I wept on his shoulder he declared that this was the greatest sporting event he had ever witnessed. I think he meant the game, not my waterworks. Hours earlier, as he watched me throw my uneaten hot dog into a bin by mistake, he laughed at my nerves. By 11pm that night, his had been shredded too.
Two memories stand out. I received a phone call from my other best friend, who had seen me ride the peaks and valleys of this crazy game as a player, coach and fan. I couldn’t hear a word she was saying, but I just kept repeating loudly, “This is the greatest night of my life. I can’t believe what’s happened!”. She would say later that I sounded crazy.
The other memory is a text message to another great friend, the late Ian Gray, former Socceroo and a masterful coach in his own right. My text to ‘Iggy’ was, “Where’s the party going to be?”. His response was, “I’d say everywhere”.
He was right. I went to work the next day still dressed in my Socceroos shirt, having not had a moment’s sleep. After celebrating with thousands of delirious gold-clad fans in the city I watched a recording of the Australia-Uruguay game in full.
Craig Foster’s total abandonment of any kind of rational neutrality in the commentary box sounded like beautiful music. When he started yelling Johnny Warren’s name after John Aloisi scored the winning penalty, he invoked the collective spirit of every fan who dared to dream because Johnny had told us so.
It was unhinged barracking that might not have been part of the commentary handbook, but on that night, who could not forgive him? Foz was as nervous as the rest of us.
We as Socceroos fans had become accustomed to ‘what ifs’ as failed campaigns mounted. Finally, we could afford to talk about what ifs on our side of the ledger.
What if Tony Popovic’s elbow on Uruguay maestro Alvaro Recoba had been punished by more than the early yellow card he received? Or, conversely, what if the incident had never occurred? Would coach Guus Hiddink have moved to bring on Harry Kewell as early as he did, worried that Popovic may not last the game on a yellow?
Of course, Kewell’s impact was immediate, front and centre, albeit with a great air swing, in the lead-up to Marco Bresciano’s goal.
What if Hiddink had carried out the unlikely substitution of goalkeeper Mark Schwarzer for Zeljko Kalac towards the end of extra-time? It were Schwarzer’s two amazing saves that paved the way for the shootout victory but it was clear to all in the stadium that night that Kalac was warming up, with the general feeling that Hiddink was about to take a huge gamble.
It is something his Dutch contemporary Louis van Gaal did do almost nine years after Hiddink was considering it, at last year’s World Cup. Brett Emerton’s late substitution, having run himself to a standstill, ensured we’ll never know, but on this occasion we didn’t have to wonder.
Australian sports fans will always debate which moment or event is the country’s finest. No opinion is wrong.
The 1983 America’s Cup win, Cathy Freeman’s 400 metre victory at the 2000 Olympics, the original ‘Mean Machine’ relay victory at the 1980 Moscow Games with Norman May’s legendary commentary. But for those who were there 10 years ago, and for those who had waited so long for what had become the impossible quest, there is only one event.
The night football in this country said, “I told you so”.
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Even though St.Pauli ultimately lost a high-scoring affair, Jackson Irvine was a standout, as well as scoring a late goal.
What if we celebrated all of the achievements big and small, and weeded out those hell-bent on bringing down a game that is doing a hell of a lot right?
A good performance from Michael Ruhs, scoring twice to beat Macarthur and doubling his season goal tally in the process.
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