Day 5: Kaiserslautern, Australia v Japan
It’s Monday and Australia’s day, playing Japan at 3pm. We have waited 32 years for this, and last time, not only did we lose every game, but we didn’t even score a goal. A repeat of that experience would be depressing. The sun is shining in a cloudless sky, and it’s as hot as January in Sydney.
Kaiserslautern is an hour’s train ride from Mannheim, and the platform is packed with the gold of Australia and blue of Japan. Lots of Japanese women are here, while the Aussies are with their mates. The train leaves crammed full, like a tube of gold and blue toothpaste. Germans like to take their bicycles on the train, and at each stop, they try unsuccessfully to board, suddenly aware that Australasia has invaded. Other football fans also try to jump on, but there’s no space, and they anxiously check their watches. The thought occurs to me that the last time a train full of foreigners was this packed was about 60 years ago, heading for … I’d better leave that thought.
All my plans to meet up with people before the game are shot when I see the massive party awaiting in Kaiserslautern, and maybe 20,000 (a wild guess) Australians. The narrow main street through town has been closed, and down both sides are stalls and tents, and it’s a giant golden celebration. The sun is shining, the beer is flowing, and we all know it’s special. At a corner, a stage has been erected, and there are thousands of Australians jumping around to the sound of Aussie classics, from Cold Chisel, Southern Sons, Men at Work, AC/DC and, to much laughter, Rolf Harris. The Aussies are in fine voice, and even “Give Me a Home Among the Gumtrees’ is belted out. It is chaos, yellow shirts everywhere, and locals stand around amused and bemused at the antics. I have SMS conversations with three people (John Pearce from work, an old friend, Keith Ward, and my brother-in-law, Declan), but trying to find each other is impossible. (How about, ‘I’m the one in the yellow’?). It’s wall-to-wall Australians, and it’s easier to have a beer and head for the stadium.
The stadium is spectacular, and I’m at the Australian end where it is a wave of gold, opposite the blue stand of Japan. The guy next to me brings a massive inflated kangaroo to go with his massive inflated gut, but fortunately, the five seats alongside are empty and Matilda has her own seat. The stadium is sold out, but somewhere out there, corporate allocations of a few hundred seats are sitting in an office drawer. Sitting behind me is Anton Tagliafero, head of Investors Mutual, and he is on a high, exuberantly loving every moment.
The team is announced, and Harry’s playing, but I can’t believe Guus has picked Luke Wilkshire over Tim Cahill. Luke is simply out of his depth at this level. Again we play with a lone striker, Viduka, who quickly tires after a couple of early chances. The refereeing is frustrating as he pulls up every suggestion of physical contact. It’s petty refereeing and FIFA must stamp out this whistle-blowing madness. Ironically, Japan goes ahead when Schwarzer is pushed out of the way by a Japanese player, an obvious foul that brings a torrent of abuse from the Australians. Among them, Anton is quite crude in his yelling, questioning whether the referee has a father, and making loud references to various body parts.
The last ten minutes will live forever in the mind. Tim Cahill, brought on after an hour, makes an immediate impact, and Guus crowds the forward line with the big lads Aloisi (thankfully on for Luke) and Kennedy. The Cahill equaliser is not until the 84th minute, and we’d have settled for that. But then he scores again and we all go mad, and the Aloisi third sends the golden end into raptures. It’s hugging and high fives all around, and ‘In Guus We Trust’. Yes, what a genius, as we all conveniently ignore that he had to gamble in the last 5 minutes to compensate for the tactical weaknesses in the first 85.
All through the game, the Australian singing is loud and varied, better than I’ve ever heard before, thankfully without any of the ‘Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi Oi’. A German group in front of me is clearly impressed when 20,000 blast out the National Anthem, although ‘Girt by Sea’ sounds like one of their own players. The singing is surprisingly passionate alongside the Japanese restraint, who have a strange inclination to high-pitched shrieking at moments of excitement.
Most impressive players for me were Jason Culina and even more so, Vince Grella. These guys are perpetual, aggressive motion, and Guus has turned them into a potent couple. Kewell did a couple of good things but takes too much time and is too delicate, but he is played out of position, when he should be wider on the left, closer to Viduka. Neill and Moore are again strong.
When the final whistle blows, it’s a great feeling that Australia is not just here to make up the numbers, and there is relief that we have scored and won for the first time ever. There is a fine line between success and failure in sport, and five minutes from the end, it all looked so different. The Japanese fans soon leave the stadium, while the Australians soak up the unique moment.
Afterwards, I run into Chris Sozou, who I played with in the CFS soccer team for many seasons, and we have a good chat. He’s been in London for a few years and is returning to Australia. Later, I meet up with John Pearce and his mate Jim (who worked with us both at State Bank, and has lived in London for 10 years), and we visit the official FIFA Fan Zone, an open-air venue with massive screens and bars and food outlets, and we drink marguerites while watching an inept USA lose 0-3 to the Czechs, who are looking good. The place is packed with Australians, and renditions of ‘There’s Only One Timmy Cahill’ ring out frequently. On a raised platform, a couple of strippers from a local night club do some splendid advertising, but I’m here for the football.
It’s back to Mannheim by midnight for me, but John and Jim have another three hours before reaching their hotel in Munich. I drop into a bar for a quick coffee, and many Germans congratulate me, and I ham it up a bit, especially when the goals are replayed on television. There are lots of Italians driving around town, madly waving flags, celebrating a first up 2-0 win.
Regardless of what happens from here on, today made the trip worthwhile.
Kaiserslautern is an hour’s train ride from Mannheim, and the platform is packed with the gold of Australia and blue of Japan. Lots of Japanese women are here, while the Aussies are with their mates. The train leaves crammed full, like a tube of gold and blue toothpaste. Germans like to take their bicycles on the train, and at each stop, they try unsuccessfully to board, suddenly aware that Australasia has invaded. Other football fans also try to jump on, but there’s no space, and they anxiously check their watches. The thought occurs to me that the last time a train full of foreigners was this packed was about 60 years ago, heading for … I’d better leave that thought.
All my plans to meet up with people before the game are shot when I see the massive party awaiting in Kaiserslautern, and maybe 20,000 (a wild guess) Australians. The narrow main street through town has been closed, and down both sides are stalls and tents, and it’s a giant golden celebration. The sun is shining, the beer is flowing, and we all know it’s special. At a corner, a stage has been erected, and there are thousands of Australians jumping around to the sound of Aussie classics, from Cold Chisel, Southern Sons, Men at Work, AC/DC and, to much laughter, Rolf Harris. The Aussies are in fine voice, and even “Give Me a Home Among the Gumtrees’ is belted out. It is chaos, yellow shirts everywhere, and locals stand around amused and bemused at the antics. I have SMS conversations with three people (John Pearce from work, an old friend, Keith Ward, and my brother-in-law, Declan), but trying to find each other is impossible. (How about, ‘I’m the one in the yellow’?). It’s wall-to-wall Australians, and it’s easier to have a beer and head for the stadium.
The stadium is spectacular, and I’m at the Australian end where it is a wave of gold, opposite the blue stand of Japan. The guy next to me brings a massive inflated kangaroo to go with his massive inflated gut, but fortunately, the five seats alongside are empty and Matilda has her own seat. The stadium is sold out, but somewhere out there, corporate allocations of a few hundred seats are sitting in an office drawer. Sitting behind me is Anton Tagliafero, head of Investors Mutual, and he is on a high, exuberantly loving every moment.
The team is announced, and Harry’s playing, but I can’t believe Guus has picked Luke Wilkshire over Tim Cahill. Luke is simply out of his depth at this level. Again we play with a lone striker, Viduka, who quickly tires after a couple of early chances. The refereeing is frustrating as he pulls up every suggestion of physical contact. It’s petty refereeing and FIFA must stamp out this whistle-blowing madness. Ironically, Japan goes ahead when Schwarzer is pushed out of the way by a Japanese player, an obvious foul that brings a torrent of abuse from the Australians. Among them, Anton is quite crude in his yelling, questioning whether the referee has a father, and making loud references to various body parts.
The last ten minutes will live forever in the mind. Tim Cahill, brought on after an hour, makes an immediate impact, and Guus crowds the forward line with the big lads Aloisi (thankfully on for Luke) and Kennedy. The Cahill equaliser is not until the 84th minute, and we’d have settled for that. But then he scores again and we all go mad, and the Aloisi third sends the golden end into raptures. It’s hugging and high fives all around, and ‘In Guus We Trust’. Yes, what a genius, as we all conveniently ignore that he had to gamble in the last 5 minutes to compensate for the tactical weaknesses in the first 85.
All through the game, the Australian singing is loud and varied, better than I’ve ever heard before, thankfully without any of the ‘Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi, Oi Oi’. A German group in front of me is clearly impressed when 20,000 blast out the National Anthem, although ‘Girt by Sea’ sounds like one of their own players. The singing is surprisingly passionate alongside the Japanese restraint, who have a strange inclination to high-pitched shrieking at moments of excitement.
Most impressive players for me were Jason Culina and even more so, Vince Grella. These guys are perpetual, aggressive motion, and Guus has turned them into a potent couple. Kewell did a couple of good things but takes too much time and is too delicate, but he is played out of position, when he should be wider on the left, closer to Viduka. Neill and Moore are again strong.
When the final whistle blows, it’s a great feeling that Australia is not just here to make up the numbers, and there is relief that we have scored and won for the first time ever. There is a fine line between success and failure in sport, and five minutes from the end, it all looked so different. The Japanese fans soon leave the stadium, while the Australians soak up the unique moment.
Afterwards, I run into Chris Sozou, who I played with in the CFS soccer team for many seasons, and we have a good chat. He’s been in London for a few years and is returning to Australia. Later, I meet up with John Pearce and his mate Jim (who worked with us both at State Bank, and has lived in London for 10 years), and we visit the official FIFA Fan Zone, an open-air venue with massive screens and bars and food outlets, and we drink marguerites while watching an inept USA lose 0-3 to the Czechs, who are looking good. The place is packed with Australians, and renditions of ‘There’s Only One Timmy Cahill’ ring out frequently. On a raised platform, a couple of strippers from a local night club do some splendid advertising, but I’m here for the football.
It’s back to Mannheim by midnight for me, but John and Jim have another three hours before reaching their hotel in Munich. I drop into a bar for a quick coffee, and many Germans congratulate me, and I ham it up a bit, especially when the goals are replayed on television. There are lots of Italians driving around town, madly waving flags, celebrating a first up 2-0 win.
Regardless of what happens from here on, today made the trip worthwhile.
posted by Graham Hand | 4:36 AM
4 Comments:
Loved the blog Graham. Picture me laughing out loud on Level 29. Glad you are there for the football. It was mayhem in our household. Keep well.
In 1974 we didn't lose every game. There was a 'glorious' nil all draw with Chile. It must be the excitiment of those little goal posts you mentioned in a later post. I agree with Jenna..there are places we don't want our imagination to go.
Hi Hans, thanks for the correction. I like to keep it factually accurate. Hope you are keeping warm.
Hi Sinclair. The explanation for the women on the scaffolding is in the text. Are you one of those guys who doesn't read the stories when you see women like that?
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