My son Jon spent the night at my place to be ready to be up and ready to be picked up by another supporter who was leaving on Qantas at 5.0AM, so it was a 3.45AM awakening after a pretty fitful 4 hours sleep and away in the dark to pick up our Virgin Blue flight. Were early and had the dubious pleasure of observing the sunrise from the boarding area. Four other lads arrived in Socceroo shirts, Oz umbrella hats, gold lame leotards, green shoes and a pair of green plastic half yard glasses strung around each of their necks. An auspicious start to the trip, I thought. We said hello and told them about the Cricketers Arms and then squeezed into the narrow confines of the foodless, headset free seats of the basic airline. No visible staff member was older than twenty-five, and I hoped the air crew were more experienced. They were very pleasantly informal and during the flight offered to paint anyone's face green and gold and on touchdown said "Welcome to Melbourne, and go you Socceroos!". So, the day was beginning to develop very pleasingly. Out of the airport on the bus and no giant WC signs as there were in 1997, but there were a couple on the overhead bridges on the way into town. We locked our baggage in a Spencer Street locker and I was well pleased to have some family commitments, including match ticket delivery, to occupy the morning. I always find a distraction in the early part of a big match day helpful and didn't like to risk arriving at the pre-match venue too early as I was very keen to have my faculties acute enough to enjoy the match with adequate concentration, but with sufficient sedative medicine to allay excess anxiety.
I thought I had got it just right, until actually getting into the ground - but more of that later. When we arrived at the pub my friend Jim had already been on the mobile complaining we were late. We weren't but he thought we were. On arrival, it was fairly quiet, you were still allowed to enter by the front door, beer was being sold in glasses and you could actually move in the bar area. An our or so later all that had changed. Very loud and sustained singing, entry by the blocked off side street only, beer in cans only and it was literally impossible to move. It was simply the best pre-game experience I can recall. Lots of old songs and lots of new ones too. I even managed to join in the Leeds Viduka ditty referring to Posh Spice (just for there day, you understand) and managed to get a couple of choruses of "My old man" going. I remember thinking that if this lot are together at the ground at last an Oz football team will receive some of the vocal support it both needs and deserves. They were, and they did! Some of our mates from Brisbane and Alice Springs joined us, Jon inflated his banana (cheeky!) and we continued to get in the mood. It seemed that half the listees subscribed here were there in either the main bar or the more subdued confines of the beer garden and it was great to go through the quadrennial ritual of renewing and making face to face contact with all you cyber friends. Jim, who had been at it for three hours longer than us, at about six o'clock thought it might be prudent to move on, so we did. I gather he was correct as a flare was ignited in the pub later and the whole thing was shut down.
As we left the side street was buzzing too and it is only a short walk past folk handing out or selling stuff (I have your programme, Grant). Jon later remarked that he had seen no T-shirt vendors - were there any? Into the ground with no bag search and to our seats. Eerily they were exactly where we had been for the Iran game, and the memories and feelings just flooded back. I thought I was over it and was quite surprised just how restless it made me. I dished out the 300 yellow balloons I had brought, Chris Dunkerly helped me hang the Thanks Frank from the fence, I talked to a few folk and sang a little, but just could not shake it. Just before kick off Chris brought my banner back as it had been overhung by a later arrival so we draped less visibly from the top of the steps down to where the booze was flowing in and out of the gathered throng. No point in describing the game - you might just have seen it - but it was good to meet Andre and give him my audio tape of the France game (I'll mail you the one from this match if it's any good too, Andre) and contact Mark Bowman who just made it in time. He seemed less uptight then I, but then, everyone seemed less uptight then I. Some clown in the toilet was confidently predicting a 5-0 win to us. I think I may have been unreasonably rude to him, but he seemed to understand why.
Half time came in a flash and I hadn't seen a lot to make me feel much more content. Then Frank did what I think he should have done from the start in pulling poor old faithful Lazzo and allowing Harry Cruel to play where he should always be and it was a different game. Optimism began to well up within, Aggo missed a flicked header when I thought he'd scored, then hit the angle and then went down in the box. To my surprise I was able to watch the Grape stick it in and joined in the communal purging of four years of pent up stress. The last ten minutes passed in about the same amount of time, it seemed, as the first eighty. I just knew the bastards would equalize. Never have I been happier to be wrong. There was a brief feeling of dissociation from reality when that lovely Italian chap blew the final whistle, then I allowed myself the exquisite luxury of simply looking around at the scoreboard, at the lads saluting the crowd, at that same magnificent crowd, at Frank, at all you lot and tried to absorb as much as possible to store in the memory banks. Only one more thing to be done before leaving the ground, and that was to make contact with Bowman who was some distance from us. No need to have worried as he found me! It felt as if he leapt on me from a couple of rows back and I'm pleased to report that my aging pins were capable of supporting our combined weight for brief period. Two hoodoos over, said Mark. Yes!! Some were talking about celebrating on elsewhere, but I had a 4.00 AM start and couldn't think of anything that might possibly enhance just how I felt then. It was beautiful sunny Brisbane morning when we touched down a few hours ago and sometimes it's just good to be alive. No matter what happens in Montevideo, they can't take these memories away.