The events of the past week or so have been the most remarkable of my life - and hopefully will lead to the end result we have all prayed for, tomorrow....
Back on Friday 16 Nov...
Listee Warwick Cathro arranges for the National Library to fly "Zat Krazy German" Andre Krueger, to Canberra, early. Warwick shows him through the Library's facilities and shows how a collection is kept and preserved.
My brother Peter joins them for lunch, then spirits Andre to the National Film and Sound Archive, where he has arranged for Andre to see old footage of Australia in action.
At 2:30pm Peter drops Andre at my house. I show Andre around my garden (designed by me but maintenance work by my wife Lana) - including map of Australia hedge, version of Oz Coat of Arms over verandah entrance and unique matching version concreted into our nature strip.
I start showing some of my football collection, but insist that we go sightseeing before major sites close.
Andre starts to wonder when he sees my green Toyota Vienta with the gold lettering and OZ-001 numberplate.
The "Krueger-Kunz Blitzkrieg" hits Telecom Tower on the top of Black Mountain. Andre can't believe he is looking out at Australia's capital city with over 300,000 people - when virtually all you can see from that height is trees, lake and a few main commercial buildings and landmarks.
No time to waste - next stop Parliament House. I take a photograph of Andre in the Senate and then the House of Reps. Andre is starting to tire - he was up at 3am to catch the plane. As we cross Commonwealth Bridge, I point out the National Museum of Australia across the water - then yell - "Yes, let's go there!" (before it closes).
We rush through the maze of galleries to the immigrants section where I show him a St George Budapest cloth badge. We bring up Sport on the giant electronic map of Australia and find the odd football photo.
"Do you want to see the Institute of Sport?" I ask - though I knew the answer before he gave it. He is feeling stuffed!
Back at my place I show him through my football collection, while we wait for fellow listee Warren Green's scheduled arrival at 6pm.
[The three of us have kindly been invited to dinner at Warwick Cathro's property, 40 mins north of Canberra.]
6pm comes and goes as does 6.15pm and then 6.20pm. I am starting to worry. Warren has been a good friend of mine for 30 years and I can never recall him being this late. At 6.30pm I ring Warren's mother who tells me Warren left her place at 5.35pm for mine. She thinks he may have broken down.
I ring Warwick and apologise saying we will be late for dinner - but I have to find Warren. I give Andre more Match Programmes to look through and jump into the car, heading out with my mobile.
There are two possible routes he could have taken on the 20min drive to my place - I choose the one around the Lake first.
I reach Mrs Green's place without any sighting - after checking with my wife on the mobile that Warren hadn't called or arrived.
I head off on the alternative (via Curtin and then up the Freeway) but this time I ring the police. I am talking to them when what looks like Warren's beaten up old green VW wagon passes on the divided road - but heading back in the other direction.
I catch up with him at his mother's - his car broke down on the Freeway - and persuade him that he should still come to the dinner.
Andre, Warren, Lana and I reach Warwick's farmlet an hour and a half later than originally expected. This delay had been good for Andre, as he has discovered that I have a few Peter Wilson photos that he does not.
Andre is stunned by the farm. He loves Warwick and Di's border collie dogs and the three bulls that come when they are called. Not even the two different spiders crawling across the computer room's floor seem to put him off the thought of a rural lifestyle.
[Andre can now truthfully say that there is another young lady in his life other than his wife Sabine - after collie 'Penny' spent the whole evening dutifully watching every movement that the guests made.]
Dinner was beautiful and enhanced by the presence of Margie (National Library's Head of Collections). She said she found the evening fascinating as she had never dinned with real football fanatics before.
We leave Andre to sleep over - eventually arriving home at 12.30am. As my usual bedtime is around 10pm - I am stuffed, but elated at have spent such an interesting evening and having found Andre to be such a nice guy!
"You are not going to play golf in the morning - are you?" my wife 'demands'. She could have guessed the stubborn response....
Sat 17 Nov....
Up very early for an 8am tee time - the first! I am exhausted but have been playing golf most weekends for 30 years and always look forward to making a fool of myself.
I was in despair over my driving the previous weekend, so am astounded when I shoot 9 pars and a birdie - going around 8 under my 18 handicap to win the competition.
I keep very detailed records of my golf and found out that 10 over par was the best round I had played.... since 1973/74 when I was a junior pennant player at Canberra's Federal Golf Club - and off a handicap of 11.
[Something strange is happening... things seem to be falling into place like pieces in a jigsaw...
... and just to prove how freakish that round was, I was back to a more usual 25 over par yesterday!]
Back home after golf I write my one and half page poem to the Socceroos (We Will... [Together]).
The sheer emotion of the writing and the feelings it stirs, tire me more. By the evening I am quite ill - but can't sleep.
Sun 18 Nov....
I wake to urgings from my wife that we do not travel to Melbourne - especially after I throw up after getting out of bed.
Our bus from Canberra's Jolimont Centre leaves at 10.05am - to meet the XPT train at Yass.
I struggle down to the Newsagency, where I ask my 'friendly' newsagent, Bill - an Essendon Bombers fan greatly suspicious of football - to fax my poem to the Socceroos. He seems to snigger as the task of faxing takes an eternity. I am hoping he typed in the correct number. [Bonnie was kind enough to send it directly to Paul Okon just in case.]
About to leave for the bus terminal Lana reminds me to call Bill to get him to hold the delivery of ABSW. "You going to Melbourne for an AFL game?", he asks.... "ah a soccer game - well there won't be many there!".
I haven't got the energy to fight back - I can hardly talk.
At the Jolimont Centre the bus pulls up. I tell Lana I am not feeling well as we stand outside. I murmur a question about the location of the toilets. "Are you going to throw up, again?" she asks - which I answer with a disappearance inside the building.
I start throwing up as I reach the seated area inside the building, but keep my mouth closed as tight as possible. I keep my eyes focused on the male toilet sign some 20m away and plough on, staggering into what was, thank goodness, a deserted vestibule of hand basins.
The middle one becomes my friend over the next minute or so as I repeatedly relieve myself of the exhaustion and meals of the last two days.
Back at the bus door Lana asks once more if we really have to go - "We are going! I am feeling better now!" I answer, more definite about the former than the latter.
The train trip was long and boring. At Junee, the replacement driver forgot he had to work - leading to a 51min delay - on top of an 8 hour trip (including bus).
Lana admits her recently acquired fear of flying had disappeared - and that were Mohammed Atta to be resurrected by her side, she would now, still, prefer the bird to the snail.
Monday 19 Nov....
9am: We leave Rydges Riverwalk at Richmond for a meeting with Robs Muna, who runs Toad Hall - Pictures in Relief. [I greatly admire those of creative ability who have the drive and courage to do what they love. So many of us work in jobs that are boring - without ever pursuing our dreams and maximising our talents.]
After a wonderful time and lunch, (at which we meet Robs' lovely daughter, Claire, who aspires to be a fashion designer), we leave, with me promising to tee up a meeting for Claire with Warren Green's brother Graeme - a South Yarra designer with his own label.
Warren comes over to the hotel at 6pm, as we prepare to leave for Andre's Welcome at The Keeper's Arms, North Melbourne.
Once at the Arms, I look lovingly at one of the $90 Socceroo Away strips in plastic at the bar table. It is a lucky door prize - so I tuck my ticket into my pocket.
The crowd grows - it is so wonderful to see all these people who love the game so much. Many I meet for the first time: Tony, Sebastian, Brendan Schwab, Matt Hall and Trevor Thompson from ABC radio - who I had heard over the years.
There were media people, Players Association Reps and just ordinary fans like ourselves.
Once again I met the erudite and energetic Bonnie, Geoff Coy, the ageless Chris Dunkerley; and my dear friend Wiz (Andrew Howe) - who I felt I hardly spoke to - though we can communicate via our common employer.
Then there were the old players - including that legendary 'keeper Ron Lord, who I had watched as a child, from 1961....
When Bonnie made the draw for the door prizes, I was disappointed that I missed out on the first Away strip copy - won by Trevor Thompson - who incidently paid his own way to Melbourne to report on the match for ABC Radio.
Two more prizes were drawn and I gave up.... then suddenly I heard Bonnie read out my number.
I stumbled forward and started shaking. Bonnie gave me a hug and kiss and said that it couldn't have been won by a more deserving person...!
"Bonnie," I whimpered, "what have I won?"
"You have won the real Socceroo shirt with the Coat of Arms and signed by the whole squad. The team are taking it to Uruguay, but I will get it to you when they return!"
I was speechless - temporarily, and felt horribly humble. Why me? I am just a football fan who loves his country, his game and his country's team.
Why, of all the 70 to 100 in that room, had I won? For not the first time in a couple of days I felt the pieces of a magical jigsaw falling into place...
I rang Lana, who was back in the Hotel, to explain that I would be a bit later leaving The Arms than my anticipated 10pm departure. She wasn't too happy but understood when I explained about the shirt.
[On Saturday afternoon I had noticed on the Soccer Australia web site, that one could purchase a Socceroo shirt signed by the whole squad. I called Lana over and she asked how much it was.
I read on, to find that it was $299... and we agreed that we could get one of this limited edition of 100... until I read further to find that was 'per month for 10 months - a total of $2,995!'
Instantly, we agreed (me with a far heavier heart than her helium one on this matter), that this was one piece of memorabilla I could forget about!
In fact it was only this morning - Sun 25 Nov - that I realised (after reading an ad for the SA/Legends shirt deal), that the 100 shirts @ $2,995 each only feature the SA badge - mine will be a 'one off'.]
Alan Clark very kindly dropped me back to the hotel at about 12.30am - where I found my wife asleep.
Tues 20 Nov...
In bed during the darkness of the morning I struggled to convince myself that I had not been dreaming. True, I had no shirt as evidence, but there were too many people involved, too clearly, for it to have been a dream!
I woke in a start at about 5am - to the 'realisation' that Frank Farina was only going to play Stan in midfield and Harry up front, because he was determined to go against conventional wisdom and succeed!
In this way he could show all of us who thought Agostino should play up front with Viduka - and Kewell wide in midfield, that he, Farina, was far smarter. He is being stubborn and gambling with the team's future, just to raise his own star further - could this be right??? Was I reading more into this than there was???
[The game proved 'conventional wisdom' to be right. Had we started with the same formation with which we finished, I feel we would now be closer to our goal. This morning Frank stuck by his Melbourne starting lineup - stubborn Frank, but all I can do is hope and pray it all ends up ok!]
Lana and I visted Card Zone near the Victoria Markets. Steve, the owner, said he had just one copy of the last set of Australian Soccer cards that I had been missing.....
After the Golf and the Shirt prize, could there be a third great surprise??? After all 'things' often happen in threes....
[In 1994, I was driving Lana north on the Hume Hwy to Wollongong. It was very late on a Friday afternoon and car lights were now on.
Unknown to us a drunk was driving south down the highway - on our side of the road! He had started some 50 km north of us.
We reached the Moss Vale overpass and I was puzzled as to why there were three semi trailers pulled up under the overpass, but blocking the left hand lane.
Naturally, I started overtaking, seeing that the nearest car was a few hundred metres back. The road bends left under the overpass and you can't see much ahead.
Suddenly a car came straight for us out of nowhere! Was I going mad? Had I moved onto the wrong side of the Highway?
In a split second I had to react and swung the car left, curving briefly into the small gap between the last and second-last semi.
The madman blasted his horn at me as he rocketed past! I swung back into the right lane and realised how lucky we were to be alive - a few centimetres or seconds back or forward and the gap to move left would not have been there!....
Just weeks later - on 9 September, 1994 I played Eden Golf Course. I had just hit off the Par 3 18th and stepped forward off the tee when I heard a massive splitting sound!
I turned around to see a giant limb from a gum tree crash onto the tee where I had stood just moments before! I was just thankful Lana had started walking first.
In the carpark of the Club, we were telling others of our brushes with death, when a woman said things happened in threes - oh yeah, I thought - I can't wait - and I didn't have to wait long.
We drove out of the carpark and I turned right onto a bend that straightens up into a street with shops (from memory). A woman drove her car straight across onto my side - failing to take her left hand bend and heading straight for my driver's door.
Lana yelled and I swerved left, seeing the woman's hypnotic stare, perhaps distracted by a mobile phone!]
Having had the golf and shirt, it was now time to win at home, I pondered...
We had agreed to meet Warren at the Cricketers Arms at between 6.40 and 6.45pm.
I ordered room service dinner and its delay meant I was wolfing food down. "You aren't stuck, are you? Christopher! How many times do I have to tell you - chew your food and eat slowly! Why are you rushing?"
"I promised Warren we would meet him at 6.40pm", I gasped. "If I say I will meet someone, at a certain time I keep my word!" Five minutes later I was still struggling to breathe. We made it to the Cricketers Arms just before 6.40pm with Lana complaining that she was getting a stitch, trying to keep up.
There were lines of police and I told Lana to stand to one side. There was also a camera, so I turned and showed my 1997 Socceroo shirt and gave a thumbs up - only to realise that it was a police cameraman.
Lana was mortified! The police now had her husband on film!
But Warren was nowhere to be seen. I went up and down the police lines three times - but could not see him. With the crowds building and bag searches to go through, we left for the MCG at 6.50. Lana was not impressed!
The area in which we were seated was cardboard by nature. Only the brilliant appearance by the Harley Davidson riders trailing Oz flags accompanying Angry Anderson singing "We Can't Be Beaten!" and the National Anthem raised their voices before kickoff.
Lana spent early parts of the match trying to keep me seated - then gave up. The thousands around me remained seated and quiet until AFTER something happened. I was livid!
How can you hope to get your team to the World Cup without urging them on? They were waiting for results and being purely reactive rather than encouraging the team.
Warren and Warwick did their best to support their friend in his chanting, but both are quiet by nature and not as demonstrative as me.
Lana feared that those in this top (left hand as the camera looked at it) section of the GSS would beat me up - unless I sat down and shut up. But they were all mice...
Around the 75min they started to become involved as the Aussie! chant went around the ground. After the final whistle they jumped and cheered and hugged each other, leaving the stand in high spirits.
... I couldn't move. I hadn't cried at the Iran game but tears were streaming down my face now.
A gentleman about six seats to my left was moving past. I stopped him and said "You're from Goulburn aren't you?" He looked at me with an incredulous expression - how the hell did I know?
"I am a friend of Paul Cheeseman, I said" only barely succeeding to change his expression as I mentioned the name of my work colleague who told me he had passed his tickets to 'a family friend from Goulburn'.
Lana was waiting, embarrassed at the stairwell. I still couldn't move, nor hold back the tears. Eventually I struggled to the steps. I was the last to leave the stand. There were three kids in front of me on the way down the steps. One turned to see me crying and alerted his friends.
"Listen kids", I said, stopping them. "When you have cheered on the Socceroos over 33 years and been at 6 of the 8 successive final losing home WC qualifying games, you will understand what it finally means to win at home. Under such circumstances, you too would be more than happy to cry!" They nodded in respectful understanding and disappeared into the cheering, dancing throng ahead.
... the third piece of the magic jigsaw seemed to have been joined!
Wed 21st Nov...
We rise happy but organised on the day after.
My notes say the XPT departs Spencer St at 8.50am. Lana and I organise a taxi, but I persuade a businessman to let us take his as we an interstate train to catch.
The taxi driver (of Campuchean descent) says that the traffic is near gridlock as a motorcyclist is lying dead on the road at the intersection of Church and Swan Sts in Richmond.
As long as we reach the train at 8.30am, I tell Lana, we should be ok - that gives us 20min till departure. We inch our way forward, reaching the city at 8.25am.
I turn to Lana and for some reason ask her to check the ticket. "This says the train leaves at 8.30am!" she blurts out. They had changed the departure time since my detailed recording of information, before the ticket was issued. How could I make such a mistake, as to not double-check!
Somehow we make it to the station at 8.29.30 - me telling Lana to get the bags out and wait as I go to hold the train.
I race up the platform, empty save for 5 train attendants, with all other passengers on board.
"Hold the train! My wife is coming with more luggage!"
"Sorry, mate! This train leaves on time at 8.30pm!" the boss firmly answered.
"You can't do that!" I yelled,"my wife is back there" (I indicate by sweeping my right arm back from whence I had scampered, collecting one of the attendents full in the face).
"Sorry mate - I have never hit somebody before in my life", I gasp as he holds his sore face.
"Ok, get on board, the boss says" probably thinking I might set about the lot of them unless he relented.
The train passengers saw all this - and more of me in the minutes and hours to come.
In the end they announced that departure was delayed for 20 mins - in which time (much to Lana's horror) I went from carriage to carriage asking if anyone had bought the $25 black Aust v Uru cap, for which I would pay $50. Amazingly, though there were seven full carriages of nearly 500 people - nobody had bought the cap.
This was a dream trip - the 8+ hour trip down that was equivalent to a dental visit - disappeared in the flash of an eye as we talked football. Around 85% of the train had been to the game - and those who hadn't said they had watched it.
Everywhere I went on the train, after my initial excursion, fellow travellers offered me goods at inflated prices - even old newspapers!
Audrey (about 70) got on the train at Albury. I told her that there were Uruguayans in the front carriage (who had told me Muscat's mother was Uruguayan?).
She came back about 10mins later saying "Look, I have signatures of four of the players - see, one has written No. 8!"
"Audrey, they are fans, the players are on a plane back home!"
"Oh rats!" she said "I knew that - but was hoping you would pay money for it!"
We all laughed! How quick was she, and what a sense of humour!
The football journey finished all too early - I was given unused France tickets by a couple from Wollongong and bought an extra programme for $20... $13 more than its face value.
It was all great fun - though I am sure there were some on the train who had been in my part of the GSS who my have been happy to see the last of me.
Back home at around 5pm Wed, I go to Bomber Bill the newsagent to pick up my ABSW. He hands me a copy that looks as though it has been stabbed through in frustration!
"Don't worry, Bill. I will still talk to you when Aussie Rules is a minor sport!" I retort, leaving him with mouth agape...
... this morning (Sun 25th) Bill told me in all seriousness:
"Do you realise that they don't even speak English in most countries where soccer is played!" ............ (no comment needed)...
It is now Sunday 8pm. I would trade the golf game, the home win and, yes, even that shirt for guaranteed qualification!
I want it so much, if only we can show the less than semi-educated (like Bill) who treat those wearing Socceroo shirts and professing love for our artistic sport, that they are in the minority and that we are not the threatening, vile bearers of plague and societal destruction that they suspect. We are merely patriots who love our team and a sport that does not encourage physical violence towards the opposition, nor demand grotesque distortion of necks or limbs to maximise our impact.
We are the path along which this country needs to travel to reach prominence, for as Paul Keating once said, we are regarded as the 'arse-end of the earth' - and culturally adrift from the rest of humanity.
Yes, we will pull down walls, but we will also lift the veil from the trapped and educate the ignorant.
I am certain that a glorious future awaits our sport if our dreams are fulfilled tomorrow...
....go the Socceroos!