Thin White Line issue 1 by Thin White Line

FOOTBALL CULTURE MAGAZINE

ISSUE ONE  DECEMBER 2013

SOCCEROOS IN MELBOURNE  A LIFE IN COLOURS  GEORGE BEST IN TASMANIA  FOOTBALL ON FILM  GLADBACH NORDKURVE  NED ZELIC  LIBERI NANTES  HEART OF HAJDUK  QABOOS STADIUM

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CONTENTS

THIN WHITE LINE FOOTBALL CULTURE MAGAZINE ISSUE ONE DECEMBER 2013

One life, many shirts.

The love story that is Torcida’s relationship with Hajduk Split.

Australian TV icon George Donikian recalls the 1990 World Cup Final.

Socceroos in Melbourne

Mooroolbark United

A short history of World Cup qualifiers in Melbourne.

How a suburban team with ambition kick-started the NSL.

100

Young Australian footballers and the European dream.

Refugess unite as Liberi Nantes in the Roman 3rd division.

A Life in Colours

Dracula the younger Mexican referees wreaking havoc on the world stage.

Iraqi anguish, Omani joy A World Cup qualifier fought out under the desert sun.

Heart of Hajduk

Should I Stay or Should I Go? Liberi Nantes

Nordkurve Mönchengladbach: Anticipation

The standing terraces of Borussia Mönchengladbach’s Nordkurve.

An empty suitcase found in an attic and a forgotten Brazilian team.

The Americanization of Australian Football The influence of the NASL on the formative years of the NSL.

The Pragmatist and the Purist The story behind independent feature film Total Football.

Ghost of the Box

They played football every day, every afternoon on the crumbling city streets.

The finals of the East Asian Cup are fought out in Korea.

Interview: Ned Zelic

One of Australia’s finest footballers on the state of the game.

Hackney Laces

A group of friends discover the lower leagues of Israeli football.

A football club for girls in East London.

Are podcasts the new fanzines?

The Post

Controlled Ecstasy

Low football

The New Fanzine

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My Stadio Olimpico

The Best of Days A global football icon plays an exhibition match in Tasmania.

Cover photo Tim Cahill, Socceroos (Tom Griffiths)

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CONTRIBUTOR PROFILES

David Allegretti David is a Melbourne-based writer whose love of football has taken him all over Australia, Italy and parts of Asia. He played as an uncompromising centre back in Victoria’s State League 1. David is also a talented FIFA player, well, better than his mates at least. You can follow David on Twitter: @davidallegretti

Benjamin de Buen Ben lives, writes and plays football in Melbourne. He has written for the sports section of the Mexican National News Agency, Notimex, and freelanced for Los Angeles based Hispanic newspaper, La Opinión.

Dario Castaldo Dario is an Italian journalist whose work has been published in all the major Italian newspapers, from Corriere della Sera to Gazzetta dello Sport. He has worked as a football and tennis commentator for Sky TV channels in Italy. Dario was director of the largest sport radio station in central Italy, where he also presented the morning show. Now based in Melbourne, Dario is a broadcaster for SBS Italian. As a junior, he played alongside Francesco Totti against the likes of Alessandro Nesta and Marco Di Vaio. Dario has travelled to over 120 countries. You can read his travel blog at dariodiviaggio.net

Joe Gorman Joe is a football writer and researcher who enjoys studying the relationship between football, politics and history. In 2012 Joe completed his Honours thesis at Sydney University on the history of Australian football. Since leaving the ivory tower, Joe has been published in The Guardian, New Matilda and writes regular match reports and features for Football NSW. You can follow Joe on Twitter: @JoeGorman_89

Ludovica Jona Ludovica is a journalist and press officer based in Rome who specialises in humanitarian, environmental and social issues. She has worked with non-government organisations such as Oxfam International and INTERSOS, and is currently working on an international campaign for Italian NGO Ricerca e Cooperazione.

Ante Jukic Ante writes about football for Australian Associated Press and other local mastheads in Victoria. He has a special interest in Eastern European football and local Victorian football. You can follow him on Twitter: @a_jukic

Laura Montanari Laura is an Italian photographer based in Rome. She has a strong interest in social issues. Her work has been featured in numerous publications and exhibitions, both solo and in collaboration with groups such as Amnesty International and Peacereporter. Her work has taken her to India, Palestine, Israel, Iran, Burkina Faso, Togo, Ghana, Benin, Lebanon, Egypt, Peru and Angola. She is currently working on themes involving gypsies, immigrants and refugees as part of a long-term project entitled “Restlessness”. You can see more of Laura’s work at her website: www.lauramontanari.it

Przemek Niciejewski Przemek is a football fan and photographer currently living in Germany with an interest in football culture. He focuses on supporters during matches and tries to capture the emotions and identity of the terraces.

Kieran Pender Kieran is a Canberra-based sports writer who still mourns the demise of the Canberra Cosmos. He has contributed to The Guardian, FourFourTwo, Goal.com and The Football Ramble. You can follow Kieran on Twitter: @KieranPender

Jenny Simmons Jenny is a London-based photographer and videographer. On Tuesdays youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll mostly find her coaching at Hackney Laces football club and searching for new ways to score on the half-volley.

Les Street Les is affiliated with the Management Discipline Group at University of Technology Sydney. His key areas of research are football in Australia and its stadiums with a particular focus on the National Soccer League (NSL). He has visited the locations of all 100 NSL grounds in Australia and New Zealand.

Jim Webster Jim is an emerging photographer known for his sports photography and his beard. He has worked for media outlets such as OS Aussies, Goal! Weekly and The Sporting Journal covering everything from Victorian State League One games through to the Liverpool vs Melbourne Victory friendly. Some of Jimâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s work can be found online at: www.flickr.com/jwphotographyau

Ahmed Yussuf Ahmed is a Melbourne-based football writer and error-prone makeshift centre-back. He has written for The Big Issue and various online publications. Along with writing puff pieces, he hosts and produces a podcast in association with Football Central Australia.

Cam Colson - Art Director Cam is founder and creative director of Melbourne based design studio, Microcosm. When not pushing pixels about he enjoys honing his coaching technique with his two boys or reffing at the local junior league games. www.microcosmdesign.com.au

Ian Kerr - Editor Ian has written for cult travel, sporting and music websites since the web was young. His more sensible work has been published in international trade magazines. A glittering career as a professional footballer beckoned but was over before it began due to a lack of talent. Now that his ankle-kicking, shirt-tugging days are over, he watches matches with a zen-like calm, thanks in no small part to the pasty and Cherry Ripe he demolishes prior to each kick-off.

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A Life in Colours Fiorentina - Batistuta 9 This is a replica I found in a second hand shop in Melbourne. It gets plenty of compliments, probably because it is almost iconic. It makes me look like a connoisseur who doesn’t follow the CR7 or Beckham mainstream. That’s how I feel when I wear it.

Real Madrid 2003 - Raúl 7 I bought this in the Bernabeu in 2003. While I have always preferred Barcelona, it was impossible not to appreciate the first round of Galácticos. Raúl played with great honour and this made him rise to all occasions. Juniors 1998 - long sleeve C Boca This was a gift from my mother when she went to Argentina in 2003. The shirt was from five years before. - jacket D Barcelona Now that some of these clubs are quite popular around the globe, it’s good to have some kind of evidence to prove that I’ve been ahead of the fad. This jacket from 1999 serves that purpose. 2012 - Benja 7 E Barcelona This is probably my newest jersey. A close friend – almost a brother – sent it to me from overseas. It has my name and number 7 on the back. I’m glad he did that, otherwise I’d be too self conscious to put my own name on a shirt.

Barcelona 1998 - Rivaldo 11 This is a replica of Barcelona’s centennial jersey. I saw Figo and Rivaldo play together at Camp Nou that season. They smashed Deportivo Alavés 7-1.

Mexico - pirated This was a gift from a family friend (also my former soccer coach) for my dad. The shirt itself resembles none of Mexico’s designs. But Coach, being an American, self-sacrificed his stars-and-stripes nationalism for a gesture of friendship. - retro H Pumas The design on the front of this shirt is meant to be the face of a Puma, but also has a “U” and an “M” somehow included in the concept. This is the team I’ve followed since childhood. This version is a replica of their 80s tops.

Pumas - 2004 The team has never won when I’m wearing this shirt. I gave it away to a girl I was seeing hoping to be rid of it and then she gave it back. Is it wrong to burn your own team’s colours?

Uruguay - 5 I found this in a second hand market in Sydney. It’s a bit tattered but they don’t make jerseys like this anymore. It would be a replica from the late 90’s.

Juventus 2000 - Zidane 21 The name on the back is the only reason why I bought this shirt. It was hanging in a second hand shop. It’s actually a kid’s size and only just fits. I’ve been wearing it to futsal and it has earned me a few compliments.

Boca Juniors - c. 1997 - 10 My mother found this shirt outside the Bombonera. It is a replica of the jersey Maradona wore when he returned to Argentina.

Colo Colo 2003 - Zamorano 9 I was in Santiago for Zamorano’s last game as a professional. They played the final against Cobreloa. El “Bam Bam” was sent off after a 0-0 draw in the first leg. N Vietnam This is another second hand finding. By the look of the rings on the arm it must go back as far as the mid 90s. I will admit that I’ve never seen Vietnam play. 1998-2000 O Australia After six years in the country it feels like I have earned myself the right to wear some green and gold. I found this in the op shop as well and have only worn it for this photo shoot. Until the Socceroos debut in Brazil 2014…

Atlético de Madrid 2010 When you play futsal with an Englishman, an Irishman and a Brazilian, it is very hard to dress the team in colours that will not compromise anyone’s preferences or rivalries and find something everyone likes. The Colchoneros were the perfect choice.

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n Be

In 1938 André Breton, author of the Surrealist Manifesto, travelled to Mexico and apparently stated I didn’t create

surrealism, it already existed here. There are a few different versions of this quote but the central idea remains and after 75 years, these words still reverberate throughout Mexican society and its oneiric behavior… Modern-day Mexico is home to an evangelic priest in a Christian congregation who looks like a young imitator of Dracula, but is better known for his other life as a football referee whose shorts are moored above his navel. His red card isn’t afraid of the light. Don’t call me Dracula, he says, it offends my faith. 1980s Mexican television was home to a character played by a young boy who imitated the evil ways of Count Dracula. Ñaca, ñaca, he would say to his victims. Chiquidrácula hit the screens on Friday nights amongst other skits played by childhood stars. Some years later, after the young boy was only seen in re-runs, a new referee appeared in the Mexican Football League. His widow’s peak and his cutthroat ways when interpreting the rules and penalties of the game earned him the nickname Chiquidrácula. Three of his victims have seen his blood coloured card during World Cups, the latest of them, Tim Cahill against Germany in 2010. Those who watched the game without any previous knowledge of Marco Antonio Rodríguez and his ways were left wondering, why did

he send off Cahill for such a routine foul? Why are his shorts pulled up so high? And how does he manage to ref an entire match with every hair in place? Marco Antonio Rodríguez has launched his own hair product labelled Chiquigel. Ñaca, ñaca. Dreams are the substance of surrealism, but this is not a dream, not even with the kaleidoscope effects and bright lights used in 1980s Mexican television. The fact is, since 1982, Mexican referees have sent off at least one player per World Cup, often the star of the tournament, from Maradona to Zidane to Ronaldinho, some with more merit than others. That amounts to eight World Cups in a row. Two is a coincidence, three is a pattern, eight… is surreal. Lieutenant Colonel Mario Rubio showed Diego Armando Maradona a red card against Brazil in Spain 1982. In the ’86 Cup, hosted in Mexico, referee Antonio Márquez showed Uruguay’s Miguel Bossio the red in the 19th minute against Denmark. During the Italia ‘90 World Cup final between Argentina and Germany, Edgardo Codesal sent off two Argentine players and called a questionable penalty in the finishing moments of the match. Despite Codesal’s dubious representation of Mexican refereeing, Arturo Brizio was responsible for the USA ’94 opener between Germany and Bolivia, the first World Cup match since that fateful final in Rome. Brizio sent off Bolivia’s star Marco Echeverry. In France ‘98 he would send off Zidane for an aggressive foul against a Saudi player and Ariel Ortega for head butting goalkeeper van der Saar in the quarter final between Argentina and Holland.

As a footnote, Arturo Brizio is now an analyst on the same network that brought you Chiquidrácula. In Korea-Japan 2002, Felipe Ramos Rizo did not hesitate to send Ronaldinho to the showers. The call was hardly worthy of a yellow card. Less than a year later, Ramos Rizo was caught in a match-fixing scandal and lost his job as a ref. Nevertheless, he was given an analyst role on television where his main job was to judge other referee’s performances. None were as bad as his. Germany 2006 saw the rise of Marco Antonio Rodríguez, Chiquidrácula, to the world stage. By then he had already asked not to be called Chiquidrácula but Chiquimarco, for he is an evangelical pastor in a Christian congregation. He sent off two players during a match between Serbia and Ivory Coast while his compatriot Armando Archundia fired a red card at the Czech Republic’s Jan Polak. Chiquimarco was back for more in South Africa 2010, with the rigorous expulsion of Australia’s Tim Cahill. Ken Aston invented the red card after the 1966 World Cup where he saw the need to make a referee’s decision clear to players and spectators alike. The card system imitated the colors of traffic lights as a way to transcend language barriers. The new card system was first implemented during the 1970 World Cup. The 1970 World Cup was played in Mexico. Nobody was sent off. Surreal.

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Iraqi anguish, Omani joy Words and photos by Dario Castaldo

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The security checks at the gate are more rigorous than predicted, but the spectre of terrorism has nothing to do with it. In Oman, the traditional dress comprises the dishdasha – a white tunic; the kuma – an embroidered beret; and the khanjar – a curved knife attached to the belt. In practice, the pat down search serves to prevent the match from being transformed into clan battles. But once they’d put their hands in my backpack, the police seized the most precious thing there is on the Tropic of Capricorn, when the afternoon is young, summer is knocking on the door and you can’t find the shade of a drink concession stand: bottles of water. The stadium, standing in the Boshar district, on the northern edge of the capital Muscat, was baptised after the music-loving Sultan Qaboos bin Said, who for 40 years has governed Oman with an illuminated outlook. He transformed this small strip of the Arabian Peninsula – without massive oil reserves (responsible for less than 1% of world production) – through infrastructure and welfare into a modern state; one that can talk with its neighbours without a wink towards Islamic fundamentalism and with the West without aping the overblown Dubai. It’s a nation that (within certain limits) could even be considered secular, one in which three quarters of the population follows a confession with a connection with neither Shiism nor Sunnism, but one in which football matches kick off at 5pm, just to avoid disturbing the call to prayer at 7pm and hurting someone’s sensibilities. The Oman vs Iraq match is played as part of the World Cup

qualifiers. In a group dominated by Zaccheroni’s Japan, Oman and Iraq are still in the running for a historic promotion to the final stage. The hosts – led by Frenchman Paul Le Guen, the former Lyon and Cameroon coach – have beaten Jordan and drew both matches with Australia. Two months earlier, in Sydney, Oman led 2-0, before the Socceroos clawed back two damage-limiting goals. Iraq is a distant relative of the team that won the 2007 Asian Cup, but put fear into the Japanese in Saitama and hasn’t lost a game by more than one goal. There are three points to be won, but for me, accustomed to the roar of Rome’s Stadio Olimpico, the climate seems to be that of a summer friendly – perhaps because of the 40-degree heat. Past the deployment of soldiers, and left without liquid two hours from the opening whistle, I tag along with a group of home fans. Left with no dagger, the ultras are armed with megaphones and banners and wear neckscarves – woollen, for that matter – emblazoned with the face of Qaboos. In the grandstand, volunteers distribute red plastic bibs to wear for a tifo display. A stadium of 40,000 that bears the name of an absolute monarch has the purpose of representing the people’s feeling of belonging to national events, including football, even at the cost of taking sunstroke. According to the manual, the risk of transmitting a negative image can be prevented in two ways: selling tickets at $2 and squashing the crowd together for the benefit of the cameras. The local Football Association tests both solutions with significant results: framed on TV, the Sultan Qaboos Sports

Complex seems sold out, and every spectator in the grandstand helps to form a monochrome stain. Red, like the home team’s kit. In reality, things are moving slowly inside the stadium, and a quick glance beyond the section that I share with the other 3000 people is depressing. The minutes pass slowly and the heat is a powerful silencer. The spark that ignites the crowd’s enthusiasm - just before the teams warm-up - is the entry into the field of a man with his arm in a sling. It’s the goalkeeper Abdullah Ali Al-Habsi, the only Omani player with an international pedigree. Ten years ago he became the first player from his country hired by a European club and, after a couple of championships in Norway, he then made the big jump to the English Premier League, wearing the colours of Bolton and then of Wigan. In his debut year with the Latics he was voted player of the season, thanks to a formidable statistic for any keeper, especially for one born in these latitudes: in all competitions Al Habsi has saved half of all penalty kicks, neutralizing the likes of Tevez, Van Persie and Chicharito Hernandez. For every feat, his popularity – and the popularity of football in Oman – surged. Al Habsi also contributed to Wigan’s historic success in the FA Cup at Wembley less than a month earlier. It was Wigan’s first national trophy – a 1-0 win against Manchester City that cost Roberto Mancini his job. In addition to being captain of the national team, Al Habsi has all the characteristics of a living legend. At home he founded ‘Safety first’, a non-profit organization that aims to raise Omanis’ awareness of safe driving. In a vast, sparsely

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populated country where people intoxicated by new, wide and empty roads tend to jump on the accelerator, the rate of fatal road accidents is eleven times greater than Australia. The roar that accompanies Al-Habsi’s entry, however, is especially full of emotion: a shoulder injury will force the goalkeeper to undergo a delicate operation that at age 31 could anticipate the end of his career, and forces Oman do without its number 1 on the road to Brazil. The captain’s place between the posts is taken by Faiz Al-Rushaidi, a lanky keeper who debuted in the national team three years ago but has since racked up just a couple of appearances, partly because of the guarantee offered by Al Habsi, and partly because Rushaidi, in terms of guarantees, offers little. The public knows this, and during the warmup encourages the lad with choruses that start from the very section where I sit, which mix with songs dedicated to the greatness of the team, the nation, Qaboos and Allah. Not necessarily in that order. When the players finally come down on the field, a signal indicates that the cameras are on, so my neighbours defy the heat by wearing the red bib over the dishdasha or in place of the official club strips which young people have worn to the stadium. All around there are supporters of teams from everywhere – from Barcelona and Real to those of Juventus and Napoli. The two sides of Milan are represented, two of Manchester and three or four of London, but for a few minutes the home crowd submits to the raison d’état and the stadium turns red. There’s a roar from the crowd, followed by a few timid whistles. The whistles are in fact the opening notes of “Mawtini”, the Palestinian patriotic march composed 70 years ago and adopted as the national anthem of Iraq after the fall of Saddam Hussein.

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The whistles are just as quickly swallowed up by the chorus of thousands of Iraqis placed next to the grandstand authorities. The relationships between the souls of the Arab world are not weighed down by centuries of violence and resentment as in the Old Continent, but the rivalry can be just as harsh. Iraq, however, is an exception: in the last 30 years, the people have been through the wringer, and even less friendly neighbours cannot help but feel a surge of empathy, even when the ball is there to be won. Months ago Iraq celebrated the tenth anniversary of the end of the regime and, according to the UN, the number of refugees who fled during the conflict with Iran, the Gulf War, Saddam’s dictatorship and the Allied invasion that are now returning to the country is continuing to rise and reached 80,000 last year. Three decades of blood have ravaged the land between the Tigris and Euphrates, causing the largest continuing diaspora of recent times. Fifteen per cent of the Iraqi population left their homes and of these - mostly young people and professionals nearly two million refugees were received between Jordan and Syria, from where they then took off for the rest of the world, everywhere from Canada to Great Britain, from the United States to Australia. Over 100,000 have found asylum in Egypt, at least 10,000 in Turkey, but not even one Iraqi was welcomed in Oman. The match begins at a trot: with the exception of Habsi and four team-mates who play for professional teams of the Peninsula, all the other members of Oman’s Red Warriors play in the national championship, which

finished exactly two weeks ago. On the other hand Vlado Petrovic, sitting on his twelfth different bench in the last 17 years (the Omani federation has done no better; Le Guen is Oman’s thirtieth coach in 29 seasons), has the same problems of his French colleague, but Iraq is so short of men of talent that it fields a minor, Humam Tariq, born in 1996. The mix of heat, inexperience and heavy legs makes the first period a sterile one, featuring prolonged periods of possession for the hosts, but somehow, in the fourth minute of injury time, a goal arrives, thanks to the indecision of the Iraqi goalkeeper Sabri (90 caps since his international debut back in 2002), which was pounced upon by Ismail Al Ajmi, who plays in Kuwait and therefore in Oman has only admirers. The exultation for the lead lasts throughout half-time. During the break I get out of the red pit to explore other areas of the complex and figured that while I was there I may as well look for drinking water. I step through the curva – in Western stadiums synonymous with frantic cheering while here it seems the retreat of middle-aged men – to sit in the grandstand for families, frequented mostly by kids and women wearing the omaniya along with a sample of the 900,000 expats living in the Sultanate. Most workers are from the Indian subcontinent, but there are also professionals working in extraction and infrastructure as well as doctors, teachers, financial brokers and European archaeologists. My final destination, which I reach after being invited by the military to make a symbolic leap over the

VIP section, is the away supporters’ section. When I enter, sinking along with the sun are the last hopes of the Lions of Mesopotamia to qualify for Brazil 2014. Their chants and drums resound, but despite the noise and action on the pitch – Oman has at least three opportunities on the break to seal the result – I can exchange a few words with the fans. There is Ahmed, who lives in New Zealand, but flies to the Middle East whenever he can to follow the Iraqi national team. There’s Mohammed, who escaped Basra when he was a baby and since then has not set foot in his country but now runs a company in the Emirates. And Samir, who teaches civil engineering at the University of Muscat. No one explains why a country inhabited by people as friendly as Oman has not opened its borders to Iraqi refugees when needed. And no one can explain why in stoppage time there’s a shot from one of Petrovic’s strikers through a forest of legs in the penalty area but ends up in in the trembling arms of Al Rushaidi. The scoreline does not change, and so, at the final whistle from the trio of Korean referees, the guests are silenced and the eyes of thousands of Iraqis from the four corners of the planet are filled with tears. If for one night in early summer Oman takes to the streets dreaming of the World Cup, then the Iraqi diaspora, reunited for an afternoon thanks to football, wakes up once again empty-handed. And once again must cling to a national pride that has nothing to do with nationalism. The Iraqis are happy to be here, but are most likely even happier just to be. “We are young, strong and accustomed to these blows,” says Samir, “Relax, in four years it’ll be our turn.”

“We are young, strong and accustomed to these blows,” says Samir, “Relax, in four years it’ll be our turn.”

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Nordkurve Mönchengladbach. Anticipation. Words and photographs by Przemek Niciejewski

When taking photographs at Borussia’s stadium in Mönchengladbach over several months (May – August 2013), I sought to capture the intense emotions that are deeply rooted in this place. The standing terraces – the Nordkurve – are a compromise between the economic arguments of the club and the preservation of

local supporters’ identity. Lowpriced season tickets help retain fans and guarantee a relatively small turnover of season tickets, while cultivating the legend built up over dozens of years: the legendary team of Hennes Weisweiler that dominated Bundesliga games in the 1970s. Hans, a hardcore fan, describes his attitude to Nordkurve: “I have not missed a single Borussia game for over 30 years. In the past, I stood at the legendary stadium of Bokelberg. I have seen the ups and downs of the club, including its relegation to the second division on two occasions. I was born two years too late to be able to enjoy our club being champions of Germany. But paradoxically, that is what has allowed me to stay here all those years. I have been

waiting like all those who occupy the standing terraces there, like those who have inherited this anticipation from their fathers and uncles. This is not about spending your leisure time in a nice way. This is not a pleasure, but a kind of specific duty”. Longing for the better days that are gone is the leitmotiv of the majority of conversations overheard near the stadium. A single victory is a reason to rejoice, but this is an emotion reduced to a short-lived outburst of enthusiasm. If I were to give a oneword description of the Nordkurve standing terraces in Mönchengladbach, “anticipation” would be the word – the anticipation that is written over thousands of faces, creating a spectacular theatre of human desires and passions.

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The Americanization of Australian Football Words by Joe Gorman

As Socceroo Tony Henderson ran out of the tunnel at the Sydney Showground, he was amazed to see spectators spilling out onto the grass, making what should have been an oval into a tight rectangle as some 60,000 people crammed into a 40,000 seat stadium. With no seats left, fans were pressed right up against the sidelines. It was the biggest crowd he’d ever played in front of, and opposite him in the tunnel was his idol, Franz Beckenbauer. Upon seeing der Kaiser, the crowd went berserk. There was no doubt that the regal German was the main drawcard. With a wry smile, Henderson recalls the moment. Unfazed, Beckenbauer turned to him and quipped, “Well, you’re very popular here.” The New York Cosmos were only in the country for two matches; one in Melbourne against a Victorian XI and the blockbuster against the Socceroos in Sydney. With a team peppered with celebrity footballers, they stood in stark contrast to Australia’s part-timers, who were forced to work odd jobs in order to play the game they loved. “It was never about the money back then,” Henderson remembers. “You could never rely on the game to pay your mortgage.”

Pele Arrives in New York The story begins in Brazil in 1975. The ambitious owners of the New York Cosmos had made the journey south to persuade Pele out of retirement and into a missionary role for the game in America. It was, and perhaps remains, the most ambitious ‘marquee’ signing in football. With the best player on the planet in their side, the New York Cosmos threatened to change the sporting landscape in the United States forever. Blessed with unprecedented capital and a swathe of global superstars, the Cosmos represented a seismic shift in the style and organisation of American football sides. In a land obsessed with baseball, basketball and gridiron, football had barely registered before the arrival of Pele and the Cosmos. Humble sides, often backed by migrant Americans, played out of suburban grounds, with little interest to the broader American public. For football to break through to mainstream America, it needed a circuit breaker. As the Cosmos general manager Clive Toye recalls, “There was only one player in the world who could break through this crusty air of antipathy, and that was Pele.”

Over time, Pele was joined by a raft of other high profile signings, including the tempestuous Italian striker Giorgio Chinaglia, Brazilian fullback Carlos Alberto and German sweeper Franz Beckenbauer. In a rapidly commercialising sports market, the New York Cosmos understood the need to sell the game to the American public. Owned by Steve Ross, then CEO of Time Warner, this was hardly surprising. Combining football, entertainment, business and celebrity, the Cosmos were - albeit briefly - a perfect fit in New York City. In 1977 the Glasgow Herald predicted a “new soccer city” in the Big Apple, as tens of thousands of New Yorkers turned out to watch Pele and company. Moustachioed goalkeeper Shep Messing recalls: “(The New York Cosmos) transcended everything, every culture, every socio-economic boundary. We were international, we were European, we were cool, we were Americans from the Bronx. We were everything to everybody.” This last point is crucial. As in Australia, football was regarded as a foreign sport by Americans, and was thus ghettoised by its ethnic image. As football historian Bill Murray once wrote, “Football was to American sport as communism was to politics.”

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“Soccer still a ‘foreign’ game, but Cosmos prove it’s here to stay” was the headline in Connecticut newspaper The Morning Record and Journal in 1977. The journalist, taken with enthusiasm, labels football “the game of the future”, praising its diversity and skill level. He continues, “Critics have attacked soccer as a ‘foreign sport.’ That is true in the sense that it was created outside this country... (yet) soccer will only remain ‘foreign’ until enough people recognize the beauty and skill needed to play it.”

A Need to ‘Sell’ the Game Americanisation is a vague and often amorphous term used to explain Australia’s fascination with American culture. It is a topic well traversed by Australian historians and cultural critics. Perhaps the best known criticism came from Australian architect Robin Boyd in 1960. Lamenting Australia’s obsession with all things American, Boyd coined the term “Austerica” to describe the “second-hand Americana” that had invaded the Australian market. Commentators have since analysed the Americanisation of everything from the Australian legal and political system to Australian music, film and language. In 1980, cultural historian Richard White commented that “what people spend most of their leisure time doing is most open to Americanisation.” This, of course, includes sport. But while many have analysed the American influence on sports such as cricket and rugby league, few have acknowledged the considerable American influence on Australian football.

The Cosmos’ impact on world football was as enormous as it was unexpected. And as unlikely as it sounds, perhaps its biggest influence was on Australian football, which was still very much in the early stages of its development. The birth of the National Soccer League in 1977 was, in part, an effort to increase the standard of the game in Australia. It was also a commercial imperative for clubs keen to broaden their support base and increase revenue. Sydney-based football editor Andrew Dettre summed it up in late 1976, commenting that a national league “will set out to do what no other football organisation has succeeded in Australia: to capture the public imagination with a national competition.” Similarly, Melbourne-based football writer Lawrie Schwab commented in 1981 that the NSL “was to be the focal point, the headline-grabber, the star-maker, the Big Time.” Indeed, from the very beginning, it was a hearts and minds mission. With fourteen clubs from Queensland, New South Wales, Victoria, South Australia and the ACT, the NSL was the first truly national football competition in the country. Not until the mid-1980s would Australian Rules and rugby league embrace expansion beyond their heartland states. However, despite their considerable achievement, NSL clubs and administrators remained insecure about their place within the Australian sporting scene. The predominance of ‘ethnic’ clubs at the top level only fed this insecurity. In a country still coming to grips with the realities of multiculturalism, ethnic nationalism was still largely frowned upon by the broader Australian public. It

was the Whitlam Labor government (1972-1975) that officially ushered in the new, inclusive paradigm which replaced the White Australia Policy. However, despite the legislative acceptance of multiculturalism, the pressures for migrants and their children to ‘assimilate’ remained pervasive throughout all aspects of Australian society. This proved problematic for the NSL. Of the inaugural fourteen clubs, there were four Greek sides, three Italian, two Dutch, one Hungarian, one Yugoslavian and one Jewish-backed club. Only Western Suburbs SC from Sydney and Canberra City were obviously ‘non-ethnic’. Immediately, clubs were ordered to drop their ‘ethnic’ names. Most complied, with Heidelberg Alexander becoming Fitzroy United and Azzuri becoming Brisbane United. Interestingly, there were a few halfway house amendments as some club administrators resisted the modernising initiatives. Pan Hellenic - a Greek-backed club from Sydney’s west - rebranded themselves as Sydney Olympic, in the hope that the interests of the Greek community could be married with the broader Sydney public. A spokesman for the club commented in late 1976: “The name itself is a winner... Sydney gives us a passport throughout the world... and ‘Olympic’ has both associations with Greece and a pleasant ring with the Australian population in general.” The issue of club names and symbolism would plague the competition until its dying days. Ethnic and European symbolism caused similar concerns in the United States; however, as American football administrator Otto Radich noted, the Cosmos and the North American Soccer League managed to gain greater media acceptance and shake

the “ethnic” tag by having “neutral” monikers such as Cosmos, Sting, Surf and Diplomats.

Cosmos Down Under As two “new world” football nations, the struggle for the game to gain acceptance from the American and Australian “mainstream” has faced similar hurdles. In both nations, football is wedged by other sports, some of which are very protective of their turf and their self-appointed status as the national sport. Baseball and Australian Rules have historically had no interest in promoting a diverse sports market, and have been happy to appeal to xenophobic tropes in order to keep football foreign. When Pele arrived in New York, his first press conference was gatecrashed by prominent baseball writer Dick Young, who had once labelled football “a game for Commie pansies.” Evidently, not everyone was happy about the game’s arrival in America. In this context, the initial success of the NASL was bound to have an impact on Australian football administrators and commentators, who were desperate for a leg-up out of the ethnic ghetto. By 1978, National Soccer League marketing manager John Frank and Western Suburbs’ Mike Laing both went on their own fact-finding missions to the United States to gain greater insight into how American clubs had managed to broaden their appeal. And just a year later, the New York Cosmos came to Australia. Lawrie Schwab, senior football editor at Melbourne’s The Age newspaper, illustrated the insecurity of the domestic game, commenting that the Cosmos “dispelled some of the gloom” hanging over Australian football.

In the first match against the Victorian XI, the Cosmos won 3-2 in an entertaining clash at Olympic Park in front of a healthy crowd of 28,000 people. Dutch midfielder Johan Neeskens – who would later become assistant coach for the Socceroos – wrote that the game was “like a holiday” for Franz Beckenbauer, but conceded that his side were “fortunate” to win the match. Neeskens praised the efforts of a Victorian side which included Gary Cole and Jimmy Rooney, and declared his excitement in playing the Socceroos in Sydney a few days later. The Sydney leg of the Cosmos trip was organised by the then recently-retired Socceroos legend Johnny Warren, who documented the rollercoaster tour in Chapter 14 of his autobiography Sheilas, Wogs and Poofters. After taking several Australian kids to the Pele Coaching Camps in New York, Warren decided to bring the Cosmos to Australia as a promotional boost for the domestic game. The match was billed as “once in a lifetime soccer.” Crowds broke all expectations, prompting one Sydney Morning Herald columnist to praise the “staggering turnout” at the Sydney Showground. Tony Henderson still remembers the build-up well. At a pre-match dinner held at the APIA club in Sydney’s inner west, the Cosmos were given prime seating in front of the press. They were the stars of the show, while the Socceroos were cast aside. “There’s nothing worse than feeling like you’re making up the numbers”, Henderson recalls, “we were determined to give them a go.” Indeed, after the lax pressing by the Victorian XI in the first match, the Socceroos ensured that the Cosmos’ players had little

time on the ball, harrying their star opponents constantly. Henderson was given the job of marking Giorgio Chinaglia. A prolific goalscorer, Chinaglia is perhaps best remembered as the man who brought Pele to tears. Apparently, when Pele questioned Chinaglia’s finishing in the Cosmos dressing room, the Italian retorted “I am Chinaglia. If I shoot from a place, it’s because Chinaglia can score from there.” Not that this worried Tony Henderson, who at 6 foot 4 is no shrinking violet. “I could be pretty” Henderson explained, “but I generally wasn’t. Especially not against players like Chinaglia.” Chinaglia ended up scoring what looked to be the equalising goal in the 77th minute. But moments before full-time, a Jimmy Rooney corner was nodded home by Henderson. It was “the icing on top of the cake” for Henderson, and a fairytale finish for promoters. Rudi Gutendorf, the Socceroos enigmatic coach, was flush with excitement, predicting a “new era in Australian soccer.”

The New Image Obsessed Era In some respects, Gutendorf was right. However the new era was not quite what he had expected. The Cosmos had given Australian football administrators a glimpse of a whole new world of possibilities. Administrators couldn’t ignore the bumper crowds and media attention that the slick Cosmos brand had so effortlessly attracted. As Johnny Warren would later comment, “it was revolutionary stuff for Australian soccer.” Meanwhile, at Sydney’s premier football newspaper Soccer World,

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editor Andrew Dettre was captivated by the North American Soccer League, the Cosmos in particular. In early 1980, he wrote a four-part piece titled “Soccer Made in the USA.” According to Dettre, the American clubs were far more innovative with their catchy club names and slogans. By contrast, Dettre lamented the “monotony” of the National Soccer League club names, which maintained more traditional monikers like “United” and “City”. Under one headline, “Can We Imitate or Emulate America?” Dettre also looked favourably upon marquee players, one-team one-city, summer soccer, corporate involvement and franchised clubs. Sound familiar? Almost a quarter of a century later, the A-League was established almost exactly along these specifications. However, at the time, these were radical suggestions, the pipe-dreams of a frustrated football editor. Still, the implications for Australian football were plain to see just a season later, as the Australian Soccer Federation’s marketing team set to work. As was the case in the NSL, these kind of marketing drives and internal reviews almost always arrived at the same conclusion - that football needed to shed it’s ethnic image. Making the game ‘Australian’ was a routine obsession for football administrators. No club was spared from the agonising and generally futile exercise of ‘mainstreaming’ their image. The general consensus among the football cognoscenti was that commercial viability and mainstream appeal were incompatible with the style and character of ethnicbacked football clubs. In this context, Americanisation was just one of several attempts to move football into a new mainstream era. In July 1980, Sydney Morning Herald sports columnist Brian Curran reported that the head of

the ASF’s marketing, Rik Booth, had outlined a plan to revolutionise Australian football. His suggestions included new broadcast deals, summer soccer, an indoor soccer competition, and perhaps most importantly, a plan to attract big business to support the game. Tellingly, Rik Booth also announced: “Clubs, we hope, will change their names, all club emblems will be re-designed, we will de-ethnicise it in every way. People will be able to relate to it more. The League will be remodelled over the next four or five years on the North American Soccer League.” Football American-style was clearly in vogue. The NSL was to be remade, just a few years after its establishment. The very next season, in 1981, the changes were plain to see. Adelaide City became the Giants, APIA Leichhardt the Strikers, Marconi the Leopards, Brisbane City the Gladiators. Club logos, as Booth had decreed, were given a facelift to hide their ethnic wrinkles, and the game was ready to embrace the new era.

The Crash The boom, inevitably, was to be followed by a bust. By 1984, the novelty had worn off, and American football administrators and investors began to realise that the NASL had built its success on shaky foundations. The cult of celebrity was a double-edged sword for the game. Star players like Pele, George Best and Johan Cruyff attracted many thousands of otherwise disinterested spectators through the turnstiles. Yet, unlike in baseball, basketball and gridiron, the American public had little interest in the game itself. The star signings didn’t add to the product, they were the product. Where the other sports were

built from the bottom up, football embraced a top-down approach. There was little understanding of the game’s nuances and peculiarities among spectators, to the point where administrators introduced mandatory penalty shoot-outs for drawn matches and tinkered with the offside rule to make the game more entertaining. The co-owner of Dallas Tornado, Bill McNutt, once suggested that “it’s time to do some monkeying around with the game.” Time-outs, widening the goals and outlawing the back-pass to the goalkeeper were all suggested to FIFA, who unsurprisingly were not convinced. Football in America was running before it could walk. By 1984, the rapid expansion of the competition had stretched the already limited talent pool, and clubs were struggling to keep up with the financial demands. After spending several weeks in pre-season with the Fort Lauderdale Strikers in 1983, Tony Henderson remembers being offered a six-figure contract. It was more than anything he could hope to earn in Australia. In the end, though, Henderson felt loyal to Marconi, who had treated him well in Sydney. Many clubs in the NSL were renowned for their questionable business practices, but Henderson remembers no such problems. “They looked after us,” Henderson recalls. In hindsight, he made a wise choice. Within the year, the NASL had crashed. Henderson, on the other hand, still lives across the way from Marconi Stadium in Sydney’s outer western suburbs. His career with Marconi allowed him to play for his adopted country and raise a family in a stable environment. In their book, Soccernomics, Simon Kuper and Stefan Szymanski write that football clubs, unlike businesses, never die.

Changing name meant abandoning heritage for many clubs. But even some teams with perfectly acceptable, non-ethnic names were given new showbiz names.

Come on you Marconi Datsun Leopards! Rolls off the tongue beautifully, doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t it? West Adelaide Hellas

West Adelaide Hawks

Sydney Olympic (Pan Hellenic)

Sydney Olympians

Heidelberg United

Heidelberg Warriors

South Melbourne Hellas

Melbourne Gunners

Adelaide City Juventus

Adelaide City Giants

Marconi APIA Leichhardt Brisbane City Preston Makedonia Footscray JUST Eastern Suburbs Hakoah

Marconi Datsun Leopards Leichhardt Strikers Brisbane Gladiators Preston Rams Footscray Eagles Sydney City Slickers

Newcastle KB United

Newcastle KB Raiders

Canberra City

Canberra City Arrows

Blacktown City

Blacktown Demons

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In the words of one fan from 1983 - â&#x20AC;&#x153;the future of the game in this country lies not in it becoming Americanised or Anglicised, but rather in becoming Australian.â&#x20AC;?

It’s an important point. Franchises come and go, but football clubs like Marconi will always survive, no matter the difficulties. As the North American Soccer League came grinding to a halt, in Australia, where many writers had looked favourably towards American initiatives, there was a sudden about face. In late 1983 David Jack commented “does Australian soccer have to be guided by the Yanks?” Similarly, Keith Gilmour, who had championed an Australian “Cosmos” for years, now commented that football needed to be “developed appropriately for the Australian sports market place”, not “Europeanised or Americanised.” Even Johnny Warren warned against Americanisation, reminding fans that the game needed to be “built upon the rock and not upon the sand.” The great experiment was over, and football reverted back to its ethnic image. In 1984, the NSL split into two conferences, creating a 24-team competition. While this may seem a very American concept, it was based, rather, on economic necessity. The competition had lost its major sponsor Phillips Industries, and many clubs simply couldn’t afford to travel such large distances. Instead, “local derbies” were promoted, and new teams were admitted, most importantly Melbourne Croatia and Sydney Croatia. Backed by nationalistic émigrés from the former Yugoslavia, both clubs refused to drop their ethnic monikers. President of Sydney Croatia Tony Basic was blunt: “Without our name, we don’t want any part of the National League.” He got his way. Not long after the Croatian clubs were admitted, other clubs took the opportunity to revert back to ethnic names and European symbolism. In Adelaide, chants of “Hellas” Opposite: Franz Beckenbauer with journalist Andrew Dettre during the Cosmos tour

and “Juve” at games illustrated the stubbornness of football fan base. Names changed back from Raiders, Gunners, Eagles and Strikers to United, Hellas, JUST and APIA. Cheap American labels meant little to the custodians of these proud community clubs. Football was firmly back in the ethnic ghetto. The problem was that these types of de-ethnicisation initiatives were contrary to the spirit of the NSL clubs, who had built traditions around small but loyal migrant communities. In other words, whilst everyone in western Sydney was invited to support Marconi, it was the Italian community that really kept the club going. They were proud of their achievements, and used football both as a vehicle for integration and as a source of pride in their Italian heritage. So when a marketing executive came along wanting to label the club the “Leopards”, it was more than a little insulting. And when the name change brought in no new fans, what was the point of it all? Piecemeal changes like these only kept football trapped between a rock and a hard place. The A-League, not yet ten seasons old, has seemingly resolved these issues by simply locking clubs with any ethnic heritage out of the competition and creating brand new franchises. It’s a very American concept, but it’s working. Some three decades on, the rise and fall of the NASL and its influence on Australian football remains an important reference point for the A-League. With the competition not even ten years old, its future is by no means guaranteed. As was the case in the United States, franchises have come and gone as owners lose considerable amounts of money simply keeping clubs afloat. And while football in Australia has progressed in leaps and bounds since the days of the National Soccer

League, we are still prone to the cultural cringe. There is a sense that football fans need constant validation, usually from abroad. This antipodean attitude has meant that the arrival of marquee players such as Alessandro Del Piero, Shinji Ono and Emile Heskey are strangely regarded as a sign of the league’s maturity. Put simply, we are still unsure of our place in the Australian sporting culture and in the sports marketplace. We can only hope that administrators, fans and commentators remember the mistakes of the past in planning for the future.

Even Johnny Warren warned against Americanisation, reminding fans that the game needed to be “built upon the rock and not upon the sand.” Thin White Line

The Pragmatist and the Purist

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Opposite: Terry Rogers and Peter Evangelista as brothers Charlie and Frank Caruso

Personality clashes. Internal politics. Hazing rituals. These are the things that made Australia great. And these are also the pillars of many amateur sporting clubs. So it was only a matter of time before a movie was made, examining these central themes. Adelaide-based filmmaker Carlo Petracco was the man who did it, with his first feature-length film, Total Football. “Everyone has played at a sporting club where there’s conflict in the change-room,” Carlo said, almost as if he had read the opening paragraphs of this article first. “Sport is so intrinsic in Australian culture. We won a few things, like swimming and tennis way back when, and that started this win-at-all costs attitude that you sometimes find in Australian culture,” he said. But the round ball game has a special internal, almost eternal battle – the battle of the beautiful game against the ugly game; the purist against the pragmatist. “You could characterise it along national boundaries in some way. We stereotype the Brazilians as playing the beautiful game, and the Germans as playing a more pragmatic, defensive game,” Carlo said. Let’s imagine, then, that a lower league amateur team is struggling with this very question: do we want to play beautiful football or win with ugly football? “That’s the big question for the brothers in Total Football. Should the play be beautiful or brutal?” You may have noticed that Carlo has an outrageously Italian name. This is not by accident: his parents migrated

from Italy to Australia. Italy being the birthplace of catenaccio, of course. “In an Italian household, you discover that football is probably more dominant than Catholicism in Italy. Football was our religion. I played until high school, but I’ve followed the game all my life. And even though I wasn’t playing, the love of the game remained within me, so when it came to making the film I found I still had the intrinsic understanding of change-room and club culture. “Growing up there are a lot things you learn about compromises between principle and pragmatism,” Carlo said. It’s hard to make a good sports film. One of the thrills of watching a game is that you don’t know how it will end. There is no standard narrative structure. And while we might hope that the boy gets the girl, or that Willy is freed, or that the movie might end before our parking expires, in sport there are no guaranteed results and, more importantly, there are two groups of supporters hoping for diametrically opposed results. “The lesson is don’t concentrate on the sport, but focus on the human story,” said Carlo, channelling his inner Sam Fuller. “Raging Bull is about the triumph of the human spirit, but the background is a boxing movie. So the secret is to avoid preaching about the sport – just give the viewer the story. You have to focus on the story. It’s harder than it sounds, but don’t preach because viewers don’t like being preached to.” Another big problem in sports movies is the talent, or lack thereof.

“All the actors were auditioned, but luckily enough the lead actor, Charlie, could play a bit. The rest couldn’t play at all, which is why I had to film around that. The cinematographer didn’t know what a throw-in was! So there was a lot of educating that had to be done,” said Carlo, thankful that he didn’t have to explain the offside rule to the cinematographer. “We used actual players for the match scenes. Adelaide United helped with contacts, then we got in contact with MetroStars, Adelaide University soccer team, NAB soccer club – they’re now called Eastern United – and West Beach soccer club. Every soccer club we came across helped us out with players or merchandise,” Carlo said, leaving out the important point that the bigger the cast, the more families who pay to watch the movie. “But a lot of the players in the film were weekend warriors who played in the local amateur leagues. They were like rabbits in the headlights – I had to teach them about the film process. “They were nervous – they could see the cameras… Acting can be a scary process, especially if you’re not a trained actor. I told them, ‘If I say something, just do what I say, and don’t worry because filming is different to playing.’ They did what I said, and they adapted well.” Making a film is a big project. We’re not talking about a photocopied fanzine that you sell for 50c outside football grounds. This is a significant investment of time and money. So what on earth made him do it? “I’ve been making short films for years, and I wanted to make a feature film. For my first film, I wanted to

do something that was close to my heart, something that I knew about and understood,” Carlo explained. The film was self-funded – no major studio, no State Government funding, niente. Which begs the question, why no Government funding for a decent film when the Government is prepared to throw taxpayers’ money at so many bog-awful films? “The Government tends to only fund films that it feels has an issue behind it – a social issue. Issues they can talk about as a government. These can be interesting themes, but if you want to do a love story that doesn’t have some social issue, then there’s something of a dilemma. It’s one of the problems in a country where the Government funds art. A soccer film with a love story in it isn’t really an “issues-based” film, but it’s still a story that Australians want to hear.

“If I’d made a film about wogs fighting against skips and the cultural bias against soccer, then maybe the Government would have come to the party. But in some respects that’s a theme that’s dead now – soccer’s not a game for ‘wogs and poofters’, it’s pretty much mainstream. While we do touch on this issue in the movie, it’s not the central theme.” The film was made in 2009 but had some issues with music rights. This was solved when Carlo discovered that his next-door neighbour – a Liverpool supporter – was in a band called Bezerka and had just released a CD. Carlo also included other Adelaide bands who love the game and were prepared to let Carlo use their music in the film. “I had some footage of the Socceroos playing in the 2006 World Cup, but I took out the FIFA footage

because of licensing issues. It can be a minefield dealing with FIFA – too many legal documents to read!” The pressures of the independent film-maker are different to that of a director working for a major studio, that’s for sure. “Sometimes we might only have everyone all available at the same time for just one hour, so that forces you to shoot a certain way. You have to make the best you can with the resources you have.” There is another project in the pipeline. “I’m working on a love story centred around a mechanic’s workshop – so there’s a car theme. I think it’s an Italian thing, being interested in football and cars…and how to eat good food.” Total Football is now available for streaming online. Visit www. totalfootballfilm.com for the trailer and to stream the film.

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A FOOTBALLERâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S MANIFESTO Play with conviction. Win your tackles and your headers. Protect the ball and make good passes. Take risks often. Creativity can go a long way. You wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know if you can do something until you try it. Confidence can both make and break you. Trust in your ability but know your limitations. Always be one step ahead. Dominate the call. Be in control. Think with your feet and find the space. Be passionate, not precious. Share your experiences, skills and talents with others. Football can change lives. Work hard for yourself and for your team. Never stop moving. Love the game. Have fun. Play your heart out.

Images by Jenny Simmons

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Founded: 2011 Home ground: Petchey Academy, Hackney, London Teams: U12s, U14s, U16s and seniors Colours: Dark blue with light blue trim Hackney Laces was founded in 2011 as a football club for girls aged 12-17, where girls can develop new skills both on and off the pitch. Regardless of their skill level or ambition, Hackney Laces acts a springboard to encourage the girls in other areas. It teaches them the importance of discipline and punctuality. But most of all, it builds their confidence. For more information on the club visit www.hackneylaces.co.uk or follow on twitter @hackneylaces.

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The New Fanzine

Fanzines. Amateurish, photocopied, riddled with spelling errors, but somehow compelling in their day – they were the voice of the supporter. Not so long ago, the only way for a football fan to make his or her voice heard was to try to get on talkback radio, or to start a fanzine. Conventional wisdom has it that football fanzines became blogs. So what can explain the explosion in the number of fan podcasts and vodcasts that have started up in the last year or so? Two main factors are clear: the technology to create podcasts and vodcasts is more available and affordable than ever before, and internet broadband penetration is growing daily. These factors, along with the arrival of platforms such as YouTube and Google Hangouts, have enabled fans to reach out across their

town, their country and even the world to find an audience.

just around talking about football?’” explains Liam.

The quality ranges from organised chaos (complete with dogs barking in the background) through to studio-quality efforts. But what links them all is the enthusiasm of the people behind the microphones and webcams – their love of the game sustains them and gives their broadcasts energy.

“We’d watch Match of the Day and listen to talkSPORT and we knew we had some skills, we just needed the platform. We don’t have the funds for a big professional set-up, so we started out at a community radio station and now we’re doing a weekly live video chat,” says Gavin.

Thin White Line spoke to the people behind some fan podcasts to find out why they do what they do.

Pitch Talk Loquacious Londoners Liam Angell and Gavin Henry used to spend entire lunch hours talking about football. “We thought, ‘Wouldn’t it be great to start our own show

Football opinion is ubiquitous. There are thousands of voices shouting on the radio, there’s opinion and analysis in the newspaper, and innumerable blogs give a platform to football fans across the globe. “If you listen to talkSPORT and places like that, they’ll debate the same issue for three or four hours at a time. So when we were researching podcasts, we looked at how we could stand out and be different.

Opposite: Liam “Straight Shooting LJA” Angell of “Pitch Talk”

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“A lot of the pundits and their views are sanitised, pasteurised, homogenised. They’ve always got some sort of agenda behind it. We always say that our show is just about honest opinion,” says Liam. Pitch Talk has three regular cohosts: Liam, Gavin and Italian football aficionado Gerald Williamson. They are joined every week by regular contributors from the UK and abroad who offer news and opinion on everything from grassroots football through to international tournaments. Liam explains: “We want to give a voice to those who otherwise wouldn’t have a voice.” It’s this desire to give people a voice that led to their series of video interviews, “Pitch Talk Meets”, which have included interviews with coaches, documentary makers and the chairman of an amateur football club. “This is part of trying to make ourselves unique, but just the same it’s all for the love right now, because we’re not sponsored, we’re not getting paid, it’s all coming out of our own pocket,” says Liam. The Pitch Talk blog complements the show, as Liam explains: “It allows us to elaborate on an opinion we’ve had on the show that we might not have had time to discuss in depth while we were on air. A couple of our regular contributors blog on there as well – they might write about their local team or their league. It’s a way to get everyone involved.” The involvement and interaction between the hosts and the regular listeners is warm and genuine. It’s

like a community under the Pitch Talk banner. “We do it for the love of it,” says Liam, “It’s for the love of the game and the love of hosting the show. I loved meeting people like Paul Canoville, Chelsea’s first black player, and Rachel Yankey, who plays for England. Meeting and rubbing shoulders with different people is really rewarding. But at the end of the day, it’s great to be able to say I co-host a football talk show with two of my friends.”

Four At The Back Four At The Back is part of the new wave of Australian podcasts that have sprung up in the last twelve months. Founders Dale Roots and Thom Kelly can trace the genesis of their podcast back to a meeting in a pub in Sydney. “Four At The Back all started a few years ago when I joined an online forum. Through that I met up with Thom Kelly and a few other A-League supporters at a pub before a Sydney FC game one weekend. Meeting at the pub for a few beers became a regular thing, and a month or so later Thom and I had the idea to start a blog focusing on football and design,” says Dale. Thom, a design student and Dale, a journalism student, threw a few ideas around and eventually settled on a podcast. “Our first podcast was for the 2012 Euros. We had a bit of a break after the Euros, then we did an A-League season preview and things just kicked on from there. We originally had ideas to record it at a studio at uni, but then we saw what we could do on Google+ so we went with that,” says Dale.

Joining Dale and Thom on the podcast are Ben Clark and Scott Boyton. “Ben had earned a reputation as a bit of a troll king on some of the forums. He has a dry sense of humour that not everyone gets. But he’s never afraid to say it how he sees it – if he sees something wrong then he’ll say it,” explains Dale. Scott has a degree in sports marketing and is Four At The Back’s go-to guy for betting. The podcast focuses on the A-League and the Socceroos. “For a while we covered other leagues – English Premier League, La Liga, the Bundesliga – but people got bored. They only wanted to listen to the A-League part of the podcast. Most of the feedback from A-League supporters has been positive. Most of them seem to be glad that there are people putting their views out there.” The podcast market is exploding, according to Dale. “This year podcasting has just gone mad. There are podcasts starting up all over the place. We get a lot of people hassling us for the next podcast, wanting to hear our views. “People have told us that they want a more regular podcast – and some people want us to clean it up a bit! We can be borderline offensive, but I think that’s something that you expect from people our age who are interested in the game. We don’t set out to be offensive, but to keep it clean-cut and limited to analysis would just bore the listeners,” says Dale. Four At The Back certainly isn’t short of opinion, but there aren’t

Above: Gavin “Da G-Man” Henry and the “Pitch Talk” set-up

really that many naughty words in their podcasts. “People want to read about what they don’t watch on TV – and that’s probably true about podcasts too. 95% of what people want to read in the newspaper isn’t what they see in the match,” says Dale, “It’s more about the culture of the game, the kits, the fans, things that happen at the game but not the game itself. The podcast is just an extension of going to the pub. It’s off-the-cuff banter; what you’re listening to is four twenty-something guys just having a chat.”

Round the Bloc Western Sydney Wanderers fan podcast Round the Bloc also started life in fan forums and finished the last A-League season by winning the FFDU Podcast Award. “We saw that fans from other clubs had done podcasts, so we figured we’d get on top of it and make something that featured the voices of the fans who had been there right from the start – something that represented the fans in the stands,” says co-founder Josh

Shepard. Josh is joined by cohosts Brendan Kennedy, Stephen Decoco, Michael Turner and their Spanish correspondent, Iván Alejandro Amaro Wirgman. The podcast had humble beginnings. “In the first few episodes we were using an iPhone 4 to record and then editing in Garage Band! After that we bought ourselves some proper recording equipment.” Round the Bloc is recorded at Brendan’s house, in his lair (also known as the Jar Cave). By

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season’s end, an illustrious list of players had sat on his couch. “Three or four episodes in we had Sarah Walsh and Servet Uzunlar on the show, and soon after that we had Jarod Tyson, then other players came on the show as well. Over time, it was strange to have these players coming to the Jar Cave.” The podcast team has tackled fan issues head-on. “Last season we had some issues with flares, so we discussed that at length. We also discussed [former WSW striker] Dino Kresinger being booed off.” The crew ventured outside of the Jar Cave as well last season, and there will be more live recordings during their second season. “We did some live recording at games such as the Sydney derby last season, talking to fans, how they feel about the match – there’s a lot of excitement, a lot of emotion. And it really captures the moment so that people can listen to it later on and relive the moment, no matter where they are, at work, on the train, doing the dishes, whatever, just keeping the passion going through the week.”

Neverkusen The Neverkusen podcast is the English-language podcast about Bayer Leverkusen. Patrick Hohn was blogging in English and Spanish about Bayer Leverkusen, and through the blog he met Eric, and together they decided to create a podcast. “We were spending a lot of time blogging and we thought a weekly podcast would be more effective. You don’t need to check grammar and write

Opposite: Bozza from the Heart Cast at a live event

perfect articles, you just need to organise people to take part regularly via Skype,” says Patrick. The weekly podcast has an international flavour, with Patrick based in Singapore, Eric in LA and Tom and Freda in Germany. “The recording is a challenge at times because we live in different time zones. There’s 15 hours difference to California, and 6 hours to Germany. We have a set time on Sundays which is late afternoon for Germany, evening for me, but early morning for Eric,” says Patrick. “We have a good chemistry, so for us it’s about getting people involved, bringing on different guests and expressing their point of view so that listeners don’t always have to listen to our point of view. The same people expressing the same opinions all the time becomes boring, especially if a fixed opinion is expressed over and over. The listeners want a different point of view so that those other views can be discussed.” The Leverkusen official ground announcer and a local journalist who covers Leverkusen have been guests on the Neverkusen podcast. “Now we are trying to get some more people on who are closer to the club. We can be critical of the club, and the club would like to show a clean image, so that’s difficult at times.” Part of the idea of the podcast was to attract foreign supporters to the club. “We know that that’s happened, because there are now people who have moved to Germany, but spoke English, got hooked on our podcast and became Leverkusen supporters. These supporters send us emails, telling us about their visits to the stadium,” says Patrick.

“The economic cost to keep this podcast running is tiny – the cost of a good beer each! But that’s fine, we have our fun and that’s enough.”

Heart Cast From the bedroom to the studio. It could be the story of many a Hollywood starlet, but in this case we’re talking about Melbourne Heart supporter podcast, the Heart Cast. Co-host Bozza (possibly not his real name) has been part of the show for three years. “The first season was done in someone’s bedroom, but then from the second season we wanted it to be a bit more professional and have player interviews. We got in contact with La Trobe University through Melbourne Heart, and they give us access in a trade for letting a student come in and help with the recording,” says Bozza. Some football clubs (and leagues, for that matter) have a history of trying to control the media, especially fan media. The Heart Cast name is owned by the Melbourne Heart Supporters Association, which is completely separate from the club. “We’d like to get the club involved more – the club’s keen to get involved and get players on the show, and the staff at the club are keen to get on the show. We’re trying to build through a podcast a better link between the club and the fans that support it,” says Bozza. The future of the Heart Cast may lie outside the La Trobe Uni recording studio. “Eventually we’d like to be live, perhaps even on community radio. We don’t want to be a recorded show any more, we want to stream live so that it becomes more entertaining.”

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Heart of Hajduk By Ante Jukic

Zagreb in July and August isn’t the liveliest of places. While Croatia’s biggest rivals Dinamo Zagreb and Hajduk Split contested the Croatian Superkup, carloads of locals were instead filing down to the Dalmatian coast, to mark the start of summer holidays. Despite the country’s biggest rivalry – and one of the more visible representations of the north-south economic divide – marking the start of the football calendar, it mirrored with some irony the general indifference towards club football up north in the Adriatic state. Although travelling away fans are herded to the Southern stand of Zagreb’s Stadion Maksimir, there remains a heavy police presence as I make my way to the Eastern stand on game day. While catching up with a friend who lives in Zagreb, sitting on the East or “Istok” also gave me an opportunity to simply watch Hajduk’s supporter group, Torcida, detached from the pandemonium in the thick of it in the Southern end. On the back of vast experience living in Melbourne, the balmy and

overcast weather throughout the day suggested rain, and while getting thoroughly searched for flares and other unsavoury items upon entry, riot police had a slight chuckle at the tourist for bringing a jacket.

Mamic’s seemingly omnipresent influence has created that big a gulf between his fiefdom and the rest of the league that Dinamo winning the title is a foregone conclusion each season.

The Superkup hadn’t been contested since 2010, as Dinamo had secured the double the two years prior. The anticipation that usually accompanies these types of fixtures instead bore another example of indifference: an empty Northern end.

It’s now come to the point where Lokomotiva Zagreb, although on legal grounds a separate club and entity, effectively acts as Dinamo’s reserve team and qualifies for European competition.

While the 35,000-seat Maksimir is packed for Champions League fixtures, Dinamo’s average attendance for the 2012-13 hrvatska nogometna liga (HNL) season was under 3,000. Embarrassing for a side that has won the league title every year since 2006, and if not for a packed Southern end, the Superkup would have been no different. The Bad Blue Boys, Dinamo’s supporter group, continued their boycott and were gathered sparsely along the Eastern stand, with the majority of sporadic chanting directed at Dinamo President Zdravko Mamic.

In other words, think if either Barcelona B or Real Madrid Castilla was legally allowed to play in La Liga, and stockpiled the majority of the country’s best young talent to finish second. As touched on in Jonathan Wilson’s Behind the Curtain, the majority of teams in Croatia’s national league suffer financially due to the fact the league itself garners little interest. Juxtaposing the Yugoslav First Division’s laws keeping its players in the local league until the age of 28, the vast majority of Prva HNL clubs have struggled to come to terms with the free market and football post-Bosman, creating an inability to keep its stars from heading for bigger contracts abroad.

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Also, the uncompetitive consequences of Mamic’s growing empire equate to low attendances and TV ratings. Hajduk, despite this alleged corruption and the despair which usually engulfs the end of each season for its fans, maintains the highest average attendance in the HNL. The opening whistle precipitated a collective roar for 90 minutes from the Southern end, with Torcida’s deafening noise only stopping for boos when former Hajduk striker Duje Čop touched the ball. Čop’s well-worked opener for Dinamo in the 34th minute, after a delicate pass from new Algerian signing Hillal Soudani, did not seem to stifle the travelling support. While putting on my jacket and having a cynical chuckle to myself in response to the riot police at entry, Torcida only grew louder and more boisterous as the heavens opened, providing a proper spectacle compared to the anaemia on the pitch. Flags, scarves, drums, streamers and banners were soon joined by discarded shirts while the downpour persisted, and as some Dinamo fans made way for shelter, a cacophonous chorus of “Purgerske pićke” (meaning Pussies from Zagreb, with a Purger being a old Croatian synonym for a gentleman who lived inside Zagreb city walls) reverberated from the South. Such was the bombast of Torcida’s relentless noise, even some home fans in the Eastern stand soon forgot a match was on and watched the show behind the goal.

Justifying continued use of the old cliché, the young Hajduk side, managed by former captain Igor Tudor, wrestled control of general play in the second half on the back of the 12th man. Just as I thought “Torca” couldn’t get any louder, the young Hajdukovci led by teenage graduates from the academy in Tomislav Kiš and Mario Pašalić, equalised through Mijo Caktaš in the 76th. The bedlam that preceded paled in comparison, as the chant of “Volin te Hajduče” or I love you Hajduk, in Dalmatian dialect, thundered from behind the goals almost until the end of regular play – arms, scarves and shirts hoisted to the skies in ecstasy. An insight into Croatian football and its fans, is by extension a look into the socio and geo-economic divide, and in a land where unemployment is one of the highest in Europe at 21.6%, football is the one source of escape. In Croatia, a nation whose incumbent prime minister during the GFC’s zenith was later sentenced to ten years imprisonment for corruption and embezzlement of funds, football mirrors most facets of everyday life there. The economic bias towards Zagreb seems only represented by the murky waters surrounding Dinamo’s growing interdependence with the Croatian Football Federation, and like most issues of concern to the Croatian people, the problems in football can be traced back to cronyism in the capital according to the general public. The financial struggles that burden most Croatian clubs do not trouble Dinamo, whose youth academy has continued to churn out players

Flags, scarves, drums, streamers and banners were soon joined by discarded shirts while the downpour persisted, and as some Dinamo fans made way for shelter, a cacophonous chorus of “Purgerske pićke” (meaning Pussies from Zagreb) rang out.

reminiscent of a factory line, with players like Luka Modrić, Eduardo Da Silva, Mario Mandžukić and most recently Mateo Kovačić, all making their way up the ranks.

insightful work has been found in The Guardian and 11 Freunde, believes a rivalry remains despite all this and Torcida is at the forefront of Hajduk remaining at all relevant.

The multi-million dollar sales of players no doubt helps bolster their finances, but local reports suggest a lack of transparency masks substantial funding from Zagreb City Council and Mamić’s financial influence. Meanwhile other clubs in the area such as NK Zagreb and Hrvatski Dragovoljac flirt with bankruptcy.

“It was always a rivalry, but now I believe it means more to Hajduk fans, because they are the contrast to the wealth and prosperity that Dinamo represents,” he said.

Albeit on penalties, Dinamo took their first domestic trophy for the year as expected, but the story in the next day’s sports dailies centred on Hajduk’s band of kids and their fanatical supporters. Given the club’s and game’s state, and with the title race a foregone conclusion even at the start of the season, small victories are savoured however they come. While the club remains on the brink of financial collapse, Torcida’s influence in Hajduk’s departure from near-tyrannical ownership is not to be understated, with the group prominent in Hajduk becoming a public entity to promote full transparency. Torcida was also instrumental in creating a statute of ownership in January 2011, lobbying for rules on internal organisation, as well as the formal definition of Hajduk’s fundamental values, with prescribed sanctions for their violation, in an attempt for the club’s ownership to subsequently adhere to sporting, business and social obligations. Aleksandar Holiga, a Croatian football writer whose brilliant and

“Torcida is actually the only thing that is keeping Hajduk a big club. Its fans, its passion, and its numbers, and any possible investor will have to listen to the voice of the people.” Meeting for a chat near Zagreb’s central boulevard on Ljudevit Gaj Avenue, Holiga maintains Torcida’s support stands alone in these parts, and this is only exemplified by Hajduk’s troubles at administrative level. “The hardest thing is to look yourself in the mirror, but others have failed to realise how far they have fallen behind. “If anything, the positive thing is that Torcida began to help choose people at the club to administer positive things for the club through Naš Hajduk (a group of shareholders who found its beginnings through Torcida) and eradicate nepotism.” Nowadays, a traditionally big club in Hajduk now needs to make do with developing and selling local talent in order to survive, with the bulk of the starting eleven being sub-21 year olds from the club’s academy. In October last year Torcida’s influence was most prevalent. After a loan guarantee from Split City Council to save the club from liquidation was declined, thousands of Torcida protested daily on the

steps of the Council offices to influence a new round of talks, with the Council eventually wilting and keeping Hajduk afloat. Outside of clubs from Zagreb, only Hajduk, Rijeka and Osijek garnered any sort of prominence in the Yugoslav First League and as a consequence of their geographical location, they each attracted the support of their respective regions. Travel down to the Dalmatian coast during the summer, and you will see two things covering walls on the streets: bills for music festivals and vast murals professing love for Hajduk. For those who didn’t see the club’s 100th anniversary celebrations and can’t confirm, from Split all the way down to Dubrovnik, Hajduk is a way of life for people who have little, and its extinction would be similar to the loss of a family member. On the shores of the Adriatic, Split is a captivating place whichever the season, with the remnants of Diocletian’s palace that make up the city’s centre and locals’ personality always providing a distinct charm. It wasn’t even a match day when I finally arrived, and walking down from the promenade of Ulica Marmontova, just off the riviera, to Hajduk’s Poljud stadium, the symbolism of the club’s white jerseys is ever present. While the Poljud was built in conjunction with Split’s hosting of the 1979 Mediterranean Games, Torcida’s headquarters lie next to the club’s spiritual home, the Stari Plac, or Old Place, which now counts the city’s local rugby club as a tenant. Influenced by the vibrancy and colour of the home nation’s support at the 1950 World Cup in

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Brazil, which also explains whence Torcida’s name originated, local students in Split sought to provide support for Hajduk in a similar manner while the club came up against its then biggest rival, Red Star Belgrade.

The first match of the season saw Hajduk travel away to Zadar, and an example of the Dalmatian region’s love for the club was found in the civil atmosphere between Torcida and Tornado, Zadar’s supporters group.

interdependence of club and fans: “Hajduk, koliko volin ja tvoje pobjede. Ma, igraj muški i kad ti ne ide. Hajduk, bez tebe moj je život nesretan, jer ja živim za samo jedan san. Hajduk, jer mom životu smisao si ti, uz tebe vječno su tvoji Splićani.”

Božo Broketa scored the winner in the 86th minute to secure a 2-1 victory for Hajduk, as the Majstori s mora, or Masters from the Sea, went undefeated to capture the Yugoslav league title that year.

On a match-day in Zagreb or Rijeka for example, Torcida members or Torcidaši would not be able to walk as freely around the city, but as I made my way to Zadar’s Stanovi stadium with two friends of mine from Australia within a larger group of supporters, the atmosphere was rather jovial. I came across fans from Vienna, Frankfurt, Zurich and Stockholm, fellow members of the Croatian diaspora.

For those seeking a translation: “Hajduk, how much I love your victories. Be brave when it even isn’t going your way. Hajduk, without you my life is miserable, for I only live for one dream. Hajduk, because you give my life meaning, your people from Split are forever behind you.”

Torcida’s support however would extend to more than that, and the ugliest strands of such fervour were manifested in Hajduk’s encounter with Sarajevo in October 1961, when referee Aleksandar Škorić was attacked by fans, after what they believed had been an unjustly disallowed goal. Violence brewed to the point where even public utterance of the name Torcida was outlawed, but fans would still gather on the Eastern stand of the Stari Plac to provide a more South American atmosphere to European football, with organised choreography and chanting. Nationalist awakenings soon grew to provide another meaning in support for Hajduk during what is now known as the Croatian spring, as students from Split protested against the Yugoslav government for greater rights for Croatians within the Communist regime. By 1974, a federal constitution was ratified in order to provide states within the Yugoslav federation with greater autonomy, but the red and white checks of the Croatian coat of arms would soon ironically join the litany of white flags at Hajduk matches, as fans defiantly replaced the red star in the club’s emblem.

While one of my friends is of Scottish ancestry, with only minimal knowledge of Torcida through what Youtube provides, he was awe-struck by the level of support. For him it may have been a throwaway comment after the match, but it seemed to stick with me when he said, “You Dalmo c…s don’t stop. You’re mental for 90 minutes and then walk out of the place like it happens every day.” With unremitting support behind them, Hajduk got their league campaign off to the perfect start in the sweltering evening heat, demolishing Zadar 5-1. My voice didn’t fare quite so well amidst the travelling support, which took up the majority of the stadium, with away fans filling half of the main stand added to the one behind the goals. One chant, which carried on for what seemed the entire first half, seemed to sum it all up for me, from the status of the club to the

At the moment, one could say things aren’t going Hajduk’s way in a financial sense, and the first lines of that chant sung to a team whose majority of players are from the Southern region and under 21 years of age, because the club can’t afford anyone else, were poignant. Kiš was again prominent, bagging a double by the 35th minute mark, as the 18-year-old Pašalić pulled the strings in midfield. Goran Jozinović, captain for the day while another youth product in Franko Andrijašević missed through injury, garnered vociferous applause as he marauded tirelessly down the right wing, while 20-year-old Marko Bencun capped off a fine performance with Hajduk’s fifth, a stunning drive into the net from 30 metres. After the game at Dišpet, one of Zadar’s main watering holes in the old town, a number of Torcidaši had gathered. While a number of more senior fans are reticent to talk to the media due to what Torcida believes, justly or unjustly, to be a proliferation of Dinamo-bias through the local sports

“I can’t think of another club in Europe where the whole city breathes for one club, probably only Barcelona. If Barack Obama or the Queen came to Split and said something negative about Hajduk, they’d get theirs.”

dailies, a few were happy to talk about the number of youth products in the starting eleven. Voices intact, they’ve had some practice I figured, while I had the mickey taken out of me for the next week. “Hajduk will always be dear to me, no matter who is in the starting eleven, but when you see guys like Kiš, Pašalić, Bencun and Jozo (Jozinović) playing, that personally makes me feel much warmer inside, because they’re part of us and they feel for the club just as we do,” one fan, named Mario, said. It was only early in the evening, so I couldn’t solely attribute the sentiment to alcohol, but when on the topic, around the circle eyes lit up in conversation. A friend of his chimed in, “They’re Naša dica (our kids), and if they weren’t playing on the pitch, they’d be giving their all for Hajduk with us behind the goals. “I can’t think of another club in Europe where the whole city breathes for one club, probably only Barcelona. If Barack Obama or the Queen came to Split and said something negative about Hajduk, they’d get theirs.” Apart from the match, the main topic of conversation was how everyone was getting to

Macedonia in a fortnight’s time, as Hajduk looked to progress to the group stages of the Europa League against Turnovo. Nearly everyone had a combi arranged and my other friend from Australia, Tomislav, was to make the trip with his cousin and a number of Torcidaši from the island of Vis, where his parents are from. “My father went to games in ExYuga and always had that love for Hajduk, but he never forced me into that side of it. I couldn’t help but be dragged into it when I watched them play Dinamo for the first time, and I came to realise the whole of Dalmatia lives and breathes for Hajduk,” he said, while we travelled back to Split that night. The next morning I receive an e-mail from my brother simply titled “Naughty, naughty”.

to Australia was the day after Hajduk’s match in Skopje. Even to qualify for European competition is now considered a remarkable achievement while Eastern Europe feels the effect of G-14 influenced tournament structure, with the club only appearing in the group stage of the Europa League twice in the past decade. This, according to some fans, only comes to solidify the bond that exists between the club and its fans, in a time of great financial burden for the club and the Dalmatian region in general. “Hajduk doesn’t play in Europe that often anymore, but in recent years when Vukušić scored the winner against Anderlecht in Split, or when we beat Inter in Milan, behind the goals it was a ludnica (madhouse). You can’t beat it.”

Knowing he’s not the type to send those sorts of messages, I was still surprised to see he’d got his hands on a photo, capturing our mugs in the height of bedlam from the night before, as flare smoke puffed in the background.

“There isn’t one city, town or village here where you won’t see artwork of Hajduk against a wall and as they say, Hajduk je ljubav a ne đir (Hajduk is love, not what’s in fashion).”

Tom knew of Hajduk at an early age, but rarely had the chance to travel and watch them.

That love isn’t always the rosiest, as former Hajduk captain and Socceroo Josip Skoko can attest, attributing the best and worst times of his career to those in Split.

This year he was to make the most of the opportunity that presented, while my flight back

“When I first got there, there was always something, with

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respect to not being paid or not playing. I had to learn quickly, but everyone in Split lives for the club, and it makes those hard times a bit easier,” Skoko said. In so many words, Skoko went as far as saying match fixing ruined their chance of winning the title during his second stint there, but unfortunately for the players it was something that not everyone in Split could grasp. “I know from my time there, there were incidents where fans’ passion would go overboard. Split is a small city and they’d come up to you in the street, and they’d always expect you to win.” “The last two years I was there, our squad was probably ten points better than Dinamo had it been on a level playing field. It was hard when we didn’t win or we weren’t getting paid, but nowadays they’re more realistic and understand the nature of Croatian football.” During his time in Split, Skoko had also won the fan-appointed award of Hajdučko Srce, or Heart of Hajduk, which goes to the player Torcida believes best embodies the spirit of Hajduk. “It was a massive honour, and people in Split aren’t stupid. They know their football and they respect you if you give your all. They recognise that, but when I won Hajdučko Srce it was only my second year and I never was able to really grasp it until I came back.” The first leg against Turnovo was to be played behind closed doors, after UEFA imposed a ban on home fans, for lighting flares in Milan from Hajduk’s last match in Europe. Torcida aren’t the first or last whose penchant for pyrotechnics have landed their club in hot water, but the group’s dislike for authority

can be nevertheless seen at every game, with a “Torcida, uz navijače sa zabranom” (Torcida supports banned fans) sign displayed next to their main banner. The empty stands, however, made for an even sorrier sight than what the Poljud already is currently. Years of neglect have turned the once clear roofs at the Poljud a dusty brown, and facilities aside from the newly refurbished VIP area, have seen little or no work. As if to say the tourism industry was all that mattered, the once hallowed pitch itself was in abysmal condition, after the mesh which covered it the week before from a major electronic music festival failed to retain any moisture. An empty stadium such as the Poljud is an eerie prospect, but even more so when work to deconstruct the stage from the festival continued during the match. Torcida managed to buy tickets, despite the stadium not being open to fans, so that the club was able to profit from what is usually one of the bigger money-spinners throughout the year. Given the rarity of Hajduk’s appearances in Europe, Torcida usually saves its best for them, with their most memorable choreographies and moments coming during those matches. While many consider Celtic’s Parkhead to have a special aura on European nights, it doesn’t compare to the Poljud. With its open structure, reminiscent of a seashell, the stadium takes on the form of a bulging mass of

energy on these evenings, where the home fans’ support will not stop, regardless of the result. Although I was able to go to their home fixture against Croatia’s nouveau-riche in Rijeka, buoyed by Italian owner Gabriele Volpi, I wasn’t to have my dream European match-day experience. Alas, I couldn’t sing the chorus to Tutti Frutti’s “Dalmacijo” - an ode to Dalmatia that evolved into an anthem for Hajduk and plays at the stadium before each match – at the top of my lungs once the music stopped blaring from the PA. In retrospect, I found something better as I along with most of the city, made my way to the local handball courts, where Torcida had organised a big screen with the help of the club. Thousands made their way to the courts and those in attendance sung Dalmacijo and a host of other Hajduk hymns, as the Majstori s mora collected the win, but I was nevertheless able to appreciate one aspect that makes up the very essence of football and why we love it: identity. Camus’ quote about football and what he learnt from it has always lingered in my thoughts, but the manifestation of identity through support of one’s club was solidified in them, among the faces young and old. Fathers and sons, youths without jobs, women who love the club as much as the men accompanying them - all there without any hesitation. Because to have a club to cherish that truly represents its people, in spite of everything that has gone wrong on and off the pitch, is something to savour.

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Socceroos in Melbourne Words by David Mcgaw and Ian Kerr Photos by Tom Griffiths

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Tram number 35 rattled over the William St intersection and down La Trobe St. Flagstaff Gardens were dark. Aboard the tram were suitwearing corporate types, repairing to their Docklands apartment for a well-earned snifter, no doubt. A handful of tourists sat in one corner, city maps spread on their laps, glancing at the city facades, listening for the announcement of their stop. The rest of the passengers on Melbourne’s free tourist tram were bound for Docklands Stadium and had allegiances to either Jordan or the Socceroos. The dramatic 1-1 draw in Japan a week earlier had energised locals, who until that point had shown little interest in the World Cup Qualifier against Jordan. Australia’s campaign for Brazil 2014 was in the doldrums. Tickets for the game were easy to come by. Inside the stadium, a hot pasty proved to be elusive – stadium management once again failing to stock enough pasties, focusing instead on pies and unappealing, overpriced battered fish. The crowd was a healthy enough size: 43,785. Not bad for a cold winter night in Melbourne in a stadium with a capacity of just over 56,000. There was uncertainty in the stands. While the draw with Japan had boosted qualifying hopes, the memory of dismal showings against Oman and Jordan had not faded. That anxiety was eased early in the game when Bresciano scored

for Australia – his net-munching celebration reminiscent of Rashid Yekeni after scoring for Nigeria in USA 94. In the second half, when the result was safe, the crowd fell into old habits and staged a Mexican wave. The final score of 4-0 put Australia within touching distance of qualification for the 2014 World Cup Finals. This was the fifth time that the Socceroos had graced the Docklands neighbourhood (aside from nightclub appearances). In all, the national team has played at Docklands five times for three victories, one draw and one loss, scoring eight goals and conceding only one. Australia has not conceded a goal at Docklands for over nine years and has won comfortably both times the stadium staged World Cup qualifiers. The stadium sits by the Yarra River and overlooks the old Victoria Dock. Opening in 2000, Victoria Stadium became Colonial Stadium and then the Telstra Dome (named after the national phone company, and notorious for terrible mobile phone coverage). In 2004 the first international football match at the venue saw the sublime skills of Hakan Sukur lift the Turks to a 1-0 victory in front of 28,953 fans – a match also notable for the way the Turkish fans sat wherever they wanted, making a mockery of pre-booked reserved seats and the Docklands security staff.

The Socceroos returned four years later as recent inductees to the Asian Football Confederation to play a World Cup qualifier against Qatar on 6 February 2008 in front of a heaving 50,969 supporters. Australia won 3-0 in coach Pim Verbeek’s first international on home soil. The arena was renamed Etihad Stadium by the time Australia met Oman in an Asian Cup qualifier on 14 October 2009, where a Tim Cahill winner appeased the crowd of 20,595. Well, most of the crowd. The Omanis probably weren’t too pleased. Two years later Australia hosted Serbia and they treated the crowd of 28,419 to a drab 0-0 draw. Melbourne and the Socceroos have a long-standing relationship. Australia’s most European city (well, after Burnie and Geelong, of course) contains suburbs of tree-lined avenues, elegant retail space, aromatic cafes, less aromatic alleyways, manicured parks and gardens, moderately efficient public transport and a sense of order. It’s a city that prides itself on being the world’s sporting capital: it hosts a Grand Slam tournament, a Formula 1 Grand Prix, an overblown horse racing carnival and is home to one of the world’s great sporting stadiums. And it was a World Cup Qualifier at that stadium – the Melbourne Cricket Ground – that almost ruined the Socceroos’ relationship with Melbourne forever. The quadrennial cycle of World Cup qualification began in 1965, yet

it was eight years later before the Socceroos first played in the Victorian capital with anything meaningful on the line. A 0-0 draw at Olympic Park in front of 10,684 fans against Iraq saw Australia make steady progress towards that historic maiden berth at Germany 74. Four years later, 17,000 came to Olympic Park, yet the Socceroos were unable to rise to the occasion and stumbled 0-1 to Iran who eventually went on to Argentina 78 and their own maiden appearance at a World Cup. The ill-fated 1981 campaign which saw New Zealand venture to Spain

82 at least gave Victorians some joy. Melbourne witnessed multiple World Cup qualifying victories with a gritty 2-0 success over Indonesia and a 10-0 demolition of hapless Fiji. This match included a notable sevengoal haul from Gary Cole inside 40 minutes. Qualification for Spain though was already derailed and only 13,000 witnessed the two matches combined; a pitiful 3500 attended the Fiji thrashing at Olympic Park. At this moment in history, World Cup qualifying matches in Melbourne bore little resemblance to anything noteworthy, but this changed

abruptly and permanently with the spirited 1985 qualifying series and national coach Frank Arok whipping the Australian football public into a frenzy to pack the terraces for two huge matches. After a mighty victory in Tel Aviv, the Socceroos returned to Olympic Park and were greeted by 27,000 fans. The 1-1 draw with Israel left the hollow atmosphere of previous Melbourne matches consigned to the past. After conquering Oceania and Asia, FIFA gave the Socceroos one more mountain to climb and the visit of Scotland in December 1985 saw an unofficial attendance of 30,000 cram

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into Olympic Park. The official attendance is still unknown and Melbourne had never experienced a game like this one. The explosive atmosphere was exacerbated by brawling fans on the terraces as the ultras of South Melbourne Hellas, Heidelberg United and other local teams refused to give up their ground to the kiltwearing hordes of the famous tartan army. Flares were unleashed onto the athletics track and the Socceroos received incredibly passionate support. Despite this, Scotland survived immense pressure for 90 minutes, escaped with a 0-0 result, and gladly received a ticket to Mexico 86. There would be no more monumental qualifiers in Melbourne for another 12 years. No matches during the Italia 90 campaign were set for the southern capital. In 1993 a comfortable 3-0 win over New Zealand became memorable only for being the last World Cup qualifier to be played at Olympic Park as Australia chartered a course towards Argentina and inter-continental playoff heartbreak in the USA 94 qualifying series. 1997 promised to be Australiaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s finest hour and a ticket to France 98 was almost guaranteed. After disposing of Oceania opposition, the playoff against Iran loomed as the most important 180 minutes of football in 24 years. A credible 1-1 away result in Tehran saw the Socceroos return to Melbourne for what would be a night no one would ever forget.

The Socceroos were the hottest ticket in town and packed the Melbourne Cricket Ground. The deafening roar of 85,022 nervous fans including around 5000 Persians was unforgettable. The match though was bipolar, lurching from cathartic celebrations as Australia lead 2-0 to catastrophic and gut wrenching silence as the match ended 2-2 and Iran went to the World Cup. It is unjust to judge Melbourne on this night alone, yet many will never forget where they were that horrible night or that the MCG was a place of such immeasurable pain. Melbourne hosted another massive qualifier in 2001 and Australia won 1-0 against Uruguay in front of another cauldron of 84,656 at the MCG. The match went some way to cleansing the memory of the events of four years earlier, but the Australian qualifying campaign ultimately failed in Montevideo. Nonetheless, the days of Australia playing in front of a few thousand against Fiji were a memory. The Victorian capital did not host any matches as Australia ended its 32-year drought and headed for Germany 2006, yet the two most recent campaigns have seen Qatar visit in 2008 and another blockbuster against Japan some fifteen months later in June 2009 when over 74,000 jubilant fans saw the Socceroos come from behind and defeat the Blue Samurai 2-1 on the way to South Africa 2010. Saudi Arabia visited Melbourne and it was AAMI Park that hosted its first qualifier where over

24,000 created an atmosphere that lifted Australia to a 4-2 victory and consigned the Saudis to elimination. This year Jordan became the twelfth different national team in forty years to visit Melbourne for World Cup duty. The Iran game of 1997 tarnishes a pleasing set of statistics: Australia has played 13 qualifiers in Melbourne for eight victories, four draws and just one loss way back in 1977 to Iran. Along the way, the Socceroos have scored 32 goals to just seven conceded, keeping eight clean sheets. Melbourne is overall a very happy hunting ground for the Socceroos. Just donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t mention 1997.

The Socceroos were the hottest ticket in town and packed the Melbourne Cricket Ground. The deafening roar of 85,022 nervous fans including around 5000 Persians was unforgettable.

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Should I Stay or Should I Go? By Kieran Pender

For most young Australian players, the dream move to a glamorous European club is the ultimate goal. Leaving behind family and friends at 16 to chase the dream is not always easy, and for every footballer who succeeds many more fail to adapt to a new country, language or culture. The rise of the Australian domestic league gives young players an option. Current and former players and their agents discuss the challenges that face our next generation and ask, echoing The Clash, should they stay or should they go?

CoeLine in training63 at PSV Thin Nathan White

One young Australian footballer who knows all about the trials and tribulations of an early move overseas is Millwall defender Shane Lowry. The Perth-born 24-year-old moved from ECU Joondalup to Premier League side Aston Villa when he was barely a teenager, and spent seven years at the club. When asked if he struggled to adapt to the move Lowry is bluntly honest, and does not try to sugar-coat a difficult transition. “Yeah I did…it took me a good six months to a year to actually settle in properly,’ says Lowry. “I came over when I was 15 by myself, left all my family and my mates and all that. I was homesick at the start, it was really hard. But everyone at Aston Villa made me feel welcome, they did their best. I had family in Ireland and Villa always let me fly over to visit them whenever I felt a bit homesick, and that helped. “Ultimately, when you do move over to a new country at such a young age, some people can hack it and some can’t. Sometimes

you’ve just got to get on with it,” the defender adds. Lowry’s transition was helped by moving to Villa at the same time as fellow Australian Chris Herd. The attacking midfielder is still at the Midlands club. “Shane and I came over together, and obviously it was hard; we were by ourselves without our family. But it was good to have someone here with me, and we’ve been best mates ever since. At the start it was a bit difficult, but obviously it has got better as we got older.” Herd continues: “[Aston Villa] were always asking us if we were all ok, and the host family was really nice. The club gave us everything we needed to settle in.” Herd suggests that the growth of the A-League provides an alternative pathway for those less suited to move while so young. “Obviously I chose to come over here early, but the league’s changing and it’s getting better. Staying in Australia and playing a

few seasons can benefit the player, as can coming over to Europe. I think it’s up to the individual, whether they can cope with coming over at a young age, or if they need to stay home a bit longer.” Herd and Lowry have not been the only young players to find the transition easier with the help of a friend. Melbourne Victory goalkeeper Nathan Coe recalls experiencing a similar situation in Italy. After impressing at the U17 World Cup in 2001, Coe secured a move to Inter Milan and was lucky enough to join the club with another Australian. “Carl Valeri was there at the time so that made it much easier, and I’d played with Carl at the AIS [Australian Institute of Sport] and also with the U17s,” Coe explains. “I couldn’t speak any Italian so it was difficult, and Italy is a place where it is quite hard for foreigners to go straight away, so having him there made it so much easier. “We got along well and he helped me out so much because he could speak Italian. It was a huge help

“Obviously I chose to come over here early, but the league’s changing and it’s getting better. Staying in Australia and playing a few seasons can benefit the player, as can coming over to Europe. I think it’s up to the individual, whether they can cope with coming over at a young age, or if they need to stay home a bit longer.”

having him there.” Coe later played for PSV and several Danish clubs.

stay a bit longer, and start and finish their careers in Australia.”

Another Australian that made the move early, Reading’s Adam Federici, concurs that the A-League’s growth could be beneficial for the development of young footballers, and potentially the stress of making the move overseas.

Former Socceroos goalkeeper Željko Kalac certainly has experience in this department, having spent the majority of his playing career at several European clubs in between stints at Sydney United. Kalac first moved to English side Leicester City at the age of 22, before playing in Holland, Italy and Greece.

“When I left there wasn’t really a league to go into, but it seems now [that] the league is really strong,” says Federici. “Maybe players could

Forthright and straight talking, Kalac takes no prisoners in his assessment

of the moving overseas debate. “It’s a catch-22,” the 2.02 metre tall goalkeeper declares. “Who do you look at? You look at [Mitch] Langerak, who’s gone to Borussia Dortmund to be second keeper. He’s involved, he’s getting experience. So I say move for the experience. But if you look at other players who go and aren’t getting involved, then I say stay. We have to improve the standard of our league here, so our players don’t have to go at an early age.”

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According to Michael Roth, a player agent at Inspire Sports Management who manages players including Lucas Neill, Luke Wilkshire and Brett Holman, that improvement in the A-League is happening now. When asked whether the standard of the domestic competition means young players can afford to spend longer in Australia before moving overseas, Roth is positive about the league. “Absolutely,” the agent responds. “The quality of the league is an important factor, but the A-League is also attractive for young Aussies as it provides the opportunity to play regular first team football, in front of big crowds and at a club with good training and medical facilities. “But when it comes to deciding which pathway to take, each case is different and should be treated that

way – the general consensus is that the A-League is quickly becoming a better option, but that doesn’t mean it’s always the best one,” Roth adds.

multiple factors will influence the transition from a local team to a new club in a distant country with a different culture.

The Sydney-based agent manages a number of young stars at clubs in Australia and abroad, yet adds that sometimes the move to Europe is not always the first choice for the players.

“Each player is different – like everyone else, players mature at different ages and some will adapt and cope with foreign environments better than others. I’d say that moving to an English-speaking country, with family, and with a top club that looks after its players makes for the easiest transition. When any or all of those are taken away, that’s when things usually become more difficult for the player.”

“It’s worth mentioning that in these debates it is often assumed that all top quality Australian players have offers in the A-League or National Youth League. Everyone knows that football is subjective and some players slip through the cracks. This can be the reason for players looking to move overseas, and is often not the player’s, or agent’s, preferred option.” Roth also comments that no two moves abroad are the same, and

Les Padfield, a former Premier League scout and author of Scouting for Moyes, gives an English perspective on this debate. Entertaining and insightful, with an unrivalled knowledge about areas

of the game most fans would not give a moment’s notice, Padfield has several interesting stories to share. “From my own experience I think the way youngsters are treated varies enormously from club to club. I think Manchester United have established a reputation for keeping a tight rein on their young players, whereas at some other clubs it was, and is, the opposite,” the former Bolton scout comments. According to Padfield, several clubs have in the past used special landladies who acted as surrogate mothers to young players coming from abroad, yet at the same time teams would take youngsters along on tour and introduce them to the seedier aspects of the game. Padfield also recalls a particularly amusing story from Wimbledon during their Crazy Gang days that would have been quite the shock to young players coming from half way around the world. “Players, young and old, but especially new recruits, were subjected to the most bizarre of rituals – running around a gym naked whilst other players kicked footballs at them – and the like. I guess it was meat and drink to some lads, but kids coming from a different culture must have wondered what the hell English football was all about,” the scout suggests. Finally, Padfield cautions against players, both local and foreign, signing

for professional clubs at too young an age, pointing to sides like Arsenal and Chelsea that try to recruit kids before their age reaches double digits. “I think this whole thing is distasteful, both because it gives lots of kids false ideas about what the future may hold, but at the same time it prohibits them from playing fully for their school teams or with their mates in local sides, as well as quite likely disregarding their academic education,” he concludes. Ultimately the decision to move overseas for footballing reasons is a deeply personal one, and some players will thrive while others struggle to adapt. The big move to Europe has almost become a time-honoured tradition among Australian players, and it was not long ago that Pim Verbeek made his damning assessment of the A-League’s strength.

stars can now develop in the comfort of a home environment before making the big move. The Guardian recently published an opinion piece lamenting the lack of Australians in the English Premier League, pointing out that the contingent from Down Under was at a 20-year low. Yet the extension – that this could perhaps impact on the Australian national team – remains to be seen. With the A-League on the up and the difficulty of moving overseas as a teenager obvious, it is hardly surprising that more and more players are choosing to stay at home for an extra year or two to continue their footballing education. Australian fans will just have to hope that the words of The Clash don’t prove prescient in this regard.

“If you train for three weeks with Nurnberg or with Karlsruhe, I have to be very honest, I still think that’s better than playing A-League games,” the former Socceroos boss commented. With such an attitude in place at the time it was hardly surprising that players, both young and old, would jet overseas at the first possible opportunity. Yet with the A-League going from strength to strength and current Socceroos coach Ange Postecoglou recruited from the A-League’s coaching ranks, future Socceroo

“If I go there will be trouble, and if I stay it will be double.” Thin White Line

The Ghost of the Box By TĂ˘nia Maria Azevedo Ludwig

About 20 years ago I bought an old house that dated from the 1930s. After three days of moving into the new place I decided to comb through the attic. Old cans, bricks and bottles were scattered around. It was dark and damp. A slice of light came in through a crack in the tiles. Cobwebs on the wall reminded me of fairy tale. There was something mysterious in there, something important hidden amongst all that junk.

scratched and others had been eaten away by moths. The suitcase was half-opened and the locks and the handle were rusty.

I came across an object that l initially thought was a box. I was surprised to find an old faded-brown suitcase covered in stickers from old European hotels. Some were

I carried it down to show my family. They wondered whom it belonged to and I told them about the name Luis Lus written on one of the sides. I cleaned it up a little bit trying not to

The name Luis Lus was printed in the middle of a sticker from Hotel La Espanhola. On the inside, the label from the factory read Boa Viagem - Empresa de Artigos de Viagem Porto Alegre - Rua 15 de Novembro N. 141 ( em frente ao jardim ) Alexandre de Meda.

damage it any more. It didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t take long for me to cherish it. It looked well used and its story would have been related to the name on the sticker. I was curious to find out more about the person who owned it. I put the suitcase on a shelf in the hallway. It would fit in with other antiques that were already there. Maybe the neighbours would know about this man. One day as I sped across our busy street, I saw an elderly man dazed amongst the cars that were speeding by. I ran out to him signalling for the cars to stop. He took my arm and we crossed the street, ending up outside my house. He thanked me

and said he usually crossed without any problems, but this time he had been distracted by a scooter that beeped at him as he passed. I suggested it was safer to cross at the lights. He acknowledged with a tilt of the head. Then he asked if this was my house. I told him I’d moved in recently. He said the house was one of the oldest on the street. The first owner had been a football player named Luis Lus who played in the World Cup. I told him about the suitcase I’d found. I was very happy to hear it belonged to a famous footballer. The man said he’d been living in another neighbourhood and didn’t know anything else about the player, aside from hearing about his death a few years earlier. I brought him a glass of water. He thanked me and said goodbye with a hug that suggested we would meet again. My search began with the information I received from this man. And since there is plenty of literature about football I managed to put together a small biography of the man who owned the old forgotten suitcase. Luiz dos Santos Luz, as his name is spelled in different sources, was selected by the Confederação Brasileira de Desporto to play in the 1934 World Cup in Italy, the second World Cup. Born in Porto Alegre on November 29th, 1909, he was a defender for

Americano, a modest neighbourhood team that was founded on July 4th 1912. They won the Campeonato Gaúcho in 1928 when Luis Lus was 19. He played there for three years until 1931. He became the first player from a gaúcho club to participate in a World Cup. An exceptional defender, he earned the nickname of “the ghost of the box”. He played mainly in the South and participated in the Seleção Gaúcha in 1931. By 1934, football was becoming a popular sport in Brazil. That year Getúlio Vargas was elected president. He offered words of advice to the World Cup squad that departed for Italy: “You are going to a country that is morally and materially renewing itself. The Italians that were depressed by fascism are now a proud race. This example should guide Brazilian athletes.” The Brazilian team did not follow this example. Italy won the Cup and promoted Mussolini’s fascism. The seleção crossed the Atlantic aboard the Conte Biancamano. The delegation was filled with hope. Many people went to see the ship depart from the pier. Over the next fourteen days they trained on deck where the gaúcho Luis Luz led the exercises for their first match. They would arrive in Genova on 26 May.

to pick up the Spanish team, one of Brazil’s main adversaries. They travelled in celebration until they reached their destination. A day after arriving, the seleção ran onto the grounds to play against Spain in Ferraris Stadium. Within half an hour they were down 3-0. Spain had Zamora, the best keeper in the World. The match finished 3-1. Leônidas scored Brazil’s only goal. The defeat eliminated Brazil from the cup after having played just one match. There was no reward for crossing thirteen thousand kilometres of Atlantic Ocean. They finished 14th, a long way from the sixth place obtained in the 1930 edition. From 1931 to 1934 Luiz Luz played for Peñarol in Uruguay. Then he moved to Grêmio where he stayed from 1935 to 1941 and won the Porto Alegre city championships in 1937, 1938, and 1939. He played for the state squad, the Seleção Gaúcha, in 1935, 1936 and 1940. He was also coach at Grêmio and a referee. His sporting career ended as director of Olimpico, Gremio’s Stadium. He died in Porto Alegre, 27 August, 1989. I still have his suitcase. It is a museum piece.

The trip wasn’t easy for the team. There was great fear of European totalitarianism. Seasickness was also a problem. The ship stopped in Spain

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Controlled ecstasy By David Allegretti

Crossing the Banpo Bridge into Seoul the murky seawater below me seemed to merge with the grey sky. The volatility of the geopolitical climate dawned on me as our “airport limousine” bus passed armoured military vehicles on our way into the city centre. North of the border Kim Jong Un had been causing a stir amongst international governing bodies with his repeated nuclear threats. With Seoul only 50 kilometres from the 38th parallel, many recognised the instability of life in the South Korean capital. The current state of the economic climate combined with precarious political affairs had led to a sense of uneasiness amongst the locals. The next day we boarded a bus heading to Seoul’s World Cup Stadium to witness South Korea host Australia in the opening game of the 2013 East Asian Cup. As the bus cruised past the arena, all thoughts of an impending nuclear strike were quickly dismissed, to be replaced with the wonder and awe distinctive to international football tournaments. Arriving at the stadium an hour and a half before kick-off allowed me to take in the ground’s surroundings. Lush green parkland contrasted with the city’s skyscrapers creating a unique backdrop to the traditional Korean kite-shaped stadium. Grand architecture blending with nature’s greenery generated an atmosphere of serenest tranquillity, quite unusual for an international football tournament. The huge mall and cinema complex situated inside the stadium grounds added to the surreal game day experience.

We had arrived in Seoul on 19 July, just one day before the opening game of the tournament. Feeling rather jetlagged from the long voyage, I was energised by the sheer splendour of Seoul’s Incheon airport which features its very own golf course, spa, ice skating rink, casino, indoor gardens and a Museum of Korean Culture – just to name a few. The heat and humidity slapped me across the face as soon as I set foot outside the impressive structure, a stark contrast to the cold winter weather I had left in Melbourne. My girlfriend and I had travelled to the Korean peninsula on a whim – beneficiaries of a budget airline’s two-for-one sale – to support the Socceroos in their first ever East Asian Cup finals. Founded in 2003, the East Asian Cup is a football tournament held by the East Asian Football Federation involving the top four nations from the region in a winner-takes-all round robin style competition. After enjoying the delights of local street cuisine (Bungeoppang, a sort of seafood cake/bread, is highly recommended) we entered the arena to the sound of the Korean faithful chanting in full voice. In what proved to be a rather anticlimactic affair, the game finished in a 0-0 stalemate. Although in all honesty Korea dominated the proceedings and ultimately if not for a bit of fortune combined with the inspired form of Eugene Galeković, Australia would’ve suffered an opening day loss.

Later that night I found myself on a rooftop bar in the streets of Gangnam. I sat across from my girlfriend on the wooden balcony, taking in the various happenings in the streets of Seoul below us. Although my search for Psy proved fruitless I did manage to compensate by befriending a few locals. I quickly found out Koreans are as suited to nightlife as fish are to water, and for some reason they really love Australians. Feeling refreshed and quite exultant from the copious amounts of soju now flowing through our bloodstreams, we took to the streets of Gangnam. Shorts, a singlet and thongs proved adequate attire even at this late hour – the joys of a Korean summer. Match day two was soon upon us. As the Socceroos prepared to face Alberto Zaccheroni’s merciless Blue Samurai, we steeled ourselves to face an even greater challenge – how were we going to get to the stadium? Having gone over budget on an anime spending spree (I like Pokémon – there, I said it) and with the arena about a one and a half hour drive outside of Seoul, it proved quite an adventure getting to Hwaseong Stadium. Upon advice from Tim, our hotel concierge, we boarded the number 32 bus. It was on this very bus that I met Hyun-woo. “Australians? Harry Kewell, Mark Viduka, number 1!” I laughed as he went on to name more Australian players, “Jedinak, Emerton, Wilkshire, Carney.” Now I was impressed. “I love Australian

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football, uh, Germany World Cup, Cahill and Aloisi goal, win Japan,” he said, referring to the famous 3-1 victory over the Blue Samurai in 2006. The 17-year-old Hyun-woo had attended every South Korean home game since he was a child. That day he rode two hours on the bus purely to witness Australia take on Japan, spurred on by his love of the round ball. Unfortunately our pre-purchased tickets were on different sides of the stadium. We parted ways, each hoping for the same result. With the sun setting we made our way into the imposing Hwaseong Stadium. The towering grey structure loomed against a backdrop of cement and industrial smog. As we drew closer to the pitch the thumping beating of the drums grew louder, resonating in our chests – a feeling akin to being in a nightclub. As the crashing of the drums intensified so too did chants of “Nippon, Nippon”. The Green and Gold Army (consisting of a handful of middle aged men – beer in hand, wives and children in tow) were outnumbered and outclassed. Jungle strips and kangaroo onesies proved to be no match for the military-esque “Kabuki boys”; the battle of the supporters was done and dusted long before a ball was kicked in anger. I was taken aback by the sheer organisation and passion flowing from the Japanese supporters thus ensuring the half-empty stadium quickly became an atmospheric cauldron.

After trailing 2-0 at the interval courtesy to goals from Manabu Saito and Yuya Osako, Australia quickly responded, bagging two goals in the space of three minutes from Mitchell Duke and Tomi Juric. However, Osako promptly restored Japan’s lead less than 60 seconds after the Socceroos had equalised, sparking collectively controlled ecstasy from the Blue Samurai supporters. We were seated on the second level on a rather deserted part of the terraces. A group of young Korean children stood right on the railing, as if trying to get as close to the action as they possibly could. The KoreaJapan rivalry is intense, and this was not lost on the group of kids who angrily booed both of Japan’s goals in the first half, in fact it seemed as if they were booing every Japanese touch of the ball. What struck me was the clear elation they showed every time Australia put together a string of good passes – they erupted when the Socceroos scored. These kids must have been around eight or nine years old, but they recognised and appreciated good play. Their chants of “go Kangaroo” and “Aussie Aussie Aussie, Oi Oi Oi” were unrelenting, even at 2-0 down. That night on our way back to our hotel, we spotted a small curry house tucked away in a back alley. We ventured inside, spurred on by the rumbling of our stomachs. I proceeded to order the spiciest thing on the menu, ignoring the warnings of our waiter. “This is not Australia hot, this is Korea hot, maybe too hot

for you,” he said with a teasing grin. After Australia’s earlier loss I needed a win, so I proceeded to request the dish be made extra spicy – famous last words. Indeed he was right, punished by my own ego. Thus in the days that followed I quickly perfected pronouncing the Korean word for toilet. The final day of the tournament featured a double header; China would take on Australia before the main event – Japan vs South Korea, to be played in the same venue. After sampling some authentic Korean KFC we made our way into the depths of Jamsil’s Olympic stadium. It felt like a true carnival atmosphere as droves of Korean, Chinese, Japanese and Aussie supporters all draped in their respective colours formed a virtual human rainbow. Upon taking my seat I was met with a rather uneasy sensation – red every which way you looked. The lady at the ticket booth had a cruel sense of humour, she had placed us smack bang in the middle of the hard core Chinese supporter group. Although I tried to act inconspicuous, I’m sure they knew right away I was a “kangaroo”. Australia ended up losing 4-3 with the highlight being Aaron Mooy’s wonder strike from all of 30 metres, prompting the young Korean man seated beside me to excitedly say “Congratulations! Congratulations!” and then high five me. The Socceroos finished the tournament in fourth place with one draw and two losses. Throughout

the China game the stadium was slowly but surely reaching its full capacity as fans trickled through the turnstiles. Japanese fans and Korean fans filled the stadium with deafening incantation. The young Korean man seated next to me had eagerly cheered all of Australia’s goals and, battling through the language barrier, we managed to have a halfway decent football talk. We exchanged snacks; I offered some chips to which he offered me a few cold baked potatoes wrapped in tinfoil that he had managed to smuggle into the stadium. The contraband potatoes were bland and I didn’t ask if they were for eating or for throwing at the referee, nonetheless I ate them out of politeness.

A dramatic injury time goal from Yoichiro Kakitani ensured Japan took home the silverware. Korean spirits were shattered whilst the men from the land of the rising sun sang long into the night.

laughter echoed along with the sound of the smoothly flowing waterway, filling the Seoul air with a sense of peaceful purity. A simple round ball bringing so much joy.

Laying by the banks of the Han River the distant sound of laughter met my ears. A gentle breeze floated through the late afternoon air, offering some relief from the day’s scorching temperatures. The sun was going down; I sat up and turned to my right to see children enjoying one of life’s simple pleasures. With nothing but a ball and two backpacks to mark the goals at either end of their makeshift field, they contested a heated football match. Their

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Interview:

Ned Zelic Interview by Ahmed Yussuf

Ned Zelic was part of Australia’s “Golden Generation”. He made his name scoring an iconic goal for the Olyroos against Holland to qualify Australia to the 1992 Barcelona Olympic Games, where Australia eventually finished fourth. He went on to play in Germany’s Bundesliga, most notably Borussia Dortmund where he reached a UEFA Cup Final and won the Bundesliga title. Zelic had brief stints in England, Japan and France, before coming home to Australia with A-League side Newcastle Jets, where he captained the team to a final series. He ended his career in Europe playing for Georgian side Dinamo Tbilisi. Since retiring Zelic has secured a reputation as a hard-hitting analyst on SBS television.

The Under-20s World Cup has finished and a lot has been made of the Australian team’s performance. What’s your view on their tournament? Is there reason to be optimistic?

I’ve always thought the Asian countries were good technically, the only thing missing was the tactical side of the game, especially having played in Japan and seeing firsthand how good they are technically.

I’ve always had the opinion that at that level results should be important. I don’t agree with this philosophy that performance is the most important and not results at youth level, because you’re creating an alibi for the players, putting them in a situation where there’s not enough pressure to get results, which later on in senior football is a necessity. You’ve got to work towards that goal and I don’t see anything wrong with demanding both performance and results.

Now they’ve gone to the next level. [For Australia] working hard and having this winning mentality in the past was enough, but these teams we’re playing against are technically good, working on the mental side of the game and progressing tactically too.

I was a bit disappointed after such a good performance against Colombia, a few days later we turn around and get beaten by El Salvador and outplayed as well. That was disappointing for me and I personally think there was maybe too much praise after the first game against Colombia, where it maybe got to the players’ heads. There’s a lot in football involving the mental side of the game, not only on the park but off it as well. I thought it was one that got away from us; I really think Australia should’ve progressed past the group stage. The East Asian Cup was recently played in South Korea. Is Australia’s fourthplace finish a fair reflection of where our domestic players sit in comparison to Japan and Korea’s home-grown stars?

It’s vitally important for us to concentrate on those things as well, but I feel we’ve lost a bit of that winning mentality we had in the past. The technical side of the game, although there are some flashes of good play like we saw at the under 20s for example, is just not consistent enough and too erratic. And at the East Asian Cup you’ve also got to take into consideration that quite a few of our players started training again in pre-season. I think there’s a bit of imbalance at the moment with regards to the technical, mental and tactical side of the game. You spent a lot of your football career in Germany, playing at clubs like Dortmund and 1860 Munich. Is Germany a place where Australian footballers can develop? Without a doubt Germany along with Spain are probably now the best in the world for developing younger players. The real development to the game starts at much younger ages where we are responsible in Australia.

Spending time in Germany with the training intensity and all the rest will improve you as a player. But I think the way Germans are working now, it’s a tough place for a foreign player, especially for a younger one to progress, because there’s a lot of good German youngsters coming through. If you’re not better than what they have at the moment, then you’ve got almost no chance. Do you have accounts of your own experiences in German football that helped you become a stronger and arguably a better footballer? The thing that impressed me the most was the way they went about their business, so professional and how self-critical they were as well. There was no sugar coating, it was straight to the point analysis of the mistakes made and touch on the good stuff, but it was always the case of “Ok we’ve won but what did we do wrong, how can we improve?” The winning mentality as well, even in training games the intensity was unbelievable. Every day you were put under pressure in training and constantly wanted to win – winning was everything. How significant was coaching? At my first three years at Dortmund, we had a coach Ottmar Hitzfeld who was just a master at psychology. He could read your mind and it was something needed when having a lot of stars at the club. The fact that he kept everything under control; he

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was a strong disciplinarian. He was considered a gentleman, but inside the change rooms he could be a monster and verbally just tear you apart; he was just brilliant. I learnt a great deal from him and he was always someone that any kind of problems off or on the field you could have a chat to him, just a perfect mix of coach. At the moment we’re hearing some ex-Socceroos say that the A-League’s the best for development. Where do you stand? I don’t understand the argument. Let’s say you’ve got an opportunity as an 18-year-old to play in the A-League or to make a move to a German club. What are people saying, that you shouldn’t do that? You should stay in the A-league? I don’t understand the argument.

What’s your opinion on Australian footballers playing in Asian leagues? I don’t necessarily think it’s a bad thing but it depends where you go. For example, if you got to a place like Japan or South Korea then I would say go for it. I just think moving to other lesser footballing countries in the region where dollars are put before everything else is the wrong step for a youngster. If I had to advise these players it wouldn’t be the same advice for every player; because everyone’s always in a different situation. But I personally think that it’s pretty obvious Europe’s the place to be. If you move away from the A-League, unless you go to Japan for a few years or maybe South Korea and move on after, Europe is still the pinnacle.

The A-League’s great for youngsters coming through and gives them the opportunity to play on a regular basis, but you can’t tell me if an 18-19 year old has an opportunity to move overseas to let’s say a place like Germany, he should knock that back to stay in the A-League. I think that’d be silly.

And it has to be a goal as a player to improve, to earn good money but to play against the best with the best, and to challenge yourself. That was always my mentality, and the reason for my move to a club like Dortmund.

There’s always going to be different cases and that’s where the decision making for these young players is hugely important, which country do I go to now, is there an opportunity for me to play there, at least have an opportunity and not be completely on the outer.

Without going into much detail, I’ve been working a lot, using contacts to spend time with different coaches and watch different training session. Within a few years once all the coaching licences are done, I’m definitely looking at going to coaching.

Are you looking to go into coaching?

LOW FOOTBALL By Ian Kerr

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“Football Manager” may have ruined social lives and the odd marriage, but it provided the inspiration for friends Gad Salner and Vadim Tarasov to jump in the car one day for a road trip to the Israeli lower leagues. “We had started to envy the lower league culture in England. In England, you’ll see a 5th division match with spectators, drinking, chanting songs that are ironic and humorous. There’s a culture, which is very charming for us.” The dry, dusty lower leagues of Israeli football are home to clubs that are living examples of a diversity that defies expectations. Gad and

Vadim set out as football fans for an away trip, but stumbled upon a football culture true to the game’s roots in a way that no Premier League team is. The English Premier League, that vast, soulless, imitation of itself, is the second league for most Israelis, according to Gad. And that in turn has driven the popularity of games such as “Football Manager”. “For us, it was almost like a pop culture thing to manage lower league teams like Halifax, Luton or Barnet on Football Manager,” says Gad.

“After a few years, we thought let’s give it a try in Israel. We’ll go to a lower league game, like a road trip, and see what happens. We randomly picked a match at an Arab village just half an hour’s drive from where we live in Tel Aviv. It was like a parallel universe for us,” Gad explains. “We didn’t just want to go to the match, we wanted to experience the town as well. And this is a tradition that we’ve kept for all the games we’ve been to.” The first town they visited was Umm El Fahhem, north of Tel Aviv and known for being a bit hostile

because of its location close to the border with the Palestinian Territories. “When we arrived there were police officers like any other match, but when they saw us they asked us for our IDs because they thought we might be right wing extremists – it didn’t occur to them that two Jewish guys could just go to a game in an Arab town.” Inside the stadium, at first the welcome wasn’t warm. ”We could see that everyone was suspicious and we didn’t know how to handle it. But we started talking to people just like regular fans. Football conversations, talking about opinions, how they

manage in their leagues. Then after the game we were invited to the dressing rooms and we met the team. There were three or four Jewish players. Their star player was Ethiopian Jewish. For a first game, it was amazing because we saw such diversity in one dressing room in one stadium in the middle of the country. And it’s probably unknown to millions of Israelis, this small but important coexistence.” Thus began a monthly ritual for Gad, Vadim and their mates. Once a month they’d pile into the car and have a road trip to a lower league game. Beer, food, and travelling

the countryside looking for football matches. So, who said no good ever came from computer games? In this case, the computer game actually

“We didn’t just want to go to the match, we wanted to experience the town as well. And this is a tradition that we’ve kept for all the games we’ve been to.” Thin White Line

got them out of the house. When it came to picking which match to go to, there was no set formula. Gad explains: “We were just trying to look for a new experience, sometimes travelling north, sometimes travelling south, but it was always a different experience. Sometimes we just picked a match when we saw a town name that we didn’t have a clue where it was.” This is how they came to be in a town called N’een. “We looked at the fixture, and just put the town name into the GPS and travelled to see the match. We promised ourselves that we’d sit in the most authentic restaurant and café and talk to people.” Easier said than done. After two hours in the car, they realised that N’een was a ghost town. “We found a lady to ask where we could eat, thinking she’d point us to an authentic restaurant. But she and everyone else we spoke to said that there was nothing there, but a McDonald’s nearby, so it was a different sort of experience.” One town that Gad, Vadim and crew visited twice was Nudjidat, a small Bedouin town in the north. The team, playing in the 5th division, invited them to the club’s league qualification gala. After a three-hour car ride they were rewarded with a spectacular party. “The entire town was there, and there were Arab celebrities from all around the country who came to join this

wonderful and colourful fundraising event. There was all the town’s best traditional dancing and food, and the Jewish players were part of the celebrations too.” Once they’d shared some photos from these road trips on social media, they realised that there was a wider interest in the stories from the Israeli lower leagues. This eventually led to an exhibition of photos called “Kaduregel-Shefel” (loosely translated as “low football”). Setting up the exhibition was a new experience for the two software engineers. “We came from a world of cubicles and computer programming. In this project we encountered the world of arts and museums.” The exhibition can challenge preconceptions of Israel, even in Israel itself. “When you approach people with these photos, they’re very excited, but it’s also funny when you present some of the photos to people here in Israel, there is some confusion. In Israel we have Jewish people from around the world, including from Arab states. So sometimes when we show a team where most of them are Jews from Yemen, let’s say, people seeing the photos sometimes think that the players are Arab and they don’t know unless we tell them that they are Jewish. “In Israel, the difference can be very thin between Jews and Arabs. I think

this exhibition shows that to people in Israel and around the world,” says Gad. The exhibition doesn’t feature many photos of the games themselves. Photos of the supporters dominate the collection. “After years of travelling you understand that football is not just the ball being kicked or the goal scored, it’s much more,” says Gad. “You always see the same goals, whether from penalties, corners and so on. The only things that change are the teams and the cultures that you get from being a football fan.” Gad is a fan of a second division team in Israel. “It’s always been a poor experience to watch a team that loses. What I really enjoyed about supporting my club were the times that we travelled hours to away games, singing on the way, joking about our lame football players. We didn’t mind if we lost 3-0 because the whole day was fun. “Modern football is just purely for money, and I don’t think that anyone cares any more for fans. Buying a ticket for £100 is insane, how can you enjoy your team? Watching from outside, it’s like they took the fans’ football, and it’s a shame.” The exhibition, Kaduregel-Shefel, is currently touring in Israel. Gad and Vadim are working on a documentary and are interested in taking the exhibition to other countries. They can be contacted at kaduregel.shefel@gmail.com

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Second-placed S.C. Kfar-Kassem hosted third-placed S.A. Tirah in a local derby in the 4th division. The game ended 0-0, a result that seemed to have ruined Kassemâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s hopes of being promoted to the third division. Tirahâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s celebrations were premature, as Kassem eventually earned promotion through the play-offs

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BEST The Best of Days

On a clear July night in 1989, George Best stepped out of the change rooms at Valley Road to play alongside his new teammates for Devonport City. Interviews by Ian Kerr

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The people of Devonport, a small regional city on the northwest coast of Tasmania, turned out in force to see Best play. Over 1800 people filled a ground that for a regular season game would see only a fraction of that number through the turnstiles. Devonport City, featuring Best, played against a select Tasmanian XI. The final score was 2-2, but that seemed irrelevant in the aftermath. 1800 Tasmanians had just witnessed George Best playing on their home turf, a thrill that would endure for years to come. Over two decades later, Thin White Line tracked down four people who were there that night, in the stands and on the pitch.

The spectator “It seemed like half of Devonport was at the ground that night,” recalls Rod Gardiner, who was in his late teens at the time. “I’m a lifetime Manchester United fan, and I went with a friend of mine who was a pretty decent goalie. There was a real air of expectation. And when George appeared, he was a little rotund, shall we say. “He played in the midfield, and hardly moved from the centre circle. But there were one or two flashes of brilliance to keep us on our toes. “I can’t remember the score, and I’m sure that by the following morning George probably didn’t either, but what a thing to be able to say, that I saw George Best in the flesh playing in Devonport.”

Walter Pless Tasmanian football writer Walter Pless was teaching at a high school in Hobart in 1989, when George

Best came to play in Tasmania. “It was a weeknight in early July, and we – me, a lawyer mate who was crazy about George Best, and another football friend – drove the three hours to Devonport in a mate’s old Honda Prelude. We talked all the way – we couldn’t believe we were going to see George Best play. “It was a glorious night, not a cloud in the sky,” Walter recalls. “We arrived at Devonport at dusk, in advance of the 8pm kick-off at Valley Road.” Darkness had fallen when the teams ran out onto the pitch. “The game kicked off while we were walking around the edge of the pitch, trying to find our spot. We scampered across the corner of the playing surface, inside the corner flag, just so we could say we’d been on the same pitch as George Best.” Soon after kick-off, David Crosson tackled Best, and Best flew up in the air and fell in a heap. The whole crowd gasped. “Crosson played for Newcastle United in the early-mid 1970s before he moved on to Darlington. Ken Morton, who was playing coach that night, said, ‘If he goes, there’s no game!’ Morton and some of the senior players tried to calm Crosson down, but he said, ‘I’m here to play!’” Walter remembers Crosson taking on Best as being like a lower league team going up against a top premiership team, fancying themselves as giant killers. “Best was just in another league – when Best was in his prime Crosson would have been left looking for him. But age and injury – and alcohol – had

caught up with him, which left him slower and more vulnerable.” Best survived the brutal tackle and the game continued. “He made a few little runs here and there, and tried to bring his team-mates into the game.” Afterwards Walter chatted to Best in the bar. “My friends and I were starstruck. The sad thing is that it would have been triple the excitement if we’d seen him in his prime. We drove back to Hobart that night in the Honda, arriving in the early hours of the morning.”

Kevin Smith Kevin Smith played alongside Best in the Devonport City side. “I was 24 at the time. It was basically our first eleven, with George Best and Ken Morton in there as well.” “When Ken first said that we were going to have an exhibition game with George Best, everyone had a bit of a laugh about it. We thought, ‘Here’s another story from Ken.’ But as it got closer, we started to think ‘Geez, we’re really going to play with George Best,’” says Kevin. There was a bit of competition for places. “Most of the senior players that year played on the night. If they were injured, they made themselves available!” Kevin remembers there being a huge amount of hype around Devonport in the lead-up to the game. “And on the night it was the biggest crowd I’ve ever seen at Valley Road. And then, after reading about him, and following him a bit in his hey-day, all of a sudden George Best is in the same change room as us.”

Best, of course, had a reputation for sobriety. “I think George may have had a couple of sherbets before the game – he looked a bit under the weather.” “One of the instructions to us was to get the ball to George. People had paid money to see him play, so we had to make him look good,” Kevin recalls. The Devonport team got their instructions, but David Crosson either didn’t get the memo or chose to ignore it. “I remember George getting cleaned up – we thought it was all over before it even started.” The game went on, and the crowd were treated to some of George’s skills. “When he was out on the ground, he didn’t shout out directions or anything, but he always seemed to be in the right place at the right time. I really remember his foot-skills. George was certainly a classy player. “I remember being on the far post as a cross came in,” Kevin recalls, “Best was standing on the 6-yard line unmarked, but I headed it straight at the keeper and George gave me a bit of a look. I could have set him up… he didn’t have to say anything, he just looked at me.” But once the dirty looks were done with, George was a pretty reserved character. “He was a quiet unassuming bloke – he kept himself to himself.” “There was a big club function afterwards. George was in the club rooms, willing to sign autographs, very approachable and accessible, and very quiet. It didn’t seem a bother to him – he’s probably had to deal with it through his entire career.”

Kevin played for Devonport City for many seasons and played some representative games for Northern Tasmania against Southern Tasmania. “I stopped playing representative soccer the year before the Tasmanian team played against Gary Lineker and Nagoya Grampus Eight in Hobart.” These days, Kevin coaches the Devonport Strikers U14s team and runs the Devonport Dragons Soccer School, coaching 6-12 year olds. “Hopefully we’ll turn some of them into senior players down the track.” “Looking back, we didn’t really realise how lucky we were at the time.”

Ken Morton “I joined Manchester United in ‘62‘63 as an apprentice. George was already there in his first year. I signed on my 15th birthday, and straight away we went to Switzerland and Germany where I played my first games for United in the Blue Star Tournament. George was on that trip too.” Ken and George became friends during the seasons they spent together at United. “We’d played in the reserve team and the youth team together, and then George of course went on to bigger and better things.” After a few years in the English leagues, Ken found his way to Tasmania in 1979, where there were a number of “import” players plying their trade. “The league had some quality players through that period and the local players improved playing alongside those players.”

Above: Manchester United Youth Tour itinerary 1964

Ken eventually moved to Wollongong in 1981, where he was player/coach for Wolves’ first season in the national league, then called the Philips Soccer

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League. Coaching took him to many ports over the following years, before he returned to Tasmania and the club Devonport City, on Tasmania’s northwest coast. A promoter brought George Best to Australia on a speaking tour in 1989, a “Scottish comedian” as Ken recalls. “Then Gus Macleod, who was coaching at the time, rang me and asked me if I was interested in bringing George to Tasmania.” So then Ken rang George. “Once I’d left Manchester United and George had gone his way we’d lost contact a bit. Obviously we hadn’t forgotten each other, but with him coming to Melbourne I just made one phone call and he wanted to meet and have a chat.” Ken flew to Melbourne to meet up with Best at Flemington Racecourse. “Most of the tour had already been set up by the promoter, it was just a matter of sorting out the Tasmanian leg of George’s tour.” Best’s first stop in his Tasmanian visit was Launceston, where he did some after-dinner speaking. The next day he and Ken travelled to Devonport for the game. While Launceston may have heard George speak, Devonport got to see him play. “The big coup for us was to get him to play a game. He’d stopped playing at that time because of his knees. I was delighted when he said that he would play for us.” It seemed like all of Devonport had turned out to see the game. “They were lined up all the way down the street to get in – it was unbelievable. George was given a hero’s welcome when he came out on the field.” Ken played that night. “I had to play to give him the ball to make sure no-one

hogged the ball – I had to make sure that we gave him plenty of touches on the ball.” “I remember Anthony Rimmer scored from a pass from George Best. Quite remarkable, really, because he didn’t usually get forward in normal games. I remember it as a cross-field pass to Anthony. And I remember great celebrations from him and his family when he scored,” Ken recalls. Ken remembers plenty of flourishes on the field from George. “The speed may have gone, but the fluency was still there.” There was a club function put on for both teams after the game, and George mingled and chatted with all the players. “George was brilliant,” says Ken, “We’d organised accommodation at Furners in Ulverstone [about 20km from Devonport], and after the club function we had a private party at Furners – in the Chelsea Room, of all places.” The champagne had been opened for George, then he got a call from the bar – would he go and have a game of pool with the locals? “And that was the last we saw of him – he played pool with the locals until 3am or so.” Ken was involved in a later tour of Tasmania, featuring Best and Denis Law. At the game staged in Hobart, “players were taking off and dribbling, just showing off. I went into both change rooms at half-time and told the players it wasn’t about them, it was about George Best, he’s the one the crowd’s came to see. The Devonport game on the other hand was quite a good game, and the teams were evenly matched.” Ken is enjoying a successful spell coaching at South Hobart and also runs the Ken Morton Soccer School.

“George was a super talented guy with magic in his feet and he could make the ball talk. His left foot wasn’t quite as good as mine, but his right foot was immense. I was proud and privileged to be a friend of his.”

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My Stadio Olimpico George Donikian recalls the momentous 1990 World Cup Final in Rome. Interview by Ian Kerr Photo by Jim Webster

“The most memorable part of it was being herded by the carabinieri with machine guns into the stadium,” recalls Australian television icon and Melbourne Heart ambassador George Donikian. We meet outside AAMI Park, Melbourne Heart’s home ground, and there isn’t a machine-guntoting policeman in sight. George, tanned, relaxed, and wearing a fine jacket (“A gift from Puskas!” he teases me), leans back and starts the story of how he came to be at the 1990 World Cup Final in Rome. “I was working in Italy for the Channel 9 Network, who sent me there to bring back the colour and all the hoopla of the 1990 World Cup to Australian audiences. I was doing radio reports as well, so I had a manic schedule the previous few weeks trying to see as many games as I could.” Travelling around Italy watching World Cup matches. Sounds awful.

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“It was almost as if a football tournament broke out in the middle of a massive party. In Rome, there were people like Sofia Loren, a host of budding actors and actresses, and it seemed as if half of Hollywood was there too – it was like a carnival! The weather was spectacular, and by night the city was awash with vino, pasta and the works. And noisy – it was quite a party, and no need for the vuvuzela!” George spells vuvuzela for me. “And at the end of the procession of these parties, there was the World Cup Final.” Let’s put the final to one side for a moment, George – tell us more about these parties. “I was staying at a wonderful hotel near the Spanish Steps,” George explains, a contrast to the seedy youth hostel where I caught conjunctivitis when I was in Rome. “The area around the Spanish Steps was just going off. I remember in the lead-up, Armani got right behind the Italian team. They paraded all 30 or so of the squad members, dressed up head to toe in Armani. The first 18 players had Ferraris assigned to them.” Assigned to them? The only thing I’ve ever had assigned to me was my tax file number. George continues: “And there were the obligatory blondes, brunettes and redheads on the arm of each player. It was playboy heaven!” I feel like I’ve wasted my life. Anyway, before working for the Channel 9 Network, George had made his name as the first anchorman for the nightly “SBS World News” on national Australian multicultural broadcaster SBS. SBS

had won the Australian broadcast rights for the 1990 World Cup.

missed connection and the whole plan was blown.”

“During the tournament I was able to catch up with Les Murray and Johnny Warren after having left SBS in 1988. There was Dominic Galati, who had gone from being a gopher for the head of SBS Sport John Rowley back in the day, to finally being the boss of the crew. It was a unique opportunity to actually see from close up what SBS was doing with the World Cup rights, after outpointing the ABC to capture the television rights.”

Now I know who I should ring when I want a ticket to a World Cup final, and who I shouldn’t ring when I want to arrange flights to get there.

Both SBS and the ABC were completely funded by the taxpayer at the time. “SBS had beaten the ABC to capture the World Cup rights by paying a lot more money – two publicly funded broadcasters fighting it out, for the rights to the World Cup. And what was different from the previous World Cups broadcast to Australia, was that SBS showed not just 16 games, but every game possible, either live or on delay.” Hard to imagine in this world of streaming, multi-channel content and fancy digital watches. So tell us about the final. “Well, a friend of mine rings me – Nick Theodorakopoulos. He used to play for Sydney Olympic but broke his leg, then became a championship-winning coach with NSL club Wollongong,” George says, sparing me the need to research Nick Theodoroakopoulos’s career. Or plug his name into a search engine, which is basically the same, right? “So Nick says, ‘If you can get me a ticket, I’ll be there!’ He’d just started a travel company with his sister, so he booked himself a ticket but with some tight connections – one

“This was before everyone had mobile phones, so I was getting updates by phone from his sister – yes, he’s made it to Hong Kong, yes he’s made his connection…” But George, had you already bought the tickets? “I had the tickets – I could have had corporate seats in the official area with all the dignitaries and the like, but I didn’t want to make the investment unless he could definitely make it. I had purchased two seats about half-way up the stand. I had media access, so if Nick hadn’t made it I could have on-sold the tickets.” Nick made it, surely, otherwise this will be a bigger let-down than the final episode of Friends… “In the end he only just made it. I picked him up from Fiumicino Airport only a few hours before kickoff. All he had was the suit he was wearing on the plane and some carry-on luggage. We picked up some memorabilia at the market that was running as part of the World Cup, then the challenge was to make him look a bit less like an executive who had just stepped off the plane. We zipped back to the hotel room, he changed into shorts and t-shirt and then we were off to the game.” In one of the Italian team’s Ferraris, perhaps? “We walked from the Spanish Steps, then the carabinieri – and their machine guns – herded us away

from the shops, away from the Armani store, away from anything connected with fashion or that had a hint of class about it. We were corralled between the barricades and ushered, for want of a better word, towards the Stadio Olimpico.” Italian police officers generally fall into one of two categories: swarthy and mean-looking, or not-ahair-out-of-place with perfect makeup. The latter category tends mainly to be female. “As we walked, the Stadio rose up before us, the noise continuing to build as we got closer. The sound of 80,000 people – it’s an awesome sound.” Ah yes, the game! Tell us about the game. “Before we get to the game, though, we have to remember what happened in the semi-finals. We have to talk about Maradona, the notorious urchin from the streets of Argentina who had got himself off the streets to become a household name around the world; a superstar in Naples playing for Napoli.” Where the semi-final was played, of course.

It was a question that needed no answer. “That said, it was magnificent soaking up the atmosphere in the lead-up to the kick-off. We were seated behind the goals the West Germans attacked in the first half. I had my big sporting binoculars, so I had a terrific view. Nick, on the other hand, had a pair of opera binoculars. He had to travel light!” There’s an image: two blokes in the stands, one with a pair of gigantic binoculars, the other with a compact pair of opera glasses. “This was the last time West Germany played as West Germany in a World Cup. You knew that something was going to happen, and in the opening fifteen minutes it could have been a great game. But a month of football had ground down the teams. With Argentina weakened due to suspension and injury, the game really didn’t reach great heights.” Perhaps the lacklustre performances had something to do with the obligatory blondes, brunettes and redheads.

“Of course, and where Maradona broke Italian hearts. So on the night of the final itself, the crowd was baying for blood. Thousands of the Italians in the crowd were chanting as one: Sieg heil! Sieg heil! as Maradona came out for the warmup. It was a haunting experience. It made me go cold.”

“Maradona was well and truly subdued on the night. The Germans, so clinical and so smart, had worked out how to cut off the opposition’s oxygen. For Argentina, those who could have broken the game open were missing, so Maradona was asked to do a whole lot more. At the end of the day, he was just one man. And he had the crowd against him.”

George pauses for a moment.

What did you think of the penalty?

“I love sport, and I sat there, thinking, ‘Is this how vile and bad we can be? Is this how we treat a football genius?’”

“As for the penalty, well it was a dive. And all eyes fell on the Argentine keeper Goycochea who was a penalty-saving expert, but

missed the only penalty he really had to save. A great keeper, but the Germans had worked him out.” And after the game? “We stayed up all night celebrating! Around the Spanish Steps you could hear every language of the world; it was a wonderful experience. For us, on reflection, I remember everything before and right up to the game, but the game itself was a bit of a blur with no real memorable moments.” Which George and half of Rome made up for by partying all night, by the sounds of it. “Then Nick was on the plane the next day back to Australia.” George doesn’t mention whether or not Nick made his connections on the way back to Australia. Presumably Nick’s overworked sister was looking after the travel business in his absence. Ignoring my unspoken thoughts, George delves into his years of summing up experiences for live television by summing up the experience of going to the 1990 World Cup Final: “The World Cup is so rich for me because of everything that went on around it. It happened in a glorious city that understood football – you were inspired, enriched, and surrounded by smiles.”

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Mooroolbark - 1977 by Les Street

The Barkers were influential in the formation of Australia’s first national sporting league, but after one season they disappeared into obscurity.

JUST. Finishing third on goal difference in 1975, it was the same year the Barkers lost the State League Cup to JUST on penalties.

Known as Mooroolbark United until 1978, the story of how an obscure outer suburban team played in the first year of the National Soccer League only to last one season then disappear from view forever is football folklore. Except nobody knows about it! That is, apart from the seasoned anoraks who would also tell you that long before Melbourne Heart, Mooroolbark were the first club from Melbourne to wear red and white stripes in the national league. But rather than just hold the foot of the table, which they did for most of the season, the Barkers were instrumental in the formation of the NSL in 1977.

1976 was a defining year for football in Australia, as it was the last season in which the various state leagues held prominence. Led by Frank Lowy at Eastern Suburbs Hakoah and Alex Pongrass at St George Budapest, the major clubs from Sydney had broken ranks with the intention to form a national league in 1977 – a decade before the major codes of Australian Rules and rugby league did likewise. Expressions of interest came from around the country, however due to a pact between Victorian clubs and the VSF, the proposed national league was without representation from Victoria. Parochialism and politics meant that many Victorians believed the national league to be a Sydney imposition. Yet modest Mooroolbark, led by their president Tom Bailey and secretary Malcolm Jones, broke the impasse by becoming the first team from the Garden State to apply, in turn shattering the floodgates as the ‘Big Three’, along with George Cross, Juventus, Sunshine City and Essendon Lions, all came to the table. Described by the VSF board as a “breach of faith”, Metropolitan League Chairman John Barclay went even further to say he was “disgusted” with Mooroolbark, and that Victoria had been “out-generalled, out-fought and out-politicked” in its attempts to prevent leading clubs joining the national league.

Located 33 kilometres east of Melbourne near the Yarra Valley wine district and overlooked by Mt Dandenong, the suburb of Mooroolbark is best known for the infernal series of roundabouts known as ‘Five Ways’ – Melbourne’s version of Swindon’s Magic Roundabout. Mooroolbark, thought to mean ‘red earth’ by the traditional Wurundjeri owners, is not exactly a hotbed of football these days. Founded by Dutch migrants Rinus de Visser and Tony Van der Ploeg in 1962, Mooroolbark joined the Victorian Soccer Federation (VSF) in 1964. Four promotions within five seasons between 1969 and 1973 saw three championships with the Barkers joining the Victorian State League and the exalted company of the ‘Big Three’ – South Melbourne Hellas, Heidelberg Alexander and Footscray

Unperturbed by this criticism, Mooroolbark took out a page-length advertisement in the local CroydonMooroolbark Gazette in June 1976, stretching the limits of hyperbole in

their request for members: “‘The Barkers’ aptly referred to as ‘The Manchester United of Victorian Soccer’ are confident of selection … If you would like to see soccer at its best and belong to a club whose achievements over the last 10 years reads like an extract from the Guinness Book of Records …” Their affinity with the club from Old Trafford wasn’t just idle boast. In registering three possible names for the new national league, one of them was Manchester United (Victoria), so named after Manchester Road, the main thoroughfare through the suburb. Despite their imagined kinship with the Mancunian powerhouse, Mooroolbark faced further hurdles in their entry to the proposed national league. The Australian Soccer Federation (ASF) planned to admit just three Melbourne-based teams, leaving the Barkers with stiff competition from their more fancied rivals. Not taking no for an answer, the club hinged their application on moving from their primitive home ground, Esther Park, to a new sporting complex in nearby Croydon. The luxury facility was to hold some 25,000 people, not to mention a sportsman’s club built behind the adjacent Dorset Gardens Hotel – a venue noted for its presence in the lyrics of Australian Crawl’s classic song ‘Boys Light Up.’ The new home ground, combined with an outlook of 2500 club members and reported sponsorship worth $50,000, had the board confident that their application would be accepted. Secretary Malcolm Jones stated, “Mooroolbark was the first Victorian

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club to apply and we came up with one of the strongest proposals. Had it not been for Mooroolbark none of the Victorian clubs would have applied. Therefore we deserve one of the three places in the national league”. The ASF agreed, and in the end four clubs from Melbourne would be accepted - Mooroolbark United, South Melbourne Hellas, Fitzroy United Alexander (Heidelberg) and Footscray JUST. Known as the ‘Dutch’ club in the interstate press, Mooroolbark was resolutely British in outlook. According to Malcolm Jones: “We have great potential as far as support goes because we’re a locality team which all local residents can associate. There are more than a million British migrants in the eastern suburbs and most of them don’t follow any team at the moment. If we can provide them with a good standard of soccer I’m sure we can attract many of them to the club.”

Another clubman, Ted Peters, echoed this view. “The structure of Mooroolbark United was based on that of United Kingdom soccer, and that 95 per cent of the club’s players were from the UK.” Continuing this British theme, the Barkers’ tried to sign George Best, who at this point was playing for Fulham in the English Second Division. Hoping to prise Best away from Craven Cottage for four matches, Best’s wages were to be financed by the ‘Maroondah Businessmen’s Club’, a club coterie who were prepared to invest $5000 to see the charismatic Ulsterman play. Unsurprisingly, Best never ended up in Melbourne, although management was unfazed. They simply readjusted their sights onto Queens Park Rangers cult icon, England international Stan Bowles, who had previously expressed an interest of playing in Australia. However, after Bowles’ suffered a broken leg, there was to be no high profile guest players for

Mike Clarey (left), of Mooroolbark launches a shot at West Adelaide Hellas’ goal at Esther Park. Photo: Sam Belaonte.

Mooroolbark. And while the little Melbourne club were aiming high, not everyone was impressed. One noted soccer scribe, Fred Villiers, commented in the salacious tabloid the Sunday Observer that their brazen claims and bold transfer targets were “a lot of bull”. Even before the season had started cracks were starting to show on the shiny Mooroolbark veneer. Star striker Graham French, who was the leading scorer in Australia for 1976, was sold to Hellas for $10,000 as the club couldn’t afford a signing on fee. Their proposed move to Croydon never eventuated, and after losing a battle to merge with neighbour club Ringwood City Wilhelmina with the intention to take over their well-appointed Jubilee Park ground, the league’s smallest club wanted to play out of Esther Park, which was barely up to State League standards let alone those of the NSL. Compact and boggy when wet, the humble facilities consisted of a small portable clubhouse resting on petite concrete piers and an adjacent tin shed for storage. “The TV tower faced the tin shed!” laughed long-time club stalwart Jack Kilpatrick. Forced to play early ‘home’ games at distant Middle Park as part of doubleheaded matches, most of which were broadcast for television, the fans stayed away. A compromise to play at the fittingly named Wembley Park in Box Hill, located midway between Mooroolbark and the city, yielded another two ‘home’ games away from the Barkers’ heartland. Eventually six home matches would be played at Esther Park in the second half of the season, but even still the crowds were sparse, the largest attendance being 1255 against Fitzroy. Socceroo legend Johnny Warren, who was coaching Canberra City, ranked Esther Park as the

second worst venue in the league, noting that: “Few teams will come away from Esther Park with a point. The ground really suits Mooroolbark. They should have played all their matches there.” Resplendent in new Umbro shirts with the Philips Soccer League patch on the right breast and club logo on the left, Mooroolbark started poorly, copping a 5-0 pasting in Sydney by the Peter Wilson-led Western Suburbs in Round 1, before earning respectable draws against Sydney Olympic, Footscray JUST and eventual champions Eastern Suburbs Hakoah. Not until Round 13 would the fans get to sing their catchcry “Hey Mooroolbark”, as they scraped to a 3-2 win over fellow strugglers Canberra City at Esther Park. However, by this stage there were already rumblings of discontent. Coach Archie Campbell was shown the door after Round 7 with former boss Brian Edgley his replacement. Players were also constantly threatened to be put on the transfer list or not paid at all, with season-leading scorer Joe Tront departing midseason to join Fitzroy only to sit on their bench. Rumours of a bitter feud between board members illustrated the total lack of stability at the club. Money, and the lack of it, would be a catalyst in the club’s downfall. This was tempered somewhat by a gutsy 2-1 away victory over Sydney Olympic at Wentworth Park in Round 14 with South African-born Paul Ontong scoring a brace within the last 10 minutes to win the match. The nadir came in Round 23 as Adelaide City Juventus pulverised the Barkers 10-3 at Adelaide’s Olympic Sports Field, with former Celtic ace John “Dixie” Deans banging in four goals for City in what remains a record high score for a national

Marconi’s Bertie mariana (No.12) wins a duel against Mooroolbark’s Mike Sinclair. In the background at left is marconi’s Raoul Carizo and at right is Gary Byrne. Photo: Sam Belaonte. league game. Immediately after, calls for their axing began to grow louder, and with a Novocastrian consortium interested in setting up a side for 1978, the writing was on the wall for Mooroolbark. But in true Barkers fashion, the players ignored the jibes and returned to Adelaide a week later to defeat West Adelaide Hellas 2-1 at Hindmarsh Stadium, before an audacious smash-and-grab 4-1 away victory over Canberra City at Manuka Oval rounded off the year. The club had finally found some form, but it was too late. Mooroolbark finished in

last place with 15 points. With the club hoping for a whiteknight sponsor, Newcastle KB United was waiting in the wings for their fatal fall. Baird Television Rentals was said to be interested in pulling the Barkers out of the mire, however the company supposedly fell foul of NSL naming rights sponsor Philips Industries, who objected to the sponsorship arrangement. Ever the optimists, the club came up with a new slogan – “The Barkers will be great in `78” - at the same

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time as club directors opened their own wallets to meet liabilities said to be as much as $65,000. A last ditch takeover bid to save the club by a Croatian-backed group never eventuated, with the ASF wary of Croatian involvement. The main Croat collective that favoured Essendon Lions was also unsupportive of the move. Despite the pioneering role of the Barkers, the ASF was unwilling to return any favours to the loyal club. And so there it was. After one season in the sun, Mooroolbark was booted out of the NSL. All their grand plans were seemingly just hot air. There was to be no new ground, no sports club, no sponsors and no marquee signings. The managing director of the league, John Frank, axed the club in January 1978 after it was deemed that they lacked adequate administration, did not have a suitable ground, failed to pay players certain fees and neglected to honour specified undertakings in its application to the league for membership. Fred Villiers commented that Mooroolbark had “conned the ASF into joining the league”, but it wasn’t as simple as that. They were, despite their faults, the first Melbourne club to take the plunge into the big time and got the NSL ball rolling. As a reward they ended up paying the price with their existence. As ever, Malcolm Jones had the last word, lamenting that “the league didn’t need Mooroolbark but it did need the other three [Melbourne clubs] … Newcastle came to light with strong sponsorship … so it was decided then Mooroolbark would have to go to make room.”

of the Victorian Fourth Division by virtue of the placement of their VSF reserve side. Two further relegations by 1981 saw the club a full seven levels below the NSL on the football pyramid. Perhaps poignantly, Mooroolbark’s televised matches were wiped by host broadcaster, the 0-10 Network, in an effort to save tape as per station policy of the time. The ambitious club that did so much to kick-start the nation’s first national sporting club competition has literally been erased from NSL history – on video that is. In 1990, the club experienced a brief renaissance, climbing into the Victorian Premier League for a two-year stay only to plummet back down to the bottom again. The same year, George Best finally made it to Esther Park, although only for a charity match. Mooroolbark is alive and well having just become champions of Football Federation Victoria State League 4 East for 2013. This included a run of 16 games undefeated at Esther Park for 13 wins and 3 draws including a remarkable 12 home victories in a row. The Barkers are without doubt one of the biggest drawing teams of the Victorian lower leagues and for all the football foodies, they make a mean scotch sausage!

First team: Lou Ivanoff, Mike Sinclair, Geoff Ontong, Alan Pongho, Peter Vaughan, Joe Tront, Walter Bojczuk (Paul Priestly 77), Dave Ellis (Derek Bailey 51), Mike Clarey, Max Irwin, Paul Ontong Coach: Archie Campbell

As a consequence of their demotion, Mooroolbark slumped to Metropolitan League 3, the equivalent

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Liberi Nantes Words by Ludovica Jona Photos by Laura Montanari

They are named after the exiled Trojans from Virgil’s Aeneid, and like those shipwrecked souls they are fleeing war and violence. “Liberi Nantes”, the first Italian football team formed entirely of political refugees and asylum seekers, was founded in Rome as part of an initiative of a group of tifosi after the experience of the Mondiali Antirazzisti – the Anti-Racist Games. Their players come from Afghanistan, Guinea, Eritrea, Togo and the Central African Republic; they often don’t speak the same language but make up a cohesive team now playing in the Third Division in Rome.

“To form the team we contacted various refugee welcome centres in Rome,” said Gianluca Di Girolami, club president and one of the founders of this initiative. “We’ve seen some true athletes here under the direction of our trainers, but we’ve also seen others who haven’t ever played with a ball. Some of them have moved for work reasons or because of legal reasons, but in the end we had enough players to start a club.” So why create a team for refugees? “It’s a way to give them a moment of truce in amongst the anguish they live in day-to-day, between the interview with the government agency that could give them political asylum, humanitarian

protection or reject their application, then the appeal after a rejection, then the urgent search for work,” said Di Girolami. Saimir is an Afghan who found himself forced to leave his home country after his brother, active in the same political movement, was murdered. He fled, and his journey lasted for months, involving the crossing into Pakistan, Iran and then the highly dangerous voyage from Turkey to Greece before his arrival in Italy. He played football in Afghanistan, but now this same sport has a new value. For these lives, suspended in dread while they wait for an answer from the Government, playing sport becomes a way to feel alive.

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A chicken is not a * football

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The Post By Ben de Buen

Revolution Paper Nothing much had changed in Mexico City. If anything the old yellow cabs were now painted green to seem eco-friendly. Shopping centres had erased street markets the way colonial buildings had once erased pyramids. But there were still buildings with peeling render and exposed bricks, steel rods protruded through half-built walls, there were still stray dogs and noisy streets. Airplanes still grazed the low summits of homes and it seemed like nobody but Parrez ever noticed them anymore. He thought he’d seen and heard every single flight that threatened city rooftops on its way to the airport.

His new neighbours chased the ball all afternoon on a street that appeared destined for football. For some reason there were two light posts in the road instead of on the narrow footpath. The distance between them was enough to let cars and public transport through but they were close enough to make a perfect goal. How come the terrible city planners couldn’t make the same mistake twice? Who knows. Parrez was the only one who seemed to ponder this question while his neighbours used rocks, backpacks, bricks or anything they could find, including Domingo Jimenez from number 68 to make the posts of the missing goal. Aside from the “natural goal”, there were other signs of the street’s true purpose.

Grass grew out of the cracks in the pavement as if football grounds fought for their memory, like the pyramids buried under the Spanish colony or the markets that had disappeared under new shining shopping malls. Stray dogs chased cars like cops after streakers and the streetlights, like stadium lighting, kept their matches going until late. They played football every day, every afternoon until there was nothing left in them or until rain drowned their efforts. Parrez was halfway through the eighth grade when his family returned to Mexico. The only nearby school that allowed him to start midyear was an all boys catholic institute. He had to pass mathematics and Spanish

He could kick the ball far, further than anyone on the street and he infuriated his teammates every time he did it. He did it every time he had the ball.

admissions exams. His parents had to cover the fees for the full school year, including the months he’d missed. On the day of his admissions exams, the school counsellor locked him in a room behind the principal’s office with nothing other than a maths test. Parrez could smell coffee and sugar, as well as cigarette smoke drifting out of the teacher’s lounge as if that was the natural aroma of the white bricks the building was made of. The architecture made him lose any desire to learn. He felt like he was staring at a bowl of unfamiliar green soup. The school he’d left behind in California was carpeted, had heating and there was art on the walls. It was minestrone. He remembered his old classroom as he looked through the maths exam someone had typed up on a typewriter then photocopied on this recycled piece of pulp they called revolution paper. The exam had symbols Parrez had never even seen. With a sigh, he left his frustration behind and began solving the division and multiplication that he could recognize. How can this country be so far behind the rest of the world with such advanced maths? Surely this school was full of geniuses. His new neighbours, even the dumbest ones like Domingo the post, knew a few things about physics, biology and chemistry,

aside from being familiar with the Russian Revolution and discussing national politics over chips and Cokes in the corner store after playing football. What Parrez called plants and animals they referred to as flora and fauna. He’d no idea there’d been a revolution in Russia. When? He flipped the exam over and over until the alarms in the school went off and the school counsellor peeked into the cubicle with the calm demeanour of routine to tell Parrez the school had received bomb threats. They had to evacuate the premises and relocate to the peace of the football grounds. Parrez thought the place could use a bomb to stimulate some renovations. He folded his exam and stored it in his back pocket. As they escaped, the counsellor told him that bomb threats were common in the New Year but until then had been false. She couldn’t say for sure, but she figured it was to do in some way or another with the armed rebellion that erupted in the jungle in the first minutes of 1994. Parrez was aware of the situation, it all happened days before his family returned from California and his new neighbours would say, Silly gringo you should have stayed there, as if revolution and civil war was a slow flood moving north that would soon cover the whole country.

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No such thing had happened in the first week and a half since the ParrezWest clan returned to the country. The day after the admissions exam, Parrez’s parents received a phone call from the school to inform them their son Orlando José Parrez-West was to resume his education the following Monday. He did, and just when the music teacher asked him to play the Minuet in G minor on a Yamaha recorder – as if Parrez could have learned to play in less than half an hour – the alarms in the school rang to the tone of another bomb threat. Parrez still had the admissions exam in his pocket and until that day he’d never seen a Yamaha recorder.

Saturdays at five Parrez didn’t need a watch to recognize when it was five o’clock on a Saturday. The streets were neither empty nor full, adults weren’t drunk or sober, and the time was neither late nor early. His own soul was undecided between the joy of Saturdays and a new adolescent despair. Saturdays at five had a familiar feeling to them, as if nothing had really changed in the five years his family lived in California, or as if that time of day was merely there to verify that no matter what happens, Mexico City’s soul was exposed every Saturday at five to confirm it was all the same with or without new malls and green cabs. Usually it was around this hour that Domingo’s mother Tita Jiménez made her appearance. She would cross followed by her two dogs to the corner store to purchase her first beer of the day. Domingo usually hid behind a car when he saw her, hoping to avoid his mother’s spite for football. Tita never greeted Parrez or any of the kids though she knew them well. Her first beer would be open before it was paid for and a cigarette would be

smoking between her fingers even before exiting the store. Then she would order Domingo to go home. It didn’t matter if the match wasn’t over or if the far goal would then be missing a post. And she never let him say goodbye to his mates, something that Parrez had learned to interpret as a type of social sin. Since returning to the country he discovered the importance of shaking hands with all the men and kissing all the women’s cheeks on every arrival and departure. That’s how you judged people’s upbringing. His uncle had told him his handshake was like holding a dead trout or even worse, a piece of steak, uncooked but warm and sweaty. Parrez learned to dry his hands on his pants before offering a firm handshake.

Domingo in Loincloth Domingo was usually the first out on the street. His shorts were so short they looked like a loincloth. His father had given him a knock-off replica of the Adidas Questra that would be used in the USA 94 World Cup. Domingo would kick it against a wall while waiting for the other neighbours. He always tried to be out there before everyone else. If he arrived after the match started, he would have to stand in the post. The next one to pop up was usually Ramonjo. Before shaking Domingo’s soggy hand he would give the local stray dogs his family’s food scraps. The dogs already knew when this was going to happen and would line up outside Ramonjo’s front door. None of the dogs had any pedigree but judging by their colour, short legs and long ears it was likely they shared a few genes. Ramonjo had named them all and greeted them as he fed them. That day there was the Turk,

Big Head, Cousin (who looked like all the other dogs) and a female Furia, who dominated the pack. She always ate first. Some of the local homeowned dogs were also allowed to hang around on the street. There was Sinaloa and Apache, who looked a bit like labs, one in black the other black with reddish hues. There was also LaBetty who always fought with Furia. And when Parrez stepped out to greet his mates, Domingo approached him immediately wanting a translation for a song by Queen he would have listened to insatiably in the previous hours, though he couldn’t do much other than murmur sounds resembling the lyrics. “If you speak English little gringo, what does this song say?” Domingo then sang some half chewed sounds in accordance to what he thought English was like. Parrez didn’t understand any of disappointed Domingo’s singing. “Look at the book Domingo,” Parrez suggested, earning himself an invitation to the Jimenez household that afternoon after the match to interpret a long list of songs by U2, Queen, Guns n Roses and The Beatles. Domingo had spent more than a year since his family bought their first CD player without knowing what the hell he was saying when he sang along Freddy Mercury and other famous voices. Rolando Greco, who lived around the corner, went with them to house number 68. Tita was there at the kitchen table and she made Domingo warm up a can of peas with butter and to bring her a beer. While they waited, Tita explained to Greco that she loved her little dog Gigante and her big dog Tatanka. Domingo’s brother, named Sabadito, was also home and he joined in to listen to Parrez interpret their songs.

The World Cup in America The 1994 World Cup was about to start in the USA and all the kids on the street had Panini albums. They swapped stickers before playing. If Domingo had anything that others were missing he would trade them for the right to be on the pitch and not in post. When he wasn’t in post, the teams were organized in such a way that Domingo’s presence wouldn’t jeopardize a smooth match. His only skill was the strength in his legs. He could kick the ball far, further than anyone on the street and he infuriated his teammates every time he did it. He did it every time he had the ball. They didn’t always know everyone who played. Some lived next to Domingo in the vecindad, a property that looked like any other on the outside, but held a whole other neighbourhood on the inside. Any new player or anyone who played infrequently probably lived in one of the three levels held inside the vecindad. There was el Rodman, a skinny guy with tan skin and bleached hair, or Cabo, who was a bit older and could only play Saturdays and Sundays when he was allowed to leave his military post. The only regular from there was Froilán Morro Rubio, a chubster who played in a replica Jorge Campos top. He was shit scared of Tita’s dog Tatanka and would run away when they came out. His fluorescent yellow uniform made him look like a life size tennis ball for Tatanka to chase. Parrez sat his last exam of the year on the day the World Cup kicked off. He went home to play with his mates for a while before Germany kicked off against Bolivia in the afternoon. Domingo arrived with his Questra after the game had started. Nobody

paid him much attention. He walked himself to his position as the second post of the far goal. “Hey Domingo.” There was a girl sitting on the hood of an abandoned and rusted Datsun. Adding to Domingo’s football woes was the frequent appearance of a chubby cheeked girl who had taken to watching him play over the last few months. Her name was Marlén and everybody knew she wanted Domingo. When she sat on the Datsun everyone would clap and whistle for Domingo to try the easy task of seducing her. It would have been easier than kicking a penalty without a goalkeeper. Marlén was about the same age as Domingo. Her jeans were rolled halfway to her knees. Her hair was tied in a sideways ponytail by a yellow scrunchee. It matched her laceless Keds. Her shirt was also yellow. Domingo avoided her gaze. He’d acknowledge her by leaning slightly but kept his arms down to imply that he couldn’t talk to her or the goal would be ruined. At least playing post gave him the excuse of being immobilized so he couldn’t just relax and answer her calling. But she preferred him there, as did the players. He wouldn’t ruin their game and he wouldn’t be able to run away from her. Domingo’s father, Lencho, on the other hand, was so ashamed of the situation that he would take Domingo’s place in post so Domingo would be free to play. Then Lencho would assume this gave him the right to give tactical advice, mainly “give Domingo the ball guys!” After a match or during the break, Lencho would shout a round of soft drinks and chips. It was summer and the rain usually flooded every match; first there was distant thunder and then the clouds would spill on to the Earth.

Meanwhile, hiding in the corner store from the rain, Lencho would explain that he named his son Domingo as a tribute to football. Sundays are football days. “But my wife hates football. She thought I named our son to honour God. She hates football so much she doesn’t even buy round fruit at the market. All we have are bananas and mangoes.” Most of the kids laughed at Lencho’s nonsense but didn’t listen when he ended his smart remarks with the same words always: “I don’t want any of you to make Domingo be the post anymore.” Tita would eventually come out to drag Lencho and Domingo away. On the day Mexico played Bulgaria during the final rounds of the World Cup, the football match on the street was stopped and everyone poured into the corner store to watch Mexico on the television. Even Ramonjo’s stray dogs and the random players from the vecindad were standing in front of a tiny screen the owners had suspended from the ceiling. The store smelled like fried grease and fruit crates. Everyone was fixed on the screen. The match started well with Mexico showing an orderly presentation. Ramonjo’s dogs barked in unison when they noticed Tatanka and Gigante walking ominously towards the corner store. Tita. Marlén grabbed Domingo’s hand. The two flew out of the shop like thieves before Domingo’s mother appeared. The dogs snarled at each other. Tita made her screaming apparition. She intimidated all the dogs with her loud voice, she charged through the football crowd to a six-pack of Tecate. “Get over here Domingo,” she said, but Domingo was no longer there. Had he been there she would have taken him home and made him watch game shows and soap operas.

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It happened to be around then, while Tita’s presence still filled the shop that Hristo Stoichkov fired the ball into the Mexican net with such speed that there was nothing for Jorge Campos to do about it. Bulgaria one, Mexico zero. Meanwhile Marlén and Domingo had run full speed to the apartment above the Bubble Laundromat where she lived. They got there so quick they saw Stoichkov score on the little screen that her parents had placed on top of the refrigerator. Marlén’s family came from another town, recently arrived. Nobody would have guessed Domingo was her first guest. Her parents weren’t home. They drank three beers between them and smoked some cigarettes she gave him while Domingo watched the match. Bulgaria won on penalty kicks. Mexico missed the first three. She didn’t know much about football but she could tell from Domingo’s sadness that a lot had been lost. ‘Another beer Domingo?” Domingo nodded. She took a Corona from the fridge then took Domingo to her room. It was small with a single bed under the window. Domingo could feel the heat radiating from her big body as she sat next to him. She put her hand on his cheek to make their eyes meet. The girl played like Bulgaria. “Close your eyes Domingo.” He obeyed. An instant later he received her warm mouth on his lips. He didn’t like the girl. She was fat and sugary; she was in every way like a pink marshmallow. But he liked the kiss. He didn’t move and he let her kiss him a few times. Finally they pulled apart so he could finish his beer. Then he ran away without saying goodbye. Marlen’s romantic smile, her yellow shoes, yellow shirt

and yellow hair tie left him with an indescribable malaise in his chest. No more football was played that afternoon on the street. Thunder circled the clouds like vultures that never land. Rain began to pour. Four more years for the next World Cup felt like an unfair sentence.

Lencho The next time Marlén appeared on the Datsun, she brought Domingo a gift. It was wrapped in shiny paper. Inside was a street market version of the shorts worn by the national team during the Cup. She helped him change into them behind the old Datsun. His new shorts were long and baggy. They covered his legs to his knees unlike his old loincloth that just covered his groin. Everyone was watching and giggling as she tucked his shirt in for him. He looked like a real footballer. Before letting him go Marlén touched his chin and gave him a dreamy smile. Domingo ran to his post to avoid any more mockery from the other kids. He worked hard to fulfil his role as post, usually an inscrutable and unbreakable metallic structure, stoic even when Stoichkov smashed the ball into it. He stood straight with his back to Marlén. Shots bounced off him. Night closed in on the sky. The street lighting would light the way for the ball under its ochre shine. Lightning flashed in the distance. A faint rain moistened the space between the sky and the ground. Lencho found Domingo standing in post. “Maybe your mother is right. Go home Domingo, you shouldn’t be playing football. Go home.” Marlén then left and Domingo was replaced with a bucket.

Her parents weren’t home. They drank three beers between them and smoked some cigarettes she gave him while Domingo watched the match. Bulgaria won on penalty kicks. Mexico missed the first three. She didn’t know much about football but she could tell from Domingo’s sadness that a lot had been lost.

FOUNDING SUPPORTERS Elia Santoro Thomas Patterson Doug Kors John Ryan-Brown Simon Mattiaccio Boris Gligorevic Ante Kelic Vinnie Rugari Todd Blackwell Andrew Winthorpe Kate Cohen Stuart Meney Andrew Smith Adrian Demack Christine Whyte Daniel Bryant Jeremy Clarke Alan Crabbe Greg Downes Justin Civitillo Renae Gibson-Suzuki @brisbane_roar Bonita Mersiades Reuben Acciano David Mcgaw Anthony Iannuzzi Oliver Newling Tim Palmer Stephen Webb Daniel Paperny Joe Gorman Danielle Warby Michael Huguenin Ash Munro Eric Suchy Sarah Ng Jeffrey Gabriel Adam May Mike Ticher

Toby Mills Nick Amies Anthony Siokos Kieran Pender Daniel Colasimone Ray Gatt Robb Hittner Linda Vaughan Mathew Doolan Ben Almunia Clark Rodney Spottiswood John Stensholt Jeremy Mansfield Ann Odong Judy Kalman James Parkinson Andrew Clark Athas Zafiris Gary Murdoch Con Stamocostas Daniel Sawalaga David Mackay David Scott Jacobs Family Angelo Tilocca Joshua Shepherd Rupert Jones Natalie Tosh Brogan Renshaw Travis Winters Jason Rutter Marguerite Klaic Tom Denison Gene Schirripa Chris Gouw Anita Stojakovic Brodie Wales Beau Bardenhagen Andrew Demack

Jason Ganter Mark Donoghoe Alvin Ng Dale Roots Earl O’Neill Nicole Macdonald Caterina Ferrara Jenny Simmons Karmin Cooper Nick Lazarou Mark Bunce Kieran Francis Tom Onus Enrico Trami Tim Jenkins Tim O’Halloran Robert Malic Shane Boyle Sophie Hill Lewis Isaacs David Manuca Guy Mcloghlin Jon Eaves Anthony Mancuso Wayne Snowdon Rachel Kerr Jackson Gothe-Snape Guido Tresoldi Duyen Ho Jessica French Al Kerr Michael Bishop Adam Peacock Troy Toohey Elsa Brissenden Marcel Borrack Cee-Jon Ying Stuart Carnie Dan Copping Thin White Line

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Editor Ian Kerr

Assistant Editor Ben de Buen

Art direction Cameron Colson

Assistant to Mr Colson Suzie Chadwick

Translations Maria Teresa Tombini, Ben de Buen and Ian Kerr

Illustrations Jenny Simmons

Video Rod Spottiswood – www.roddersvs.com

Web stuff Microcosm Design Andrew Macdermid – macdermid.net

Thanks to Cam and Suzie for being awesome. Ben de Buen for hours of restructuring and hunting for repetition. Andrew Macdermid for the short notice interwebbing. Rodders for the smashing video. George Donikian for generously donating his talents for our crowd funding campaign. All the rockin’ writers and fabulous photographers from all over the world who contributed to Issue 1 and to the website. The football lovers we interviewed. You mad internetters who gave us a like, a retweet, a follow or a share. Thanks again to everyone who contributed to our crowd funding campaign. Last but not least, a big thank you to MT, the Tasmanians and all the spouses, partners, families, friends and hangers-on who supported us over the last few months. You rock.

Subscribe Visit www.thinwhitelinemagazine.com for information on how to subscribe.

Advertise Additional photo credits Page 5, 114, 115 and back cover: Ian Kerr Page 30: Andrew Dettre’s personal collection Pages 63, 65 and 66: Nathan Coe’s personal collection Pages 70 and 73: David Allegretti Page 84: AAP Images/Sporting Pictures UK/Sport the Library Page 89: Mme Ruby Pages 94 and 98: Mike Nichol

Contact the editor at ian@thinwhitelinemagazine.com for details.

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