‘Well, that’s why you didn’t win a GODDAMN thing until I got here,’ Rongen spits before marching towards the team bus on his own. The rest follow submissively. Salapu doesn’t say another word.
An hour later Samoa took on Tonga and drew 1-1. It meant that both the Cook Islands and Tonga had been eliminated from World Cup qualification. Chris Williams, Tonga’s coach, was devastated it hadn’t worked out as planned. ‘Look, American Samoa carried that thirty-one-nothing defeat for ten years and we’ll have to shoulder that from now on,’ he says of Tonga’s historic defeat to American Samoa a few days before. ‘But I’m really proud of the boys after what happened a few days ago. We’ll finish the tournament against Cook Islands and I’ll just keep travelling the world and keep learning.’
The result may have knocked the two highest ranked teams out of the tournament, but it had set up a stone-cold classic. Samoa v American Samoa, the Samoan Clásico. Two different countries, yes, but the same people. Improbably, American Samoa and Samoa sit joint top of the group on equal points. To qualify for the next round American Samoa has to beat Samoa. A draw isn’t enough thanks to Samoa scoring more goals. Despite American Samoa and Samoa sitting joint last on FIFA’s ranking, it is only an illusion of parity. The Samoans have not played an international football match in four years, preferring to build the league and nurture its players in isolation before launching them into international competition. Some of their players have been born abroad, too, given that a large Samoan community exists in Australia and New Zealand. Australian international and former Everton midfielder Tim Cahill qualified for Samoa via his Samoan mother and made his debut for the Under 20s in 1994, at just fourteen, although his two appearances in that tournament owed more to opportunism than patriotism. ‘I saw it simply as a chance to go on holiday because my grandmother was ill at the time in Samoa,’ he told the London Evening Standard in 2002. FIFA had just blocked his chance of playing for the Ireland national team at that year’s World Cup, whom he qualified for by virtue of an Irish grandparent on his father’s side. ‘It was a chance to go back and see her on expenses as the Samoans were paying for all my flights, accommodation and living expenses. I could not have cared less about playing for them.’
This tournament had been a boon for the American Samoans. It had given the island back its pride and had given Nicky Salapu his life back. But the Samoan team also had their own connection to that 31-0 mauling. The day after their draw with Tonga, the Samoans are training on a pitch next to the J. S. Blatter Stadium. Tunoa Lui is a very different coach from Thomas Rongen. He stands on the sidelines, quietly watching the team training in near silence. When he wants to make a point he approaches a player and speaks quietly to him. Lui was the American Samoan coach that day in Australia in 2001. It was he who was quoted afterwards saying that he couldn’t see why Australia would want to score so many goals. ‘It was tough going back then, I felt sorry for the boys but we didn’t have our best players that day,’ he says. He talks just as he coaches: quietly and politely. Like Salapu, Lui had been left with some heavy baggage from the defeat. Work was hard to come by. Why would anyone want to hire the coach who had presided over a world record loss? But what, exactly, could the coach change to stop any future blood-letting? Lui rebuilt his career in Samoa and had risen to national team coach. He felt uncomfortable even talking about the 31-0 defeat, which he describes as ‘one of the worst nights of my life’. He had been badgered by the press and ridiculed all over the world. And now the international media had once again descended on American Samoa, this time for their unexpected victory and draw against the Cook Islands. It was something that his Samoan team were completely unprepared for. ‘The boys are not used to this,’ he says of the intense interest in the game. ‘It is the first time pretty much any of them have ever been interviewed by anyone. This is a rugby nation. Football is the minority sport. I think some of them find it interesting to be interviewed. They are not used to it. They are kind of shy.’
Just how shy is made clear a few minutes later when I speak to Samoa’s captain, left-back Charles Bell.
Me: The big game tomorrow, American Samoa v Samoa. Did you ever think you’d play them for a chance to reach the next round?
Charles: [Long pause] They’ve already done well with our games and our training sessions. I trust them on the pitch and off the pitch.
Me: What do you do outside of football? What’s your job?
Charles: I work as a customs officer.
Me: So you do drug busts?
Charles: [Long pause] Yeah. People are bringing drugs into our country. So we use our canine units to stop them.
Me: What’s the biggest bust for cocaine you’ve done? Two, three, tonnes?
Charles: No, just small packets.
Me: What do your customs officer mates make of you playing on the national team?
Charles: Yeah, they are really proud of me.
Me: So ... what’s your prediction for tomorrow?
Charles: [Long pause, shyly looking at the floor] I will put all my effort into the game. The boys will all give their best tomorrow.
He couldn’t wait to get away.
**
It is the morning of the match and Thomas Rongen has gathered his team in the dining hall of the motel. He’s going through his tactical plan on a whiteboard, sticking up paper diagrams to illustrate the runs that Samoa’s forwards will be making. He spins and points at individual players, telling them forcefully what to watch for. Rongen speaks quickly but clearly, his voice booming across the room. ‘We are going to win all our battles. And if we win all our battles, we’ll win the war – and this is a war – for ninety minutes,’ he shouts at the room. ‘Peace afterwards, respect before. The Clásico. It is going to be a tough affair. You are ready for this ninety-minute war. And then maybe a chance for Brazil. Maybe at first we thought about just scoring a goal. But now, you have put yourself in the position of winning this tournament. Give everything for your country. That’s all we can ask.’ The room shouts back in approval.
It is raining heavily outside now. It is two and a half hours before kick-off and the American Samoa team are loading on to the bus for the short ride to the J. S. Blatter Stadium. Rongen is sheltering under a tree, smoking his last cigarette of the day. ‘To play for a championship? Nobody, nobody, and I include myself in that quite frankly, thought this would happen when I went to American Samoa, went on the field for the first session and saw the level,’ he says smiling. ‘I feared it was going to be a really tough task. I’ve been to a quarter-final and semi-final with the Under 20s, an assistant coach with the US senior team at France [’98], but this will be my best coaching job.’ The same group of players now aiming for Brazil had turned up at the 2011 South Pacific Games a few months before and been hammered 8-0 by both New Caledonia and Vanuatu, conceding twenty-six goals in five games and scoring none. Now, Rongen has done all he could do. Before the first game against Tonga he didn’t know how his players would react to his intensive three-week crash course in international football. They passed the test, but this is a different one. It isn’t about not getting beaten, or not conceding, or scoring a goal, or even winning a game. It is about becoming champions, finishing first. ‘I saw a group of men grow up,’ he says, throwing his cigarette butt on to the floor. ‘We’ve turned around a defeatist mentality, a fragile team, in this short space of time. They believe that going out on the pitch today isn’t about thinking “let’s not give up eight, nine or ten goals”. We can walk on the field to say we’re here to win the game and vie for a spot to Brazil.’
The J. S. Blatter Stadium is surrounded by dark clouds as tropical raindrops fall like bullets. A mist is rolling down the hills as water pools on the pitch. Tonga had beaten the Cook Islands in the day’s previous game, giving Chris Williams his first ever victory. It would also be his last. He would be replaced shortly afterwards. But the match had seen so much rain that a team of men have been trying to drain the pitch using buckets a
nd sticks ever since. The OFC officials even suggest at one point that the match be postponed. But with an hour to go the clouds clear and the rains stop as kick-off approaches. In the dressing room Rongen is walking in a circle, urging each player to believe they can win. Even American Samoa’s governor has flown in for the match and adds his own words of encouragement. The team begin to clap their hands together as striker Rambo Tapui shouts motivational slogans in Samoan as if he was Eminem in a hip-hop battle slam. The team pray together, linking arms. Rongen is there, too, eyes closed, head bowed, before the team does a group hug and runs out for the national anthems. ‘We talked about clear hearts, full hearts. Make it happen. Make it happen!’ Rongen shouts as each player passes through the dressing-room door and into the tunnel. ‘Let’s go, boys. Grab this opportunity. The surfs out.’
The American Samoa team is lined up, with their hands on their hearts. Each player sings ‘Amerika Samoa’, the national anthem, but Jaiyah Saelua stands tallest and sings louder than anyone else:
Amerika Samoa
Your name forever holds
Your legends of yore
Stand up and be counted.
It is the most important game of their lives. Rongen stands on the sidelines, his hand also pressed to his heart as he listens to the anthem. The rainstorm that has threatened to engulf the stadium hovers menacingly, leaving the pitch flooded in places and the goalmouth a black, muddy mess. No one is sure whether this is a good or a bad thing. The referee blows his whistle. The American Samoa bench pray for one last miracle.
It is almost all one-way traffic. Samoa have several professionals in the side from New Zealand and Australia. Their coach is also motivated by escaping the gravitational pull of that 31-0 match against Australia. But Nicky Salapu wants to escape it more. He makes one acrobatic save after another. He drops nothing. Every kick finds an American Samoan shirt. He is unbeatable. At half-time it is 0-0. Rongen takes his team talk by the blue cloth dugout. They have to score or they are out. Jaiyah Saelua did not have a great half. ‘Jaiyah, you are always twenty yards behind, it’s very hard for us to defend that way. Everyone should be up with them. And then we play them offside,’ he says. But he is not angry. He is talking more softly now. ‘We are exactly where we wanted to be, guys.’ Rongen is also about to throw his Hail Mary. ‘Allow me to give you the signal when there’s twenty minutes left. I’ll bring on [striker] Diamond [Ott] off the bench to give us some speed and we are just going to go for it. We are exactly where we are supposed to be.’
American Samoa do go for it. Rongen brings on their pacey striker, Diamond Ott. He gives his signal and the team push forward as the skies darken. It is a risky move but nothing is getting past Nicky Salapu today. Then comes the moment that could change everything. American Samoa make a rare attack. A through ball splits the Samoan centre-backs. Diamond Ott is quicker than anyone else on the pitch and reaches the ball, just as Rongen had planned. He is one on one with the Samoan goalkeeper. Ott slides the ball past him. Time slows as the crowd and the bench wait. For a brief second it looks as if it is in, but it hits the post and bounces clear. Several American Samoa players fall to their knees, knowing they won’t get a better chance than that. And they don’t. Instead, Samoa break away and score in the ninety-second minute with one of the last kicks of the match. Nicky Salapau was seconds away from his first clean sheet. Samoa win 1-0 and American Samoa’s dream is over.
The heavy rains finally roll in almost as the referee blows for full-time. American Samoa do one final haka. They have lost, but Rongen has no complaints, not this time. After all, they have come further than anyone could have imagined. Rongen’s contract ended the day they were knocked out. It would have been crazily optimistic to hand him anything else. But he will move on to pastures new, his love of the game reinvigorated. ‘I’m so proud of what this team has accomplished. That win that rebounded around the world. I could not be prouder of a group of guys that came from nowhere,’ he says as the team sings behind him. ‘How can you not believe?’
Rongen is dragged into the crowd by his team, as they beg him to lead the chants of ‘Amerika Samoa’. Jaiyah Saelua’s tears are indistinguishable from the rain. ‘I’m disappointed but we still did so well and I am looking forward to seeing the future for American Samoan soccer.’ The match, however, could be the last time she takes to the pitch. ‘This has been a life-changing experience for me,’ she admits. ‘But I don’t know if soccer has a place within me after this tournament. I just want to focus on dance school.’
In just a few days the world’s worst team has been transformed. They didn’t make it to the next round of World Cup qualification. But who knows what would have happened? Samoa’s coach Tunoa Lui pointed to the sky, to God, when the final whistle blew. He had shared the burden of that 31-0 drubbing with Nicky Salapu and had also found redemption in an unlikely comeback. But it didn’t last long. Lui’s reward for qualification was to be replaced for the 2012 OFC Nations Cup, Oceania’s version of the European Championships. The semi-finalist qualified for the final round of World Cup qualification, but the winner would also make it to the following year’s Confederations Cup to play the likes of Brazil and Spain. Samoa played Tahiti in the opening game and lost 10-1. Of those ten goals, nine were scored by four members of the Tehau family, three brothers and a cousin who all played for Tahiti. Tahiti would go on to win the cup and secure an unlikely place in the Confederations Cup. Samoa would go on to lose 9-0 against New Caledonia.
Back in Apia the American Samoa team circle their coach. ‘We started together, we finished together,’ he tells them. ‘You can walk off the field with your heads held high. Be very proud for what you have done for your country. I am so proud of you guys.’ The team come together and chant ‘One, two, three, American Samoa!’ as Whitney Houston’s ‘I Wanna Dance With Somebody’ is played over the PA system. They break away. Thomas Rongen, Jaiyah Saelua, Nicky Salapu and the rest of the American Samoa team walk back to the coach as the rain falls harder than ever.
5
LEBANON, UNITED ARAB EMIRATES
Beirut, Lebanon. February 2012.
Beirut is being deluged. It is the worst winter in living memory and freezing rainwater cascades down the streets towards the Mediterranean Sea, tumbling over the city’s fragile and overloaded drainage system – which, like almost every part of Lebanon’s infrastructure, has been left to crumble since the end of the country’s total civil war – before flooding the roads closest to the coast. Beirut is a hard city to live in and an even harder one to love. Its name is now synonymous with ruin. Bullet holes still pepper the façade of its crumbling French-style architecture as patches of scorched earth lie next to brand new boutiques and hotels. Ever since the brutal fifteen-year civil war ended in 1990 – a war that pitted its Christian, Sunni, Shia and Druze population against each other in ever more elaborate and bloody networks of alliances and enmities – Beirut has been a city of cycles, too. The tiny country of Lebanon, up to a third of whose population resides in the capital, has lurched between economic revival, a hopeful return to its glamorous past (in the 1950s it was considered the Monaco of the Middle East) and, finally, a war – either from the outside or within – that would reset the clock every few years.
Today it is difficult to know which path Lebanon is heading down. It is seven years since the country’s popular Sunni ex-prime minister Rafic Hariri was assassinated by a car bomb, allegedly with the compliance of Bashar al-Assad’s regime in Syria, sparking huge street protests that forced Syria to end a twenty-year custodial occupation. It is six years since Israeli jets destroyed parts of Beirut to counter the threat of the Shia militant group Hezbollah; four years since Hezbollah took over Beirut in a show of force to let the Lebanese government know who was really the boss; and three years since a parliamentary election that laid bare just how divided this country had become.
Yet Beirut’s beautiful people continue to party. The New York Times had recently announced that the city w
as the must visit destination of the year. Gemmayzeh, once a snipers’ alley in the Christian district of Ashrafieh, is now a mile-long procession of cocktail bars. On the other side of Martyrs’ Square, the ground zero of the civil war that split Christians to the north and Muslims to the south, upmarket restaurants and nightclubs have proliferated in an area where Yasser Arafat’s Palestinian Liberation Organisation had its headquarters before the Israelis forced them into a Tunisian exile in 1983. And now tens of thousands of Syrians are pouring into Lebanon to escape the heinous death toll in their country’s own civil war, recalibrating Lebanon’s precarious sectarian balance. A state that could barely offer the basics to its own citizens is creaking under its new responsibilities.
These problems would be insurmountable in most countries but in Lebanon unity is a rare commodity. Flags of the various militias that hold sway on the streets and in the parliament are more prevalent than Lebanon’s own flag. Nothing has been able to rise above and offer a mirror to the country that could prove that Lebanon is more than the sum of its parts. Nothing, that is, until Theo Bucker returned to town. Bucker is sitting in an upmarket hotel suite overlooking the miserable, cold, windswept vista of Martyrs’ Square as the rains flood the streets below, listening to a song written in his honour. The coach of the Lebanese national football team nods politely, if a little awkwardly, as an aspiring Lebanese singer explains why she felt compelled to come to his room, unannounced, with a MacBook under her arm, and her producer in tow, to play him a song she had written about a sport she had barely given a second thought to until recently. ‘It came to me one night in a dream, all of the names of the players,’ she explains to him, as the song, a bland but inoffensive Lebanese pop number, wafts through the room. ‘I felt inspired after that last victory,’ she giggles a little too hard. Bucker smiles mechanically when reminded of that match, a 2-1 victory against South Korea. It was a result that had something of a profound effect on a country, and a city, he had fallen in love with ever since marrying his Lebanese dentist.
Thirty-One Nil Page 12
