BEAUTIFUL CHAOS: The Socceroos and the 2014 World Cup

by Adam Peacock

  The Aussie Fanatics take over a castle in Curitiba ahead of the Spain game.

  ‘OVER HERE, OVER HERE, WE’RE AUSSIE OVER HERE!’ shouts one half of the 1000-strong crowd, clad head to toe in green and gold.

  ‘OVER HERE, OVER HERE, WE’RE AUSSIE OVER HERE!’ shouts the other half.

  At 10 am, it’s beers for breakfast for the Fanatics. One of many tour groups on the loose in Brazil, the Fanatics cater for those fans wanting the trip of a lifetime. That many still have the capability to stand is a marvel in itself. They have survived Cuiabá, partied in Porto Alegre, screamed themselves stupid at a Fatboy Slim concert at the beachside resort of Florianopolis and, for the most part, avoided trouble, which is a feat in itself given the cultural hurdles. Those aren’t easy to overcome if you’re 21, its 2 am and you’ve walked up the wrong Brazilian back street drunk and obnoxious.

  They have made memories that will bring instant smiles when triggered, and now stand in front of a castle for one last group photo, a sight and sound that makes a mockery of the surrounds in true Australian spirit. Beneath the frazzled exterior three weeks of fast-living brings, they are proud football tragics, and despite the pure excitement any match day brings, for many there’s a knot in the pit of the stomach. This last 2014 World Cup adventure against Spain could go one of two ways: an upset win of monumental proportions, or an obliteration.

  From the sandstone castle, it’s a 15-minute walk through the tree-lined streets of Curitiba. Squashed in the middle of suburbia is the impressive Arena da Baixada, a rectangular structure which was completed with minutes to spare, evidenced by shoes covered in concrete dust after the queue to get in. The architecture is brilliant, the stands hang over the pitch, and there’s not a bad view among the 40,000 seats. An unusually warm winter’s day adds to the jubilant anticipation. Those 1000 Fanatics and a plethora of other Australian supporters are now nervous and sweaty, reactions only made worse when the starting XIs are made public. In terms of depth it is like comparing the Murray River to the Mariana Trench.

  Spain swap seven players. Those coming in all play at Europe’s biggest clubs and all featured in the Champions League season just gone, including Spain’s all-time leading scorer, David Villa. Australia make two changes. Tim Cahill, the greatest ever Socceroo, is out, suspended for two yellow cards accrued in the first two games, while Mark Bresciano can only make the bench, hindered by that dodgy back. They are replaced by talented duo Adam Taggart and Oli Bozanic, though no more than 12 months ago both men were struggling to get regular game time in the A-League. One hundred and forty caps of experience replaced by 10.

  It leaves Matt McKay as Australia’s most experienced international, which is a quirk to some who had him back watching the whole thing on his lounge in Brisbane. On the eve of the tournament, when Ange Postecoglou trimmed his squad from 27 to 23, a story broke saying McKay was one of the unlucky quartet. It was reported, written and tweeted, including by the author of this book (ruefully). His family was mortified, some were in tears. They’d booked a trip to see their husband, son, brother and uncle play in a World Cup. It turned out McKay hadn’t missed out at all – Luke Wilkshire had. The trip was back on after a bit of unnecessary angst. All because a couple of dopey reporters got their wires crossed.

  Upon reflection, it didn’t make much sense at all. If there was one player Postecoglou knew the capabilities of and trusted, it was the diminutive Matt McKay. They met in 2002 when the Queenslander made Postecoglou’s under-20 Australian squad, and McKay was part of the side that stunned Brazil at the 2003 World Youth Championships. They’d also enjoy success together in Brisbane winning the championship in 2011 with Roar, before McKay finally got the urge to leave his hometown and test himself abroad. He had the chance before, back when there was nothing for a professional footballer in Australia. From April 2004 until August 2005, there was no national competition. The National Soccer League was dismantled and discarded, replaced with a shiny new competition with the majority of its eight teams started from scratch. For 16 months, a generation of young players, like 21-year-old McKay, became the lost boys at a time when it’s critical they be playing against men, so they can become one.

  He was under contract with Brisbane Strikers, who were pushing for a spot in the new A-League. Clubs in Romania came calling, but his instinct told him no. Good choice, for those who did go to Eastern Europe endured calamity after calamity of unpaid wages and broken promises. McKay stayed in Brisbane, in a holding pattern.

  ‘That was tough that year not doing anything, I was fortunate the Strikers kept me on when they were applying for the A-League,’ said McKay. ‘They had a little club at Perry Park but it was pretty quiet answering phones and they had to justify me playing a wage, so I went down to Slacks Creek in Logan and pulled some beers for the locals. I’m not a big drinker, I was hopeless at it initially, always had a big head on the beer, took me a while to get going, but it was all right in the end and I had a blast.’

  Blast or not, the last thing McKay’s football career needed was frothy beers and great yarns of the folk of Slacks Creek. He needed games. A handful of them for Easts in the Brisbane local comp was all he had to show for 15 months in a holding pattern. Eventually the A-League arrived, he switched to Queensland Roar, who got the local licence to play in the competition, and life as a professional was jump-started. He played catch up well, becoming a regular Socceroo in 2011, the year he embarked on his overseas adventure. He went firstly to Scottish giants Rangers, where it turned into a complete disaster. He barely played before the famous club went into a spectacular financial meltdown. Desperate for cash, Rangers sold McKay to Korean club Busan IPark after just seven months.

  Asia was altogether different, enjoyably so in Korea, but after 12 months he went to China, to the north-eastern industrial outpost of Changchun, where he lasted six months. The money was good, but it wasn’t home. Brisbane Roar was, and when he had the chance to return to the club in 2013, the choice was a simple one. Back in Australia, he tasted more success with Brisbane, before boarding the plane for Brazil for his first World Cup, a decade after pulling those frothy beers in Slacks Creek. As thousands of his countrymen experience the coldest version of them the world has to offer, McKay’s in his five-star hotel as one of our most experienced Socceroos, raring to rip in.

  Matt McKay, in a rare stationary moment (photo courtesy Kevin Airs).

  He’s not known to handle relaxation very well. ‘You could diagnose me with something,’ he admits. He’s always busy, which doesn’t blend well with the boredom that fills the long minutes and hours between training sessions and games. He moves from room to room, occupying and distracting himself from the view of the Vitória beach the team hotel overlooks. Long stretches of white sand, futsal courts, a big open bay. An energy-burning paradise. He has to restrain himself, his 5 foot 7 frame powered by an engine that would easily handle a bigger chassis. He rarely looks out of energy on the pitch, buzzing around and most comfortable amid the rapid ball movement required to hold possession against the elite. Curitiba is his greatest opportunity. Unlike the fans fearful of Spanish retribution, there are no knots in the pit of his stomach, just excitement. He’s been through too much to get to this halfway city to dread the occasion.

  ‘The beauty of the Australian footballer, even with that in mind, [is that] if you give him the fuel, he won’t take a backward step,’ says Postecoglou. ‘He will take it to the opposition. He won’t think about what’s preceded that.’

  Twelve years after hearing Postecoglou’s first words, McKay still loves listening.

  ‘He’s very articulate. People listen. Sometimes players just sit there and it goes through one ear and out the other, but with him I’m positive everyone is listening. What he says is generally spot on. Be it tactically, or motivated-wise, he’s a great talker.’

  Deep down, Postecoglou had major concerns. His players, the perpetually active McKay aside, were physically spent. They’d worked them brutally hard t
o get ready for the tournament and the exertions of Cuiabá and Porto Alegre had left little in the tank for Curitiba. Sure, there is a fountain in the old town as an example of looking after weary travellers, but more than troughs of water were needed.

  Once more Postecoglou’s address had to build the players’ belief beyond what anyone else thought reasonable, and keep his inner concerns well hidden. Why can’t this team become just the third Socceroos side to win a World Cup match? Look at where you’ve come from, look at what you’ve overcome to be a professional footballer. Once more those listening bought in.

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  ‘Ole! Ole! Ole!’ Arena da Baixada is alive with the noise of a bullfight. Eleven matadors are comfortable. Passing and movement is nimble. The bull is not annoyed yet, and remains patient, but for how long? That the bull is Spanish, dressed in unfamiliar black, is an astonishing concept.

  The stands are almost one colour: Australian gold and Brazilian yellow. The locals are with the underdog. There will be a new world champion, Brazil with as good a chance as any at this stage, and the hosts are happy to kick the vanquished on their way out. In between ‘Oles!’, they bait the now former champions by chanting, ‘You are out of the Cup’ and ‘The day has ended, time to go home’. That the message is delivered in Portuguese, not Spanish, is a mere technicality.

  Theatre aside, the Socceroos more than hold their own in the first 20 minutes, combining, dare anyone mutter in the stands, a little bit like Spain. A cutting edge is still to be found, but with McKay buzzing about and the backline largely untroubled, the mood progresses from wary to encouraging. Into the rhythm of the contest, will Australia force Spain to wilt? Are the last six seasons chasing international glory off the back of 50-plus game seasons in the two most demanding leagues in the world about to father more embarrassment?

  A genius responds. A genius says no. He drifts, moves, creates, teases, torments and provides clarity when they need it most. If only one day Australia can create a player like Andrés Iniesta. He embodies ‘tiki-taka’. Hardworking, selfless, skilful and decisive. He had the perfect football upbringing, honing his craft as a teenager at FC Barcelona’s famed La Masia academy before breaking into the first team in the 2002–03 season. What he did two years later exemplifies the difficulty of the Socceroos’ task. In 2004–05 Iniesta played to packed houses in Europe, featuring in 37 of 38 games in Barcelona’s Spanish title-winning season, and eight Champions League fixtures. At the same time, Matt McKay was pouring beers in a Logan bar, waiting for Australian football to sort itself out. A fair fight? Class begins to tell as the first half unfolds.

  Aware of the Socceroos’ limitations, Iniesta is central to the shift of control as all the factors that made Spain the relentless force begin to appear. Instead of attacking their opponents by drawing blood with one incisive move, Spain’s method is to grate away at the layers of skin. Subtle movements when in possession, the masters of space awareness with and without the ball. There is no straight line on the pitch vertically or horizontally. The graphic to illustrate their formation at the start of the TV coverage is a rough estimation, for they are continually moving in and around. Passing is designed to make the opposition move and think. The process of getting the ball to the right man at the right time is a gradual, surgical manoeuvre. Layer by layer, skin is shed and Iniesta holds the sharpest scalpel.

  On 36 minutes, Spain’s right-back Juanfran plays a ball from the touchline inside to Iniesta, stationed on the edge of Australia’s final third. The general assesses the situation, as his wary opponents don’t dare rush in, trying to carefully consider what he’ll do next. It looks sure he’ll pass to the left, but he quickly snaps back to look for space. There it is. Socceroos left-back Jason Davidson has drifted too far from Matthew Spiranovic in central defence. Juanfran takes this cue and begins a short sprint behind Davidson who is still watching Iniesta, unaware his marker is in his blind spot. Iniesta plays through the space to the advancing Juanfran, now in behind the defence, before he crosses.

  While all this unfolds, David Villa, 50 metres away on the left flank but in line with Juanfran, makes his move to storm the six-yard box. Ryan McGowan, his marker, is caught unawares and by the time he arrives, Villa has accepted Juanfran’s cross with a back heel that leaves Mat Ryan stranded. Blood drawn. 1-0.

  McKay knows exactly how the goal was created. ‘Repetition and continuity. They’ve played together for a long time, they know each other’s attributes. They were full-time from when they were 13, even younger. At Barcelona since eight or 10, learning the same thing for 20 years, that’s the culture. It becomes automatic and we need that, we need continuity.’

  Postecoglou’s greatest fears are being realised. Fatigue is the gasoline that small lapses in concentration operate on, and they become more prevalent as the game unfolds. He wants his side to defend narrowly, leaving the biggest gaps near the touchlines which the Spanish avoid like month-old-paella. The moment the back four becomes stretched, thanks to those little mental lapses, is the moment of ruin. At 1-0, it is not a hopeless cause, just unlikely. Yet still they battle, they run, as Australian sides always do.

  On the hour mark, Iniesta gives some advice to McKay. ‘Tranquilo, tranquilo!’ As in stop running, slow down, relax.

  McKay doesn’t speak Spanish, but understands. ‘Nah mate, we’re trying to get something from the game,’ he replies.

  Iniesta doesn’t speak very good English, but doesn’t need to. He responds with his feet. Ten minutes after that short conversation, he again has time on the ball with a weary Socceroos rear-guard ahead. Again an invitation is there to pass through the fullback-centre-back channel. McGowan, the Socceroos’ right-back, is trying to keep watch on two places at once – Fernando Torres over his right shoulder and in front, Iniesta, who has possession. Back and forth his head spins. Iniesta waits. Back, forth. Now!

  As McGowan looks ahead for the fourth time, Iniesta plays the ball through to Torres, who like Juanfran in the first half takes his cue perfectly. The much-maligned striker, pilloried for years for a string of unmissable misses, draws Ryan out and finishes with a low pass into the corner like it’s a training ground move. 2-0.

  A rout is possible and Spain’s substitutions offer no respite. Off goes Villa (in tears, this will be his last ever Spain appearance), Santi Cazorla and Xabi Alonso. On come Juan Mata, Cesc Fabregas and David Silva. Recent transfer moves put their valuation at a combined AUD$175 million. Two of them combine superbly to make it 3-0, Fabregas with a deft chip to find Mata, who pokes it through Ryan’s legs.

  Trudging back to halfway for the third time, McKay finds Iniesta. ‘Hey pal, what the hell happened to “tranquilo”?’

  He smiles. Mercifully, there is no more.

  Three losses. Exhausted, the Socceroos shuffle around to thank the masses. Mark Bresciano, who made it off the bench for a late cameo in his final World Cup game, goes to the section seating the players’ family and friends. He finds an old school mate and hands over one of the match balls. Slowly, they all make their way around, receiving applause from all corners. It is not the rapturous ‘Ole, Ole!’ of 80 minutes before, rather it’s appreciative and thankful.

  This was a young, inexperienced side. A variety of reasons for their defeat could be offered – retirements, injuries, form, Ange’s ideals and the failings of systems past. Nine months before, they were beaten 6-0 by Brazil and 6-0 by France and Australian football was heading towards rock bottom. With a fearless attacking approach, Cuiabá and Porto Alegre re-ignited hopes of what is possible. Curitiba served as a brutal reminder of how near-impossible becoming the best is. It is about more than 90 minutes, or a month in camp. Generations can’t afford to be stalled like Matt McKay was for 16 months.

  ‘We need to believe in the way we are set up to play and if we do that and the players are together for a long period of time and keep improving, going to big clubs, improve physically and mentally, we’ll become a better nation,’ says McKay. ‘Everyone wrote us of
f before the tournament, [and] to prove that we could compete at least, didn’t get the embarrassment of a complete flogging like we did before the World Cup was reassuring. I thought we played a really attractive style of football, things moving in the right direction, just not as quick as it needed to be.’

  As for Postecoglou, the three losses rankled, dreams of shocking the world were crushed. Yet with that realisation came more clarity than ever before. ‘There’s no reason why we can’t [play like Spain one day],’ he said with typical bluntness. ‘That’s my constant battle of trying to get some sort of understanding that the only ceiling we have is whatever we put ourselves. There’s something in the DNA of an Australian footballer that he will accept any challenge you throw at him. That’s not necessarily the case with other nationalities. There’s always some sort of baggage. But not with an Australian footballer; you got to give him the tools, got to give him the belief and the understanding about how we try to play football like that. When I started the whole Brisbane thing, playing possession football and taking it to a ridiculous degree, it was just to prove to people we can play like that. Yes we had [German import Thomas] Broich and one or two others, but for the majority it was just Aussie footballers playing the game as it’s seen overseas. There’s no reason we can’t do that.

  ‘I don’t think we’ve ever tested the boundaries of what the average Australian footballer can do. As soon as they become a senior footballer, we put them into a box. He’s good physically, he can run, he’s hard at it, all these Australian terminologies we use for our sportsmen, but we don’t test his footballing ability and give him the tools and understanding of how to use them. There’s still a long way to go in the kind of footballers we produce, but I certainly think we’re getting there and we’re far more advanced than we were years ago. Now the challenge becomes to get our teams to play that way.’