16 November 2005. The mere mention of the date brings instant recognition for any football fan in Australia. Most can remember exactly where they were, when 32 years of torment were released in torrents of raw emotion as John Aloisi’s penalty hit the back of the net.
Yet while that moment is seared into the public consciousness, accompanied by Craig Foster’s guttural yell of “Johnny Warren”, the backstory has largely faded into the mists of time. But the work done behind the scenes was a major reason why Australia qualified that day, by the barest of margins.
Frank Lowy’s mantra of “leave no stone unturned” made the difference against an ultra-tough opponent who clearly expected to win.
That preparation paid off mainly in the (largely forgotten) first leg of the playoff in Montevideo. Chartered flights on a plane that had been specially modified to include massage tables. A stop-off in the Cook Islands so the players could stretch their legs. A pre-game training camp in nearby Argentina, instead of in the lion’s den of Montevideo. The choice of training venue – San Lorenzo’s Estadio Pedro Bidegain – in down-at-heel Bajo Flores; deliberately selected to replicate the steep, raking stands of the Estadio Centenario.
There were even decoy buses at the airport in Uruguay so the travelling party could make their transit in relative peace – unlike in 2001, where the players had been heckled on arrival.
Uruguay were rattled. They argued over the kick-off time after failing to procure their own charter flight to Australia for the return leg – Fifa eventually setting a 6pm start, local time. They complained about the choice of referee, unhappy with Claus Bo Larsen because they felt that, as a Dane, he was a “neighbour” of Australia’s Dutch coach, Guus Hiddink.
Even so, they left home (many in economy class on regular commercial flights) with a one goal advantage, courtesy of Dario Rodriguez. It could have been more, but for an excellent display from Mark Schwarzer in the Australian goal. The Socceroos defended as though their lives depended on it in those last, desperate minutes.
For us media types, the Uruguay trip was one of the great life experiences. The streets were almost deserted on game day as we made our way to the Centenario – and we soon found out why. Even two hours before kick-off, the ground was already full, with supporters making a cacophony of noise with their “Soy Celeste” anthem. The rickety old venue bounced in rhythm to the tune – a truly awesome sight.
When the Australians appeared from the bowels of the stadium (the Centenario has steps leading up to the pitch), the noise levels reached a crescendo. But again, the Socceroos were prepared – all wearing headphones and staring resolutely at the pitch, rather than into the hostile stands.
In the second leg, Australian fans came into their own too. Like the governing body, they had learned lessons from 2001, and when the teams lined up for the national anthems in Sydney, the Uruguayan song was loudly booed throughout.
There’s a telling moment on the SBS coverage when the anthem ends and Jorge Fossati, the Uruguayan coach, looks warily into the stands at Stadium Australia. He hadn’t expected the Australians to be such unfriendly hosts.
The story of the second leg has been well told down the years. Hiddink’s early substitution masterstroke to bring on Harry Kewell, who then teed up Mark (still Marco in those days) Bresciano’s goal to bring the scores level, with the most famous miskick of his career. Ricardo Morales and Alvaro Recoba going agonisingly close to winning it for Uruguay. Schwarzer’s heroics in the shootout – and then, the moment itself.
The piece of commentary that accompanied Aloisi’s fateful strike on SBS has been repeated a million times in the intervening years. It’s without doubt the one game in my career I’m asked about the most – yet I have little love for it. My co-commentator, Craig Foster – as he has himself admitted – was so emotionally invested in the outcome that it made the job of narrating the drama dispassionately almost impossible.
Craig’s yelps and pleading throughout the call were like random splodges of paint on a canvas, and there was a moment in the shootout (just before the Aloisi penalty) where I lost my train of thought completely – relying on our assistant producer, Nick Christou, to do the rudimentary mathematics with fingers and thumbs to ensure what I was about to say next was correct.
“Here’s Aloisi for a place in the World Cup…”
I went to bed that night believing we’d be hammered for the unprofessional nature of the call. Yet as it turned out, it’s become iconic, because people didn’t care. Australia won. Gradually, I’ve accepted that, for all its flaws, it captured the emotion of the evening (Craig more so than me) perfectly – yet, as a piece of supposedly professional television, it makes me cringe.
Still, it’s a great lesson for all commentators. However good your lines are, however flowery your description of “the moment” – at the end of the day, we’re merely the supporting cast. People now associate the commentary with how they felt, where they were – and, crucially, what it meant. That’s the beauty of football, and of 16 November 2005. I’m honoured to be a small part of people’s memory of it.
