Feeling blue, turning green…and gold

I just saw my beloved Socceroos lose a World Cup game to a referee. I also just witnessed my Italian Azzuri bravely win the same game with ten men. But I’m neither wallowing in my beer nor celebrating. I’m not reveling in the simple pleasure of an Aussie meat pie, or the zesty flavour of a penne marinara. No, I’m just thinking about how all at once the World Cup can ask you to dance, and leave you alone by the punch bowl in tears.

In a tournament which has united the world unlike any before it, I suddenly feel a little divided. You see, when I heard Australia would meet Italy in Monday’s Round of 16 blockbuster, my heart began splitting like Ricky Williams from Miami.

Like many people living in big metropolitan towns, I have allegiances to other lands, and to sports clubs other than the New York Jets or Toronto Maple Leafs. If you grew up in Australia or have even visited, you’ll understand that there’s no choice—you are part of the Aussie sports fabric. It’s a birth rite—they might as well stamp it on your passport; Australian and sports mad.

It’s not so much local clubs that have you tugging at dad’s sleeve to buy a jersey or a cap, however, but the national teams. Our boringly successful cricket side, forever popular rugby Wallabies and weirdly amphibious swim team are all national treasures. Missing one of their contests can be likened to skipping your nephew’s tenth birthday party. Don’t expect a piece of pavlova cake later on.

So when the Socceroos qualified for the Cup after beating past champions, Uruguay, the Roos stirred the Aussie psyche. They finally mattered. And for the first time, I was confused about my position, like a goalkeeper uncertain of whether to charge the striker or sit on his line.

Italy or Australia?

Top be honest, I never thought they’d meet in the World Cup. I mean, come on, what were the chances of the Aussies escaping their group? Brazil, Japan, Croatia—it never looked likely. Yet the soccer gods were ready with a cruel joke on this occasion. Testing the willpower of every Italian-Australian going round must rank as one of Soccer Heaven’s best. Nice work Offsideon.

So, there I was Monday, in a sports bar on an early lunch, watching my Aussies—I mean Azzuri, battle for a place in the quarter finals. It was tough. I could hardly watch, and certainly couldn’t eat.

The game’s uneven tempo didn’t help. The ball bounced around Fritz-Walter Stadium in Kaiserslautern, like a plate of sauerkraut being passed down a row—slowly and unsteadily. It was a mess of a match, with loosely-timed tackles and more almost-sort-of hand balls than I can recall in one game. Shots were consistently wayward and passing was about as accurate as a game of pub darts. The whole disjointed spectacle, begged a draw and a fresh thirty minutes.

Plus, I needed the extra time to make my mind up on whom to follow?

Suddenly a changing moment. A red card to Italy’s Marco Materazzi sent a surge of Aussie pride up my spine. How dare that clumsy bastard take down one of our men! But twenty minutes later, as the Italians protected their turf so valiantly, the olive oil in my blood began to seep through my pores. I was sweating marinara sauce. Crikey! Plus my dark hair, and five o’clock shadow that sprung up before halftime would surely giving me away in this Anglo-centric establishment.

Time to yell some Aussie expletives at the screen. “You flamin’ mongrel! Keep your eye on he ball you bloody gallah!” (Generally slang words for a dog or the names of native Australian birds will do in this situation). “You f#@$ stupid cockatoo!”

The Italians made a surprising substitution with about fifteen minutes left, bringing on attacker, Francesco Totti. My nerves began unraveling. History told me that the Italians love to defend, so summoning an offensive maestro was either a special new tactic, or those damn soccer gods were pulling the prank strings just for kicks.

As we now know, Totti won the game for Italy with a penalty and I almost spat my meat pie all over the screen. Ok, so I didn’t have a meat pie, but I wished that I did because that last minute penalty to Italy was one of the worst World Cup decisions I’ve ever seen. More importantly, though, it left me (and I’m sure many others) feeling empty about the final result. The game’s struggle had earned a better finish and both teams deserved a more decisive victory.

I returned to the office with my heart still in tact; half green and gold, half blue. Happily divided. And so, I guess, it will always be. Plenty more games to watch—kangaroo steak pizza anyone?

Shortstop showstopper

I realized this week that New York Yankees shortstop, Derek Jeter, is truly a legend.

I'll admit I'm a pretty new baseball fan, and while I don't cheer for the Yanks or live in the Big Apple, I love watching Jeter.

Besides the numbers, he has that Michael Jordan quality—you just have to watch him. He's exciting because he can influence a game single-handedly, like Bird or Gretzky or The Babe. Something not many can claim.

These days, athletes are propped up and torn down in a blink, but some just continue at a steady, brilliant pace. Some—a few, really.

Then there are, of course, the numbers. Through his last 10 games, just for example, Jeter has 14 hits in 40 at-bats for a tidy .350 average. It was also his bat last night against the Atlanta Braves—as it is nearly every night—that sparked the Yankee offense to yet another win. All in a day's work.

How about in his career's work?


There are too many Jeter stats that wow but take a look at these Hall of Fame-type figures. Jeter is only the second player in Yankee history to have as many as four 200-hit seasons, joining Lou Gehrig (who had eight). He ranks fifth on the all-time Yankees list with a .314 batting average behind only Hall of Famers Babe Ruth (.349), Lou Gehrig (.340), Earle Combs (.325) and Joe DiMaggio (.325).

Just for good measure, he played 1,400 games with 1,775 career hits, the most by any player through that many games since Kirby Puckett had 1,830. Over 1,500 games he amassed 1,906 hits and 1,140 runs. The last player in the Major Leagues with as many hits and runs in his first 1,500 games was Joe DiMaggio.

The thing that impresses me most, however, is that numbers mean little to this guy. He just wants to win the game. He'll sprint, scoop, twist, contort, or throw an arm out just to collect a ground ball. He focuses every at-bat, running through the same routine like a photocopier. And he plays with a sense of joy. It's simply nice to watch.

Yesterday's game, on Jeter's 32nd birthday, was nothing out of the ordinary. But his career, as easy as it is to take for granted, continues to excel. Why pine for MJ, when we've still got DJ?

Summer Storm

It's all about crazy weather this week - Hurricanes and Heat.

I'm not sure whether to don a raincoat or Bermuda shorts in celebrating two of the more unlikely pro sports champions ever.

Monday night, the Carolina Hurricanes showed they had enough puff to outlast the Edmonton Oilers in a thrilling finale to the NHL season. The Canes earned the Stanley Cup with a 3-1 Game 7 victory, against a resilient and slippery Oilers side. It's been a long time coming for Hurricane fans, who endured limited success with the team in Hartford. Remember "The Whale"?

Then there's new NBA kings the Miami Heat, the sea-sawing expansion outfit from down south, with as star-studded a history as any NBA team going round. Glen Rice, Steve Smith, Billy Owens, Tim Hardaway, Alonzo Mourning, Harold Miner, Dan Marjerle—need I go on? Winning ain't easy folks but Sherriff Pat Riley and his boys finally outgunned the wiley Dallas Mavs in Game 7. Magnificent.

And now these two champs have proven everyone wrong, showing that teamwork and determination are not just overused sports cliches. Like their rollercoaster pasts, both clubs went down before roaring back up. They may not be Cinderella stories—on account of the fact nobody seemed to want their wins—but they are fairytale finishes nonetheless.

Perhaps like Rapunzel, they can now let their hair down.

Brazil-mania

It's interesting to see the love for Brazil's soccer team from fans who aren't even Brazilian. Everywhere you walk, people are wearing canary yellow jerseys and lime green track tops. They're painting they're faces like a lemon and lime ice-cream, and investing in those sparkly tinsel wigs—you know the ones.

Fanaticism for Brazil is this year's World Cup must-do. (You may recall that in 2002 it was mohawking your hair like David Beckham). Boy did that die quickly.

Certainly Brazil has the personnel to back-up the attention. Ronaldinho alone could steal a press gallery away from a bikini-clad Heidi Klum. Ok, not quite—but almost.

There's nothing wrong with jumping on the bandwagon of the most successful World Cup sides in history, or cheering for the clear-cut favourites, or dumping your only bet on the owners of the world's finest player; but I beg of you, where's the fun in it?

There are 31 other nations on the leaderboard folks, each with a chance of winning something—even if it isn't the Cup. So here are my top 5 "other teams" to support during the 2006 World Cup, should you feel all Braziled-out.

5. France - they have skill, style, intellect and great wine, but perhaps not the staying power anymore.

4. USA - can talk the talk, especially with Bruce Arena at the helm, but can they really walk the walk?

3. Trinidad and Tobago - they're the quintessential underdog and their captain, Dwight Yorke, is cool. He dated, um, er, a model…Jordan.

2. Portugal - they're always in the trophy mix and have some of the most passionate fans you'll ever meet. Trust me, crash this party.

1. Germany - c'mon, they're the host—they know where the best bars are, and where to find a decent schnitzel. Plus, I was wrong; Heidi Klum can steal a press gallery away from absolutely anyone.

The Cup is cool

After enduring boring NBA finals', several one-sided tennis slams, steroids in baseball and a cancelled hockey season in recent years, soccer fans now get their chance to celebrate. World Cup month has finally arrived!

While the Cup's enormity has no equal in European and South American sport particularly, it's pleasing that nations with less "football" experience also choose to party. Take the U.S., for example, who dominate the baseball and basketball universe traditionally, get no bigger audience than on Super Bowl Sunday, and who are now in the 2006 World Cup to compete. Yes, compete.

Perhaps more importantly to U.S. TV execs and advertisers, America has the chance to win over a whole new generation of fans. If soccer can grow its popularity further in the States, there's no telling where the game can go in this part of the world. For soccer’s sake, I'm rooting for a few red, white and blue wins.

Australia is in a similar position. Having missed Cup qualification the last 32 years, the Aussies are taking a giant Adidas boot forward in battling the likes of Brazil and Croatia. A single victory in the strong Group F, also featuring Japan, will only lift the Aussie's profile at home where rugby historically dominates.

Canada, without a qualifying team and still focused on the Stanley Cup Finals, has its World Cup interest buoyed by a potent multicultural base. In Toronto alone, national flags from every corner of the globe are waving atop cars, and local pubs have been preparing Cup events for weeks. World Cup fever knows no borders.

Everyone’s invited to the Cup party and predicting the finalists is part and parcel of the celebration—and you thought Idol was addictive. Everybody's an expert during these tournaments, everyone has a tip. I particularly love the media "experts" who pick winners based on international profile. England-with Captain Beckham-has a high profile, for instance, so is a popular bet. Italy, with its calendar models, has an inflated profile too, so we know that at least females are backing them. Brazil, based on a powerful soccer brand has a high profile as well, and is thus the most heavily backed competitor since Seabiscuit.

But where this prediction method fails, is in recognising teamwork. Many pundits are suggesting, for example, that teams such as Japan and the USA won't get past the first round. Surely, "team unity" will carry these sides in good stead?

Conversely, while squads like France and Spain have had great success in recent Cups, is this enough to make a semi-final prediction for either? I’d suggest no. Experience is one thing, but age, and ageing stars are another. It's every four years, after all, anything can happen. And usually anything and everything does. Bring it on!