Diary Note

Well today's the big day, made bigger by the other results of this weekend. Queensland vs Sydney. It means nothing. It means everything. It means nothing. It means everything!!

Regardless of course we have the finalists already. Queensland vs NSW. One vs three is just about the right odds too. It's far too exciting.

Anyway here's my random diary note. I was in the bank on Friday to deposit my pay. Jacob was with me - he's come into work with me a few times on his holidays. I often say stupid things and Jacob is a cynic, so he didn't believe me when I said, "Frank Farina just walked in." He rolled his eyes! I insisted it was true and he just shook his head in disgust. "Look, he's just gone to the back of the queue." He looked and indeed it was true.

We didn't stare, but did our business with the teller, then I walked back along the line and said, "Good luck on Sunday mate."

"Thanks mate."

"Is Lynchie in form?"

"I hope so."

"We need so."

And that was the end of my consultation with the Roar's great coach.

Here's a breakfast coffee cheers to a richly entertaining game tonight, with a Roar win. This one's for Justicia.

Blogging some Bollocks

Yeah, I know I haven't really been on the blog, and I know everyone is still talking about the A-League. I reckon it's cool that Sydney have been knocked out, as they deserve in my view, but I haven't been watching the games, and have been content to read the analysis from Mike, Tony, John, Cecilia and Wayne.

I've also gotten a bit involved in the discussions over at the Queensland Roar Supporter's Forum. I'll do a bit of an analysis of that one day perhaps. Right now suffice to say that when it comes to "Why I hate Sydney?" I just don't relate. I don't even think it's funny.

Increasingly I'm thinking that it is hatred that is the irrational demon in our game. For all its glory, beauty and transcendental spectacle, is is just me who can see that football doesn't mean anything at all? That is, it means EVERYTHING of course, but meanwhile it means nothing at all. That's Football's superiority as a religion: unlike other religions, there is no pretense that some universal incontrovertability is underlying it. Unlike with other religions, there is no claim that football is not an earthy institution completely contrived and constantly corrupted by humans. Unlike with other religions, at the end of the day we can have a beer and a laugh with our most bitter enemies. I don't hate Sydney. I'm just bloody pleased that they're out.

For the handful of longer-term followers of this particular blogscape, The West End Terrorists are back for their second season, which is just a snappy two months ending with a finals day between the top four on the 31st March, just in time for the winter soccer to begin. For those who have no idea what I'm talking about, the The Terrorists are the indoor soccer team my son is part of, and which I manage.

Last week they began well with a 3:2 win over The Hogz, but unfortunately this week (yesterday - Sat - morning) they were defeated with the same score, by AC Milan. Personally I blame school 'leadership' camp, where after being expected to go to sleep in cabins full of old mates at 8.30pm, the rest of the night is a bitter and exhausting conflict between adults and children, finally resolved by corporal deprivations of enforced standing still and quiet outside for hours. I remember that crap from when I was a kid and I still think it sucks. The kids got back Friday night and needless to say they were all quite stuffed.

Meanwhile the world is full of the beauty of our game and institution. For Brisbane folk, the kick-about continues every Sunday at 4.30pm at South Leagues Club. Last week we got up to 12 a side. The real over-35s competition looms, which will be my first organised competition since I was about 8. But tomorrow, for the sheer hell of it really, I'm also going to a kick about in the morning with the Roar supporters crew, at Tarragindi. Might be an interesting thing. I've learned heaps about watching the game by playing it, and for any football tragic with even a modicum of health and fitness, I think it is compulsory. You've just got to kick one of those balls occasionally.

And there is always, always football games to watch. For the last two Saturdays, cheaper than Fox and more convenient than Suncorp, I've watched games down at the local pitch at El Salvador Soccer Club. 20 or 30 fans, not including the birds, a Corona from the humble little bar run by volunteers, and some wholesome, passionate football. Last week was 'Brazil' vs 'Lebanon'. These were pretty much fully ethnic teams as far as I could tell, screaming at one another out there with their own lingual protocols. Of course I expected the Brazilians to win but they were thrashed by the Mediteraneans. This week was two 'El Salvador' teams, less ethnically based, but with some great individual skill. It was an entertaining 2:2 draw, with a red card and a bit of fire toward the end. Good stuff. You could write volumes about the worse things one could do with a Saturday afternoon.

Football is a religion. It's not just the A-League. It's not for the elite. A part of it will always be a ball of socks on a dusty street in the sun, but it flowers and grows and articulates. It's solace, it's esperanto, it's biophilia, it's love.

Rump Steak and Footy with Jacob

I had everything set up to 'watch' this Newcastle vs Melbourne game in the best way possible. I had the A-League 'live' site up as well as the SBS live scoring site, and had Melbourne radio playing live meanwhile.

Jacob walked into my room. Neighbours had finished. He said, "Let's go."

"What?"

"Let's go to town. This game decides the fate of Queensland man."

"Ok, we'll be late, but let's go. Put your shoes on."

We caught the train, and when we arrived at the Pig & Whistle, we had missed half an hour but it was still nil all.

I'd expected maybe a lot of Roar fans as the Pig & Whistle always play A-League games and I think is one of the official Roar fan bars. We could mostly only spot obvious Sydney supporters.

After the first Newcastle goal, I asked one of them (we were about one foot away from a whole table of these black shirts), "Who do you hope will win?"

"Melbourne."

"I actually hope Newcastle will win. You see I'm a Roar supporter." I stopped myself, in courtesy, from saying, "I really want Queensland to be the ones to knock you guys out of the competition!" So I probably didn't quite make sense.

"But if Melbourne win, then Roar are safe as well as Sydney."

"Yeah," I said, "but it will make it a cracker of a game tomorrow."

The bloke went back to his iced chocolate.

What? A bunch of young male Sydney fans drinking coffees and iced milk drinks?

No...

They did look very uniform. I noticed their shirts weren't actually jerseys, but collared shirts, with all the sponsors upon them, and they all had matching track pants as well. They weren't drinking, and then one said, "I'm going to go for a massage. At 8.30 we can get a massage."

I turned to the bloke again. "You aren't the team are you?"

"No."

How silly of me. "Are you playing for the Cove in the curtain raiser?"

"No."

"Um, it's just that you all have matching track pants, and, um, none of you are drinking."

"Ok, we're the players."

"What's your name?"

"David."

"David who?"

"David Carney."

"Oh."

I'll only make one real note. These guys clearly wanted Melbourne to win. They were noticeably stunned as Newcastle walked over Melbourne. In their eyes - each and every one of the eight or nine of them there - was, "Oh fuck, we might not make the finals." They did not look confident to me. As Jacob pointed out, maybe there were a bunch of Roar players somewhere looking the same way. The only certainty is, this one tomorrow night is really going to be a cracker.

As they left (as soon as the fourth goal was scored), I said to David Zdrilic, "May the best team win." He said, "Thanks mate," and I reckon that was about as much as either of us could have expected from the other.

I meant it though. May the best team win. I reckon the Roar are the best team, but in under twenty-four hours, we'll all know.

Two Games, Fast and Furious

G'day. This is going to be quick because I really should be in bed.

Sydney vs Melbourne was not brilliant football, but I loved it. It was for once absolutely appropriate that I was distracted by the rugby league (at the Muddy Farmer, I was the only one watching the football), because this was a rough game. The sheer passion between these traditional rivals is entertaining in itself.

Football, but not as you know it? Um... yeah sure. Like a cross between AFL, rugby and basketball, and a good old fashioned rumble, SE Hinton style. Loved it for some reason. Maybe it was my mood. Maybe it was the rugby on the other screens. Anyway the best team won. Melbourne and Sydney can both be brutal, but Melbourne has class as well.

There was a much, much more important game this morning. I've mentioned that I've taken on the management of Jacob's 12 and under indoor soccer team. Their first game was last week, where they lost 5:1. Well it is a furiously fast game, brilliant to watch. Last week I mentioned the rule that they can't kick the ball over head height. The mechanism of the goalie semi-circle wherein nobody but the goalie may go is also a clever innovation, avoiding the horrible physical clashes like that between Perth and Central Coast last night, and keeping the game about skill and tact.

Anyway, excuse the whiskey-induced stream-of-consciousness going on here, but this clash, between Jacob's team, the West End Terrorists, and the Mongooses (Mongeese?) was one of the most important games I've ever witnessed, for a simple reason.

It wasn't because the Terrorists won 7:zip, though that was great.

It was because Jacob scored his first goal in a competition match. He was so cool. He didn't jump and whoop and have sex with his nearest team mate. He just turned, straight-faced, and ran back to his position for kick off. But I could feel his pride from 50 feet. And I did a bit of whooping for him. I was a proud Dad, and for that matter a proud manager.

Go the Terrorists. I hope I don't get incarcerated for saying that.

Sydney FC vs New Zealand Knights

Well to this eye - albeit untrained - that was a very scrappy game of football. The first half hour was embarassing, for both of the teams, and for the A-League itself.

In the end, though it looked a couple of times like my 1:1 draw prediction was going to come to pass, Sydney did deserve its win. Once the goal occurred, there was even a bit of form, and between the goal (about minute 57) and the last 10 minutes Sydney virtually monopolised possession, occasionally bouncing it off a New Zealand player for variety, or so it seemed.

In the final 10 minutes Sydney got very defensive and New Zealand actually managed to keep a bit of possession. In minute 84 there was a clear chance for them, but the player in question fell over at the critical moment. The moment represented the game well.

Sorry I don't know the names of these guys. This is just my impression of the game as watched over a couple of beers in a pub - The Clarence Hotel to be precise. It was not good football. I truly believe Queensland and Adelaide will put on a much better show tomorrow night, regardless of who wins.

Good night.