By Peter Holmes
November 16 2005

Will it be glorious history made or ashes consigned to the deleted file? The aristocrat, two time winners of the original Jules Rimet trophy versus the hopeful upstarts who punch well above their weight. The action ensuing will answer the question. I’m lifted personally by the inclusion of the gutsy buzz-bomb Tim Cahill and the Serie A quality of Marco Bresciano on the team sheet and six of the starting line up are EPL regulars. Schwarz and Dukes are now two of the elder statesmen of the side and their experience will be essential and vital.

Out go the blossoming talent of Archie Thompson and the recently little seen talent, albeit injury ravaged, of Harry Kewell.

Will it be third time lucky for the Dutch master Guus Hiddink after getting Holland and South Korea to previous finals?

Destiny awaits the Great Southern Land and ErimusRed is like a coiled spring ready to release when that ball hits the sky-blues sack.

Got to say though, it feels a touch surreal to be sat here at approaching 5pm kick off with a cup of the Earl’s finest, in the red n’white Boro mug of course, waiting for the toss. Bit different to the usual routine of midnight eyes on match stalks and worse for wear with grog.

Uruguay hold that precious one goal first leg lead and are unbeaten, mainly draws, in ten games but NO away wins! Will they be putting the shutters up? An early goal from the Skippies will change everything.

The mainly successful Venables era ended in late, late disaster against Iran in 1997, probably the closest Oz has ever come to emulating the solo boys of 1974. That team was led by the great Johnny Warren, a man who has done more for the game itself in this country than any other soul. Johnny died sadly earlier this year ravaged by cancer. Hopefully his memory will be lifted by glory tonight by his Beloved, the Socceroos.

Rapturous booing for the theatrical Uruguay anthem, stadium wide choir for the Oz anthem. They posture, shake hands, stretch, suss each other out gladiatorially, kick a few balls, the ref calls them together. Let battle commence. KahnyouAussies!!!!

Butterflies tumble in the pit of my stomach and the numerous hairs on my neck stand to attention as the crowd yell in anticipation as Cahill nicks the ball to Dukes who strokes the ball casually rearwards and we’re in motion.

Uruguay have the better of the early proceedings with Recoba in particular looking like a puppet master, dangerous, controlling everything the sky blues do, with Morales a dangerous physical presence up front. The ref decides the ball is not inflated enough. Twice, and he certainly loves the camera, flinging an admiring look at his chiselled visage on the giant screen to see if he’s put his Brylcreem on right.

The games very edgy and tense with Australia pinned back and giving away easy possession and far too many free-kicks around the box allowing Recoba in his ascendancy to tighten the crowds collective sphincter a few notches.

We are too defensive and losing out in midfield too much, but the theatrical Uruguayan style barrel rolling after every errant tackle is pissing me off!

Professionalism at it’s worst. It should be punished FIFA!

Australia counter attack at every limited opportunity but Dukes is being marked so tightly by Lugarno that at first I thought the big man was wearing a sky blue anal probe.

Recoba proceeds to miss a total bloody sitter with Schwarz exposed and the goal at his mercy. 'Fuck' he mouths. It comes out the same in every language as the man from Inter profanely announces his anguish. Remember those Omens, was that one?

He follows that with a lengthy barrel roll some minutes later after Popovic flicks him with his feather duster. Oscar for longest barrel roll followed by theatrical anguished facial expression. Gold statue for that man.

It’s a key moment though as the twin pony tailed Sir Harry Cool comes on and replaces big Poppa. He instantly causes mayhem as Oz switch to a more balanced 4-5-1 and he looks sharp and in the vernacular, up for it.

33 minutes – GGGGGGGGGGGoooooaaaaallllll !!!!!!!!!

Bresciano fires home after a neat interchange between Cahill, Dukes and Harry Cool. Game on, 1-1 and it’s going to be decided here and now.

The crowd are mental, firecrackers, flags, Australia look energised but they still look very jittery and lacking any form of composure at the back.

The last five minutes and the two of overtime are scrappy but as the half-time whistles shrills and the ref checks his mush on the screen again as he grasps the ball, it’s even. Time for a beer. Dutch Hollandia to toast Mr. Hiddink.

Second half is all Australia’s for the first thirty-odd minutes. Cool is superb on the left pulling the whole Uruguayan formation over to his side of the pitch like sideways gravity. Timmy Cahill appears to be freed up and playing in the hole and getting into the box at every opportunity. Dukes is still playing with his anal probe but dragging Lugarno deeper and occasionally wider.

You know those omens - Recoba is looking tired?

Recoba trudges off a spent force followed by the inspirational captain Monterro. As full time approaches both teams look fucked but Uruguay look totally and utterly shagged after a week of tense battle and a convoluted cattle class flight from Montevideo.

As full time approaches the flesh looks weak and both the coaches stand hands in pockets pensive in the technical area. Mulling over extra-time and penalty kickers no doubt.

It’s as tense as the cables on the Transporter as our Spanish friend blows his shrill whistle with a flick of a look at the big screen. 1-0 to Australia on the night and 1-1 on aggregate.

When will Aloisi, an aggressive physical presence and scorer of opportunist goals be thrown into the mix? Could be the key I reckon.

Two tired squads of players kick the first fifteen into action after massage of both the limbs and the soul by Hiddink and Forsetti.

On comes Aloisi for the knackered hero Bresciano, the Parma man spending a fair bit of time in a hyper-baric chamber to make the game. Good lad.

All subs on for Uruguay and caution goes to the four winds, a goal is desperately required. The Aussie are putting their crosses too near the Uruguay keeper Corrini as it pings up the other end and Schwarz makes a cracking save. Lucas Neil throws his body on the line and goes down injured, the three-pointstealers man has been absolutely and resolutely magnificent, as has Vince Grella.

The green and gold are the better team by a the width of the River Swan. C’mon Aussie - destiny awaits.

Second ET period begins with 83,000 predominant Ockers finding their collective voice. The ref castigates Uruguay’s coach and loves the limelight. Give him a fucking mirror!

Guus Hiddink’s head is twitching like a tortoise looking for lettuce. It’s getting tight and very scrappy and it’s tenser than my foreskin during my first hard-on.

The collective world-wide wanderers in green and gold have flogged Uruguay and deserve to be in the hat for the group draw in Germany but that scoreboard shows 1-0. Nearly’s don’t count in this code as Morales pings a shot past the post but big magnificent Scwarz had it covered.

One last push as the clock ticks down and tired legs wilt. Another save from a tired header by big Mark. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock followed by that shrill whistle and a brylcreemed palm raised upwards from our screen gazing referee. Penalties it is and this is too much for a Wednesday night.

1-0 Cool buries the first emphatically!
Still 1-0 as the mighty Schwarz makes a stunning save to his left!
2-0 Neil slots it home - Oh! Fucking Boy!!!
2-1 Schwarz gets very close, just lets it slip in. Bastard!
3-1 Old Boro lad, the aging but solid Vidmar hammers home!
3-2 Schwarz well beaten!
Still 3-2 as Dukes slips it wide, he looks distraught! Surely not!
Schwarz makes a stunning save! YES! YES! FUCKING YES! THE BIG FUCKER HAS DONE IT NEARLY THERE!

Aloisi, jogs to the spot, he looks remarkably cool, up he steps the net bulges, the shirt is off and twirling. 83,000 crazy mad bastards go ape shit including a nation of twenty-odd million Aussies tuning in on SBSTV.

4-2 on penalties, 31 years, 4 months and 21 days of pain are over and let the party begin at last and let’s get rat-arsed!!!!!!!!!!.

The Boro connection in the form of the brilliant Mark Skippy Schwarzer has had the ultimate hand in a nation realising it’s football dream and fulfilment. A renewed hope, a new venture, a new dawn in the game in Australia will finally begin! Celebrate good times!

Germany 2006, here come the Socceroos!

ERIMUSRED (Tinged with a smidge of green and gold!).