As Aloisi’s penalty hit the back of the net, the first thought in my head was:
“We’re going to Germany!”

And I didn’t just mean the Socceroos – I meant me and Kazzie, and as many of my
mates as could get the time off work.

But getting time off work and getting yourself to Germany was the easy part. The
hard part was getting tickets.

*     *     *

I booked flights to Europe the following day and managed to get five weeks off
work (it was still nearly seven months away). Then, as soon as the groups for
the finals were announced, I started panicking about the difficulty of getting
decent, affordable accommodation within cooee of the games. By mid-December I
had booked two places in the middle of nowhere.

Better safe than sorry.

Then came the problem of getting tickets. It was possible to go in the draw for
tickets but the only way to be certain was to purchase a package tour. We
didn’t want to be on a tour so elected for the draw. I was clicking away like
mad the second the site went live, but did we get tickets? We did not. And I
never heard of a single soul who did.

If the worst came to the worst, we would have gone to the relevant stadia anyway,
just to experience the pregame atmos and then watch on a big screen. But
fortunately, we didn’t have to do any of that. By incredibly good luck, we had
friends who worked for a large processed food company who were sponsors of the
World Cup Finals. They had tickets galore – so thank heavens for the addiction
of children to sugar and fat!

Our first digs was a small apartment in Cochem on the Mosel River – a very pretty
town, as it turned out, but three hours by train to Kaiserslautern where we
were due to meet Japan in our first match. (Of course, such a first round encounter
would not be possible these days as you can’t meet a team from the same
confederation in the group phase – back then we represented Oceania.)

Cochem was a tad eerie on match day morning as we stood on the platform. It was cool
and dim at six a.m. with no-one else in sight – it would be different later.

When the train arrived it was virtually empty so Kazzie and I found ourselves a nice
little compartment of about eight seats and sat back to enjoy the three hour
journey through rural Deutschland – lots of water and mist and very green
fields, and inevitably I found myself imagining being in the same place 65
years earlier. I genuinely believe that part of the reason Germany was such a
fabulous party in 2006 was because it felt like all of the issues of the past
were finally forgotten and Germany was being allowed completely back into the
fold.

Gradually the train began to fill and the buzz started to simmer. A family from Brisbane
joined our compartment and the father (Alan, I think his name was) started ranting
about Miron Bleiberg and the politics of Football Queensland. This did not
fascinate us.

Increasingly we could see people with black hair and blue shirts moving through the train
and the butterflies started to tickle our guts. The enemy were in sight. Then
the singing started. I don’t know how they organised it or who wrote the words
but it sounded great. I made up my own song, which didn’t catch on, but the words
(to the tune of the German national anthem) went:

Aussie Aussie uber alles

Uber alles in der Welt

Land of corky hats

Sharks, beer, feral cats

Kewell, Viduka, Hiddinck’s foresight

Deutschland, Brazil

We’ll beat them ten nil

But if we don’t win the football we will win the fight!

The train arrived in Kaiserslautern at about nine o’clock and it was bedlam. The
Japanese and Australian fans were being funnelled off in two directions. We
were sent to the Marktplatz – and what we found when we got there was
unbelievable. Literally tens of thousands, all dressed up in their green and
gold, with dozens of outdoor bars pumping millions of litres of beer into
thousands of unquenchable throats. We found a table where only two blokes in
green and gold were sitting and as we sat down with the first ‘gross biers’ of
the day I said: “Where are you blokes from?”

They just shrugged, and I realised they were German. Fortunately I speak reasonable Deutsch
and, after some interrogation, gleaned that Australia v Japan were the only
tickets they’d been able to get, so had decided to support Australia and had
gone the whole Schwein. I found this staggering. If the positions were
reversed, Australians might well support other countries for the occasion – as
many no doubt will during the Asian Cup – but there’s no way we’d dress up in
the colours of other countries. I mean…these guys had face paint FFS!

Our mate Phil arrived. He was on a tour and was buzzing from a train trip spent
guzzling beer with Matthew Johns in his Reg Reagan guise. Phil was going to
spend a couple of days with us and then rejoin the tour in Munich.

The sun came out and the music cranked up. Midnight Oil, Cold Chisel, Hoodoo Gurus,
Rose Tattoo, and especially ACDC were blasting out of speakers all over the
place. Beers were being gulped by the gallon and it occurred to me: this is my
concept of heaven. Little did I know, it would get even better.

After five hours of pre-match celebration it was time to start heading for the
ground. The green and gold horde threw down their last beers and started
heading for Fritz-Walter Stadion – the home ground of Kaiserslautern FC in the
Bundesliga. I had one of those inflatable kangaroos and everyone (including die
Polizei) wanted their photos taken with Kanga. It was a long walk – especially
for people who’d been drinking five hours. Luckily, Kaiserlautern is famous for
its impromptu public toilets.

We found our seats – high above the pitch but almost on halfway. And no sooner had
we sat down than the players ran out for their warm up. It was a pretty hot day
and already you knew the heat would be a factor and it might come down to who
best survived the conditions.

The ground was spectacular. As Harry Kewell, Mark Viduka and co started going
through their paces I was staring at this vast yellow section to our left –
thousands and thousands in their Australia shirts, while to our right – an even
bigger chunk of the crowd in blue, already singing their disturbingly catchy:
Nippoooon… Nippoooon… Nippon, Nippon, Ni-ippon.

Kazzie hates that song, but I don’t mind it – brings back excellent memories.

What an amazing side we had that day: Schwarzer, Neill, Chipperfield, Moore, Culina,
Emerton, Wilkshire, Bresciano, Grella, Kewell and Viduka – all of them more or
less at their peak. Subs that came on were: Cahill, Kennedy and Aloisi.

The game started at a furious pace and we had several early chances. Viduka should
have done better on a couple of occasions and Harry Kewell was put into the
clear a couple of times but didn’t have the pace. The key moment of the first
half was when Japan floated in a fairly innocuous looking cross and Takahara screamed
“Bansai!”, flung himself arse-backwards into Schwarzer, taking him out and
facilitating an unimpeded passage for the ball into the back of our net.

The Australian players (and crowd) were incensed, but the Egyptian referee had seen
nothing wrong (Mark Schwarzer later claimed the referee had apologised at half
time – fat lot of good that did us).

All through the second half, we seemed constantly as though we were just about to
score. I was more than confident we’d get at least a point out of the game, but
I remember looking at my watch and thinking: Jeez…eight minutes to go. They’re
leaving it late.

It was about then that the world started going berserk. Lucas took a long throw
from the left which turned into a scrap on the edge of the box. The ball fell
to Timmy (a second half sub) who hit it first time through a forest of legs.
Our first ever goal in a World Cup Finals match!

We leapt up in jubilation – and tragedy struck. Kanga – on his
international debut – got a huge rip in his tail as I dragged him from under
the seat. Oh well, we all have to make sacrifices.

But thank god for that! we were all thinking, as the players reassembled for the
kick-off. A late goal for a point, and our World Cup was still alive. But while
we were still smiling and sighing with relief, we were suddenly ahead. Only a
minute or so later, the ball fell again to Timmy, just outside the box and his chipped
shot struck the inside of the left upright, bounced across the goal and in off the
right stick.

Unbelievable!

Once again we leapt up in ecstasy – scarcely believing our fortunes had been turned
so quickly. For the first time all day the Nippon chant had ceased as the
Australians danced and sang, but we weren’t finished.

Aloisi had only just come on when he took on the tiring defence, found himself one on
one and slipped the ball past Kawaguchi for an unassailable lead in the dying
seconds.

The players were clustered around a disbelieving Hiddinck – celebrating and being
ushered back to the middle by the referee – and Japan’s hopes were as deflated
as our Kanga lying punctured on the ground.

The final whistle sounded shortly after. Australia’s first goals in the World Cup
Finals…Australia’s first win at the World Cup Finals.

The German party was raging.

To be continued…

Adrian Deans is the author of Mr Cleansheets, published by Vulgar Press and available
in all good book shops. (ebook available also) www.mrcleansheets.com