Don’t worry people. The sobriety of my last post on the latest crisis to bedevil Rugby League hasn’t scared me away. A frantic time of year hasn’t kept me from Federer’s historic conquest, the hit and giggle bubble gum dribble otherwise known as the 20/20 World Cup, and the latest SBW hysteria. I haven’t even caught Swine Flu at the footy yet, despite leaving Leichhardt feeling decidedly ill after watching another ill-fated episode of “Marshall #7”; the most headless chook in the NRL since, well, Brad Fittler’s headless chooks.

But I had to jump back on the soapbox to defend Our Socceroos.

Let’s put the Socceroos’ achievement into context. At this stage of the 2005/6 campaign, Frank Farina was still in charge, about to enter his annus horibilis at the Confederations Cup, before Guus Hiddink stole the imagination of the country – but most people don’t remember him launching a disparaging tirade on his team when they stuttered to a 2-1 win in the Solomon Islands.

Yet here we are, comfortably qualified.

On one hand, the level of expectation heaped on the current Socceroos is testament to the ground-breaking pedestal they created for themselves in Germany.

I wrote here last year that through Asia we have avoided a roll of the dice by enjoying the right of qualifying like 95% of the rest of the world. If we were good enough we would be in South Africa.

And baby, we are heading to South Africa. Forget stuttering 2-1 results, the Socceroos have been professional and ruthless in a quest that isn’t easy. Bigger, prouder and more prestigious football countries than humble Australia will be enviously watch the World Cup from home next year.

In a country where international success in games we dominate is a given, one feels the feats of the Socceroos might not quite be grasped.

After 32 years in the wilderness, we’ve gone back to back.

What a fabulous achievement.

Or have I missed something?

The arm chair critics have been noting the anti-climactic whimper with which we sealed qualification. Where was the hurly burly of a heart-wrenching penalty shoot out? How can you be rewarded for being shrewd, tactical and cunning enough to get the result you need in inhumane conditions in the middle of the desert, albeit via a 0-0 draw?

There will never be another moment like this. Chills every time.

But this was a campaign full of clutch moments. Cahill, Chipperfield, Bresciano, Neil, Culina, Kennedy, Wilkshere. The big boys have stepped up when it mattered.

 

On Monday, as I flicked through the paper to find an ode to another one of Australia’s great sporting achievements, I found myself almost as deep as the TAB form guide before a mention of our qualification. Huh?

Then yesterday I woke up to a vitriolic back page rant about how Pim Verbeek is killing Australian football. Add to that Nick Walshaw’s anachronistic homage to the Socceroos, and Phil Rothfield’s blog, and the Socceroos have come in for a heap of vile criticism at one of the most historic moments in the sport’s history.

What have they done wrong, besides upsetting News Limited’s apple cart with rampant success?

Now seriously, I love my league as much as much as the next yobo, or give me a day of test cricket as much as the next Aussie. But I love my football as much as any football aficionado.

Do we send Simon Hill to bag the buffoonery of league matches, or the Bogans that sit in the stand? No.  Does Mike Cockerill write soppy colour pieces ridiculing the mind-numbing pedanticness of a Super 14 referee? No. Those sports are what they are and fans support them for what they are.

So why does The Tele feel the urge to bag this sport? You tell me? I can only think of one reason.

Without harping on the sour grapes, I want to deal briefly with the criticism levelled at the Socceroos:

1)      Verbeek’s media ban. The wily Dutchman is dammed if he does, damned if he doesn’t. Was widely panned last year for giving the next generation a shot, which led to a dismal result against China at home in front of a huge gallery in Sydney. So this time he says there is no let-up, the game is serious – and gets panned for not rolling out his troops for a love-in public relations campaign to give the Tele what they want.

Fair Dinkum. It’s just an excuse for a tabloid headline – when the headline should’ve read: “Pride of the Nation”.

Anyone notice Craig Bellamy hiding his NSW troops in a country retreat the week before the supposed ‘promotional’ Origin match in Melbourne? Did that threaten the future of the sport? Um , I don’t think so.

Should Pim have slapped a media ban on the players? No way in hell. But the public wanted to know if he was taking the match seriously, and he was.

Have media bans threatened the future of other sports? No. So please, spare us the vile agenda.

2)      Resting players:  who didn’t play last night – after a 20 hour trip back from the desert to play a football match two days later on the back of an exhausting season?
Cahill, Kennedy, Neil, Grella, Bresciano, Chipperfield, Valeri. Injured, suspended, on the cusp of a yellow, or club commitments. Simple as that.

Unfortunate, unfair to the paying public, but its the way the cookie crumbles in the big business of international football.

But when the executive sports editor of a major daily says:

“We’ve made the World Cup? Woopy Do! As I said to an earlier blogger, It will be a very exciting couple of weeks then 21 million Australians can get on with their lives and follow the real football codes again.”

The message just hasn’t got through.

But I’ve said enough – what do you reckon?