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CHERRY RIPES FOR HARRY
T heres a clich that links Italian-bred women to a
near-hysterical need to feed their children, but as I observed Rita
Zammit, gripping her maxi-packet of Cherry Ripes, I knew it was no
clich.
God Im nervous, she said, as we paced our way towards the
entrance gate at Otto-Meister Stadion in hringen. I just want to
get them to him. My hands are sweating so much. Ill be melting the
chocolate.
Today, for once her child was not Tom, who was breaking into
awkward little runs, struggling to match his mothers breathless
quick-stepping stride. Today, Ritas child was Harry. Harry of the
electrifying burst of speed. Harry of the class turn. Harry who
rescued the hopes of a nation with that beautiful left boot. Little
Harry Zammit. Related to us all.
It turns out that Harry loves a Cherry Ripe, that mysterious mix
of crisp chocolate coating, shredded coconut and sweet, sweet
cherry.
Harrys wife Sheree mentioned it on 3AW before we left, Rita
said. Apparently his favourite foods are Snakes Alive and Cherry
Ripe, and it really frustrates him that he cant get them in
England.
Under normal circumstances, Rita might have judged a man harshly
for having Snakes Alive and Cherry Ripe as his favourite foods.
Cherry Ripe! What about a ravioli di ricotta e spinaci, the
specialty of her mother, Angela? Or coniglio farcito con fave in
porchetta, rabbit stuffed
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with broad beans and roast pork from the Adriatic Coast? Or for
an athlete, the low-fat delights of pollo arrosto all arancia,
roast chicken with citrus?
But as we strode towards the Socceroos training venue, barely
glancing at picturesque little hringen with its Australian-themed
window displays and narrow, medieval charm, it was clear Rita was
not dealing with the normal. If her Harry wanted Cherry Ripes, then
Cherry Ripes he would get, even if she had to trade her esh and
blood to gain access to the training venue. Indeed, as we waited
for the team bus along with a golden throng of happy supporters,
the trade of her rstborn seemed a real possibility.
This one is a disgrace, Rita said, pointing at Tom. He saw me
buy the 20-pack of Cherry Ripes at duty free. He knew they were for
Harry. But what does he say to me when I come back to the hotel in
Munich the other night? Mmmm, that was delicious! I asked him, What
was delicious? He hands me an empty wrapper and says, The Cherry
Ripe. It was bewdiful. And so now I have a 19-pack of Cherry Ripes
with this crappy sticky tape re-seal. I honestly could have killed
him.
Even as she relayed the story, there was threat dangling in
Ritas voice. She stared daggers at Tom, who stood tall.
I was hungry, he shrugged. There were plenty there.If the clich
about Italian mothers applies, then it must follow that
Italian-bred boys should eat everything their mothers put in
front of them and more. On that basis, Tom was clearly hoping that
what he was facing was a mothers false anger. It was a false hope,
not helped when I told the Zammits about the case of Viduka and The
Opened Lemonade back in Montevideo.
They might not want to accept an open pack, I said, not helping
the moment. And you both look Italian. They might think youre
spies.
Rita shook her head ercely. If Harry wont take the opened pack,
I will seriously throttle this kid, she fumed, gesturing at Tom. On
a sheet of hotel stationery, she jotted a note, explaining Thomass
stupidity and asking Kewell to take the chocolate bars anyway. It
nished with a PS: Please share with the boys.
It wasnt going to be easy to obtain access to the venue. The
Socceroos had already had their open training session, but wed
missed it because
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the tour organisers had failed to post a notice in the hotel
advising of the departure time. Our entry ticket to the closed
session now had to be the Cherry Ripes. In the push outside the
gate, I asked Greg Baum of The Age to nd FFA media manager Stuart
Hodge, who had earned the nickname Herr Hodge for his tight- sted
control of the interview schedule, to tell him I was writing a
story for The Age. Baum drafted veteran soccer writer Michael Lynch
to the cause and delivered the pre-training pep talk:
Were a bunch of very resourceful individuals. Between you and
us, Im sure we can get the Ripes to Harry. After all, whats more
important here? Banal quotes to journalists, or the Cherry
Ripes?
Baum returned with a media pass for me, but Herr Hodge had drawn
the line at allowing a pass for Rita, Tom or the Cherry Ripes. Once
inside, I made a plea, structuring my argument around the melting
point for chocolate and the sweet charms of shredded coconut. Hodge
softened a little, suggesting we wait until the end of training.
Hed see what he could arrange.
The ground had a provincial feel; a small stand, an athletics
track around the outside, and the players laughter rolling across
the impeccably mown pitch. Guus had divided the squad into small
groups, and they were playing international level
piggy-in-the-middle. It was the day after the night before. How
good must they feel? Schwarzer was separated from the rest,
practising shot-stopping with Ante Covic at the near net. Zeljko
Kalac was on the sideline, resting what had to be a shattered ego.
I couldnt see Chipper eld or Kewell, but gured they would emerge
soon.
I cracked open a yoghurt and shuf ed over to a gathering of
cameras and microphones. John ONeill, the chief executive of the
FFA, was smiling his way through a press conference. I paused to
listen to the man who, since his employment, had watched the ugly
beach break that was Australian football crest into a beautiful
wave.
This means so much, he said. First of all, we pick up additional
prize money. I think seven goes up to nine or ten (million) but
more
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importantly it means so much for the reputation of the
Australian football team. Every team weve played has been ranked
higher than us and I think weve sent a message out that we are a
proper footballing nation.
I dangled my microphone amongst the others, indulging again in
my sports journalist fantasies but, in doing so, made some lax
movements with my yoghurt spoon. As ONeill played hypotheticals,
speculating that with a different result the FFA may have requested
a replay on the basis of Simunics yellow trifecta, I stared at the
splash of yoghurt on the crotch of my green shorts. Wipe, wipe with
the hand. Horror. I was quickly realising that the only thing more
socially embarrassing than a wet patch is a wet patch thats sort of
milky white.
John ONeill kept talking and talking. He wanted a ticker-tape
parade to coincide with the Kuwait xture back home in August. He
explained that 1500 tickets would be released for the Italy match
at a to-be-named location in Stuttgart the following day. He spoke
about his own moments of post-match madness, and how the rst
telephone call hed received after the nal whistle had been from the
Prime Minister.
I couldnt hear him, so Im screaming, Who? Who? and he says, Its
the Prime Minister.
The media throng laughed.The bandwagon is a big bandwagon at the
moment the more the
merrier. This is a very inclusive sport.ONeill also mentioned
that Foreign Minister Alexander Downer
was in Stuttgart, and had become an overnight football tragic.
Again the gathered football media tittered. Maybe they had a
premonition that, in a similar doorstop with BBC Radio 4 in just a
few days, the Foreign Minister would express this recently
developed football tragic personality in the following way:
I mean soccer is not a popular (or) a particularly well-followed
game in Australia. It is very under-resourced and for our team to
get to the second round of the nals, its an extraordinary
achievement. Weve won the World Cup at cricket and at rugby union
and rugby league. It would be good one day to win it at soccer, but
Im not sure Ill live long enough to see that.
It was this exact line of thought that Johnny Warren had railed
against in his autobiography, Sheilas, Wogs and Poofters. The BBC
interviewer,
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Carolyn Quinn, could have mentioned that football-obsessed
England has only won the World Cup once, and that the odds in a
207-horse race are somewhat longer than in the World Cups to which
Downer referred. Instead she asked whether the Foreign Minister
thought there would be an upsurge of interest in Australia.
I think it will probably drift away a little bit in the short
term. In four years time, if we can get back into the World Cup
nals, it will enjoy a resurgence again.
Its the sort of unhelpful, pessimistic statement that is
emblematic of a government that thought nothing of leaving Socceroo
matches out of televisions anti-siphoning legislation, even World
Cup nals and qualifers, while protecting as a free-to-air xture
crickets ridiculous Mickey Mouse VB Series that raises money for
the Packer family each summer. Its a comment that ignores the
existing status of the Asian Cup and the potential of the A-League.
For a man who was happy to bask in the radiance of Stuttgart, our
Foreign Minister didnt take long to piss on the parade.
Not that I was worrying about that as I listened to the
impressively uent ONeill talk into the great beyond. I was worried
about getting Rita and Tom and the Cherry Ripes into the stadium
and eradicating a geographically inconvenient yoghurt patch before
I met the boys.
The breakthrough came completely out of the blue. I was standing
next to Michael Lynch, hearing his idea for dividing grandstands
into a supervised are zone and a non- are zone (We have to decide
if we want that brilliant passion AC Milan have going at San Siro.
Do we want that operatic quality?) when Herr Hodge walked over.
Here you go, he said, handing me two guest passes.
I sprinted over to the gate and passed them across to the
Zammits. Within minutes, a bored media pack were trans xed by the
sparkling Cherry Ripe wrappers. As Guus and the boys practised
whipping the ball in from the wings, ABC Radio in Queensland was
taking Ritas story. As I kicked a ball back and forth with some
Italian reporters while they mocked my Australian strine
(An-tone-nee-oh is how I say
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my Italian name, apparently), Rita and her confectionery were
being lmed for the Fox Sports website. All were horri ed by Toms
stealing of the chocolate bar. All except Tom.
You see? If I hadnt taken the chocolate bar it would be nowhere
near this interesting, he pointed out, with some wisdom.
We sat on the sideline near halfway, sunning our legs,
marvelling, from close quarters, at skills that take on the air of
the everyday from the distance of the stands.
Tom does this drill every week. Ive watched many a bad session
of this, Rita smiled, as Archie Thompson ung a ying foot into the
air and slammed the ball home, past an outstretched Ante Covic, the
third goalkeeper (although, after the previous night, he might well
have had his papers stamped No. 2). This would be one of the better
ones Ive seen.
Guus is a moving statue in the centre of the pitch, distributing
balls, occasionally shouting an instruction or two. Open out! Open
out! Cmon, Bresh! Better than that Josh! He calls Archie offside
and Archie extends his palms, questioning the decision. Surely when
the coach is also the ref, and youre not in the starting 11, the
idea is to accept the decision? But theres plenty of laughter
punctuating the action. Its a relaxed kick-around to work off any
soreness from the night before.
Last ball! Guus booms. When Kennedy blasts about 20 metres over
the top, he cries last ball again. This time Archie buries it, and
last ball it is.
Harrys not at the ground, a reporter said to us, con rming our
worst fears.
A icker of disappointment crossed Ritas brow, but Tom had an
idea.
Hes rooming with Lucas Neill, he said. Well give them to Lucas
to give to Harry.
Rita was relieved. Its nice to give them to a defender. Strikers
get so much of the glory, and defenders have been at the heart of
this team.
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We settled by the team bus, and as the players led past, Tom
collected signatures on his ticket from the previous night. A true
football connoisseur, he was just as excited about scoring a
scribble from assistant coach Johan Neeskens the former Dutch mid
elder who played in two World Cup Finals (1974 and 1978, ve nals
goals) as he was from the likes of Viduka, Cahill, Aloisi, Emerton
and Bresciano.
Lucas Neill dashed off for press interviews, ashing past before
Rita could thrust the reduced pack of Cherry Ripes in his general
direction. When Rita saw Archie Thompson, she made the spontaneous
decision to give them to Archie to pass on. Ritas a Melbourne
Victory fan, and Archie is one of her boys too.
Theyll be lucky to last the bus trip, said Thompson, smiling and
mounting the steps of the bus. It was then I realised that Id
failed to get the all-important photograph for the newspaper. This
was a problem. If the players really were scof ng them, Id be stuck
without a photo. I ran over to Herr Hodge to ask him whether he
could rescue the Ripes for a second photo. Sighing, he agreed. He
looked down and saw the yoghurt stain. I was cutting a very
impressive gure.
Nevertheless, Herr Hodge retrieved the chocolate bars and they
were available for a second delivery. This time Lucas Neill was the
one to intercept them, timing his moves perfectly as he had all
through the tournament.
Lucas. Youve played so beautifully this tournament. Rita was
gushing as she handed over again the Ripes. There are two things
Harry loves Cherry Ripes and Snakes Alive, and so itd be great if
youd give these to him.
Lucas took the bag, nodded, and thanked Rita. This time I
snapped the photo*, capturing history at the second attempt just as
had happened when General Douglas MacArthur took his famous rst
step onto the beaches of the Philippines towards the end of World
War II, and then did it again for the cameras.
Neill stepped onto the bus. You should all share them, Rita
said. Youre all magni cent. Jesus, Rita was in love.
Later, Lucas Neill would say in a radio interview, The fans
were
* Visit geoffslattery.com.au/australiaunited to see this
photograph
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fantastic there was even this mad woman who shoved a packet of
Cherry Ripes at me.
The mad woman had done it. Like Gaspar, Melchior and Balthasar
under the Star of Bethlehem, shed made the journey and unburdened
herself of precious cargo. She grinned her mad-woman grin, and
began to celebrate.
We drifted around the Guus press conference as though we
belonged, listening to his charming and slightly misshapen English
and the simple no-nonsense approach that had won him the respect of
the players, press and public alike.
Yes, he said, the situation with the referees and the three
yellow cards was a little more soft to judge because we had landed
the result we needed. No, he didnt feel regret about selecting
Kalac over Schwarzer, because both are good goalies and both had
some problems also in previous games. Yes, he was pleased that an
Italian newspaper had run with the headline Bella Australia,
because he liked very much the sort of football the team was
playing. There was rather a bad image when Australia used to be
just the long ball, but now I like very much that Australia likes
to play football, play the modern way of football.
A love for a stylish brand of football is something that David
Winner, the author of Brilliant Orange: The Neurotic Genius of
Dutch Football (Bloomsbury, 2000) identi es as a particularly Dutch
characteristic. Holland, under coach Rinus Michels, invented the
total football concept in the early 70s the idea that positions
were uid, that forwards could move back, and that backs could push
forward. It was beautiful football, reliant on exquisite passing
and innovative use of space, and it was team football. Englishman
Winner argues that by geographical necessity the Dutch are ef cient
users of space, and that it is evident elsewhere in Dutch society
in canal building, architecture and their need for a solid defence
against the invading sea and that free- owing total football was a
product of that mentality.
Guus Hiddink was playing for the Dutch club De Graafschap during
the birth days of total football. He regularly states that football
should
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be played attractively, that a long-ball, hit-and-hope style is
detrimental to the game. Before the 1998 World Cup semi- nal
against Brazil in Marseilles, Hiddink, then coach of Holland,
talked about his teams obligation to play attractively, and even
had a dig at the opponent:
Brazil, sadly, is no longer swinging and aming. I see defenders
boot the ball
away shamelessly. Holland must never play like that. If we did,
people would
murder me, and they would be right to do so. (Brilliant Orange,
p149)
On that occasion, the Netherlands lost one of the best matches
of the tournament to Brazil, 4-2 on penalties. Hiddink continued to
spruik the case for attacking, attractive football, but it is
possible that semi- nal defeat pushed him in slightly more
defensive directions. The wonderful feature of Hiddinks South
Korean team in 2002, and the Socceroos in Germany, was the tness of
the players and their willingness to work together. The football
wasnt so much beautiful, as disciplined and cohesive, with enough
ability on the park and attack in the game plan to regularly
threaten the goal. Somehow, this roundish, ruddy-faced man had a
magic knack for getting players to enjoy playing together and enjoy
playing to his instructions.
I stood there, sardined in front of him, loving him for doing
what he had done with the team. The rest of the press loved him
too. Why do you have to go to Russia, Guus? a reporter asked. We
were all on the verge of joining in, like a whining primary-school
classroom.
Yeah. Why do you have to go to Russia, Guus? We know South Korea
gave you an island, but were not out of ideas. Were certainly not
out of islands. I think weve even excised most of them as part of
the Paci c solution. Theyre barely even ours any more take what you
like. Please, please dont leave us!
Islands were not enough though, especially for a man who already
has one. What Russia has is the billionaire Roman Abramovich, the
man who bought Chelsea for 140 million. Abramovich, a friend of the
Yeltsin family, was a bene ciary of the-then Russian presidents
ridiculously short-sighted loans for shares (for mates) program in
1995-96, and has made many billions in the privatisation. To pay
his country back, not so much with money but with mood, the magnate
is chasing better football results
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for the national team. Now he can afford to pay part of Hiddinks
US$3 million salary as Russian coach and, if he felt like it, to
buy Tasmania.
Guus nally shrugged off the press pack, and marched
straight-armed in the direction of his car. Rita, Tom and I headed
him off at the edge of the running track.
Can we have a photo? He looked as though he was about to say no,
but then without
a word, leaned over to place his head in the valley between two
Zammit heads. They both beamed. Snap.*
The bus departed, as did Guuss chauffeured car, and we left the
hringen stadium, breathing in the diesel exhaust, savouring the
last of the atmosphere however poisonous it might be. Finally, in a
circle of dust, Rita raised her arms in the air and started
celebrating, as though it was she who had just slotted one in the
back of the net.
Yes! Yes! I cant believe it!Stuart Watt, an ABC World Cup
reporter living on the barren
scraps of press conference quotes, turned on his recorder. Rita
was still going berserk.
I really hope they eat them now. I hope they really enjoy the
Cherry Ripes. This is 45 years following the game I love, to meet
them, to get close to them. They were so gracious, so polite. I
mean for some people it might be Mick Jagger or Jesus Christ but
for me, give me Tim Cahill and Craig Moore and Archie and Mark
Viduka and Guus. At times like this, it was possible to forget that
Rita had been the second top law student in her year at Melbourne
University.
Tears were running down her cheeks. Thomas looked at the ground,
embarrassed in the way that any 16-year-old boy would be. The
previous night hed had to endure her standing on a train seat and
screaming, Forza Australia! for ve minutes. He didnt see the beauty
and passion that the reporter was seeing. He was seeing his mother
as a mad woman.
My parents are Italian, Rita raved, and for 45 years Ive loved
the Italian team, but now, Ive discovered my green and gold. On
Monday
* Visit geoffslattery.com.au/australiaunited to see this
photograph
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Ill be so green and gold. I called my dad back in Fawkner this
morning, and all his friends in Italy are ringing to ask who he
will be supporting. And of course, its Australia. We all love
Australia. These boys are amazing. This is bigger than anything I
could have dreamed of. Im just without words.
She wiped her eyes and looked over at me. You got me in here
today, she said. As of now, were even. What? I dont owe you a
ticket to Rome? Nope, were even. I went on about how that was
ridiculous and how it was all my
pleasure and how really it was Greg Baum and Herr Hodge who had
made it happen and how of course Id one day deliver on the ticket
to Rome. But none of these statements came up on tape. Isnt that a
shame?
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