Australia United - Cherry Ripes for Harry

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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

Tony Wilson pages.indd 139Tony Wilson pages.indd 139 12/9/06 10:14:24 AM12/9/06 10:14:24 AM

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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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Australia United - Cherry Ripes for Harry