That sick silent feeling

We sang, and chanted and stood up and sat down for the Socceroos, often to the tune of ‘Go West’ by the Pet Shop boys, but still I wonder whether we really did our best, really dug deep when the scoreline was against us.

Sure we were good in the pre-game. Andrew Weekes from Melbourne developed ‘That’s a-Grella’ to the tune of the That’s Amore, and the verses kept on coming.

‘When the ball’s in the net then there’s no need to fret,
That’s a Grella
When he runs down the line all the world seems to fine
That’s a Grella
Well he’ll never give up till he’s won the World Cup
That’s a Grella
I don’t have to convince you to sing out for Vince
That’s a Grella

And the reprise:

Harr-y Kewell, Harry Harry Kewell, Harry Harry Kewell Harry Harry Kewell
That’s a Grella

The songs kept on coming early, and there was barely a whiff of the lamentable ‘Aussie Aussie Aussie.’ Subject matter stretched as wide as three kamikazes in the sky, sushi trains, whaling, and even on spotting a cameraman at the train station, an ‘SBS, SBS, SBS’ (to the Here we Go) – a thank you from the fans to the broadcaster that has been so instrumental in reviving the game.

But compared to the South Koreans, we are still vulnerable. When I attended the Red Devils match on Tuesday against Togo, the Korean supporters put on an exhibition. In the cauldron of the Frankfurt Big Top stadium, the volume was at ear splitting levels the entire match. They hummed Beethoven’s 9th, they punched the air with ‘Fight Korea’ (in Korean), they dug up ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ and two or three others I’d never heard before. And whenever the ball neared ether goal, a shriek perforated the atmosphere, at volumes that made it impossible to speak even to the person immediately beside.

And the Korean did all this, while playing much of the match a goal down. The day before, some of that blaze of yellow tried to achieve similar levels of output in that desperate period just after half time, but honestly, I felt too sick to cheer. A melancholy descended upon us. I felt like singing ‘Abide With Me’ or something suitably funereal for the fact that Schwartzer had been fouled, or had fallen over, not that there was any ‘or’ at the time.

But the Koreans never wavered. I’m reading in a book called ‘A Thinking Fan’s Guide to the World Cup’ and in the chapter on Japan by Jim Frederick, there’s this description of the Japanese baseball cheer squads or oendan,

At first sight, the oendan are impressive for their seemingly unbridled displays of enthusiasm and highly coordinated cheers, songs and bleacher dances. But they can also be stultifyingly regimented: there are leaders and lieutenants, seating is ordered by rank and seniority, dress codes are enfored and tardiness is punished.’

South Korea is not Japan, a few centuries of invasion and occupation and war says that clearly enough, but there was a bit of the oendan about the fan performance against the Togo team. Disciplined, loud, colourful and impressive.