tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-290785342011-04-22T14:29:16.424+10:00Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.comBlogger251100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1152437331286148142006-07-09T19:13:00.000+10:002006-07-09T19:28:51.293+10:00

Germany is officially in love with Klinsi. Yesterday, his team played out their bronze medal game, and I was one of the three quarters of a million who braved the rain on the Berlin fan mile to cheer them on. I probably was barracking for Jurgen`s boys, but to a large extent, it was more barracking for my own night. Once the first one went in from Schweinsteger, the prospects of a million strong

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1152193958351497352006-07-06T23:43:00.000+10:002006-07-06T23:52:38.366+10:00

Yesterday, I sat in the third row, first level of the Munich stadium that sits like an oversized tyre in a district about twenty minutes from the city. I went to worship Zizu, to pay tribute to France’s greatest ever player (calm down Platini fans) and also because when a World Cup semi final is on, and you’re in the city, and you have a ticket, it seems silly to sit around eating cow’s udders.

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1152118502729715122006-07-06T02:40:00.000+10:002006-07-06T03:01:08.460+10:00

Kaput is one of my few German words, and I'm not sure if I'm using it correctly here, but the sad fact for the hosts is that the party, while not over, is no longer humming along at the same pace, and the clean up looks ominous. I watched the game in the Hofgardens at odeonplatz, munich, leaning against a wall with my forehead. The goal, when it came, was deserved by the italians, and now I am

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1151754648083519052006-07-01T21:48:00.000+10:002006-07-01T21:50:48.090+10:00

I'm in Karlsruhe on the way to Strasbourg to watch the France game. Strasbourg is the home of stras, which with peanut butter, was one of the key staples of my primary school lunches for 7 years. It doesn't tend to keep well in a schoolbag. I'm going to do some vox pops to discover who was the first person in Strasbourg to think to add sauce to stras.I'll also be watching France play in france.

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1151619172023321542006-06-30T08:11:00.000+10:002006-07-03T11:15:20.566+10:00

The front row. It’s something I’ve coveted for years. To be spat on by rock stars. To see where the foundation ends and the pallid neck begins on a theatre actor. To know the drainage gradient of a cricket ground. Well on Tuesday, I sat down in the front row of all front rows. World Cup, Round of 16, Dortmund, Brazil versus Ghana. The name on the ticket said, ‘FIFA Football Family’, which if it

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1151562290435537282006-06-29T16:22:00.000+10:002006-06-30T03:09:03.296+10:00

The nightmares continued last night. In the aftermath of that shattering last ten seconds in Kaiserslautern, and Totti’s nerveless blast into the unsavable yonder, I couldn’t sleep in a hot and airless hotel room in Heidelberg. For a while, I counted sheep, setting up the imaginary stile, each sheep baaing it’s way over to the other side and cantering off into my imaginary green meadow. But then

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1151562128057993202006-06-29T16:18:00.000+10:002006-06-30T03:01:12.910+10:00

'Guten morgen' says the happy yellow sun printed on my paper serviette at breakfast, and a guten morgen it is. It’s the day of the Italy game, the round of 16 match that represents if not the Everest for a team that has lived in the foothills of Australian sport for so many years, then at least the notion that we have reached the Himalayas.The German breakfast is the same as it has been the whole

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1151235186133914422006-06-25T21:16:00.000+10:002006-06-30T03:13:32.603+10:00

I have switched into Danny Kaye mode. How can we not love Kaiserslautern. The town is small and wooded, and accoustically suited to the ACDC songs that will no doubt boom out from Burger King corner (not its real name) from early this evening.The mood is buoyant here. In fact it´s more than buoyant. We´re currently floating in the Dead Sea, sipping pina coladas, and contemplating where the next

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1151153300729962832006-06-24T22:37:00.000+10:002006-06-25T21:10:52.496+10:00

There is a cliché about Italian bred women and a near hysterical need to feed their children, but as I see Rita Zammit gripping her maxi-packet of Cherry Ripes, I know it is true.‘God I’m nervous,’ she said, as we pace our way to the entry gate at Otto Meister Stadion in Öeringen. ‘I just want to get them to him. My hands are sweating so much. I’ll be melting the chocolate’.Today, for once her

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1151152655426042902006-06-24T22:35:00.000+10:002006-06-24T22:37:35.436+10:00

Last night the Australian flag flew from the helmet of Christoph the Bearded, who did something in Stuttgart, presumably with a massive sword, in 1520. The ascension of Christoph was a midnight crescendo to a three hour sing-off between Australian and Croatian fans that had dominated the central square area after the Argentina and Holland draw. ‘Stand up if you’ve scored a goal’ the Aussies

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1150873341098127342006-06-21T16:44:00.000+10:002006-06-21T17:26:01.020+10:00

Yesterday I met three real football internationals, the first since I came across former Wolves and England internatioal John Roberts in a hostel bar at Cape Tribulation dancing to 'Run to Paradise' with his 19 year old daughter. John offered me tickets to any Wolves game (he was the president back then) so impressed was he with my commitment to the 'You Don't Know Anyone' bits in the song.I do,

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1150717537712813272006-06-19T20:57:00.000+10:002006-06-20T17:49:00.793+10:00

It's true. A Brazilian on the Neustrasse, just near the Miriemplatz city square that is the centrepoint of the festivities here in Munich, had rigged up a set of Ronaldinho's teeth, as a tribute to the great man. Another supporter made hat puppets, a wire crown supporting a cardboard cup-bearing Ronaldo , who with a pull of a string raised his arms and the cardboard Jules Rimet.Everywhere there

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1150714601489155532006-06-19T20:30:00.000+10:002006-06-19T20:56:41.500+10:00

So Sam decides to deck a gob-happy football fan. The provocation came in the form of a golly to the face, but really, when you're working a public job and absorbing as much criticism as Sam absorbs, surely the answer is to pull out a sleeve and spread the spit to the other cheek.According to the Herald Sun report I have just read, the spitting supporter was angry about the fact that the Footy

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1150617605685832062006-06-18T17:51:00.000+10:002006-06-18T18:01:01.443+10:00

Brazil. Since December 9, even the non football fans have known that its coming.I’m typing this, trying to eat my way through a faint feeling of nausea, wondering what Tony Popovic and Harry Kewell and Marco Bresciano are eating, yet knowing in my heart that the answer is ‘sausages’ for the simple reason that its just so freaking difficult to eat anything other than sausages in this country. I

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1150558572856105742006-06-18T01:03:00.000+10:002006-06-18T18:17:47.343+10:00

For the last 2 days, I have been in Berlin, watching England, Germnay and Sweden produce some last minute heroics to avoid embarrassing defeats.For the Sweden versus Paraguay game, I was actually in the very back row of the Olympic Stadium, the one built by Hitler for the 1936 olympics that glows with the Christians v Lions neo-classicist lines of Ancient Rome. To watch the Swedish supporters,

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1150355236652610272006-06-15T17:02:00.000+10:002006-06-15T17:07:16.660+10:00

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

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1150323386470988682006-06-15T07:58:00.000+10:002006-06-15T08:16:26.520+10:00

Thank you Tim Cahill. Thank you John Aloisi. Thank you Vince Grella. hank you mark Viduka. Thank you Guuuuuuuuuus. When we Guuuuuuus your name, we are not booing, we are merely Guuuuuuuusing, which sounds like booing. And thank you Tom Zammit. Tom is a little less high profile than some of the other heroes of last Monday. He is 16, he plays for the Essendon Royals in the under 16s, and on

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1150160901444527352006-06-13T11:07:00.000+10:002006-06-13T11:08:21.453+10:00

As the game of the World Cup was being played, I was watching a DavidAttenborough documentary on a Malaysaian Airlines flight that was(literally)propelling me towards the greatest show on Earth. Actually, I waswrong there to write 'literally'. The plane wasn't a Red Baron style propellorplane.I had already watched all the football docos on the in-flight entertainment andmost were sadly out of

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1150059146540329282006-06-12T06:37:00.000+10:002006-06-13T11:09:49.536+10:00

The tickets are green and yellow, which I've taken as a sign that FIFA is supporting the Socceroos. The only other explanations are (1) that FIFA is supporting nobody and it's coincidence, or (2) that FIFA is supporting Brazil. I've taken it as a sign. The organisers have shown their hand. It won't surprise me if the linesman is wearing a signed Marco Bresciano top. Actually holding the tickets

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1149863594158868502006-06-10T00:23:00.000+10:002006-06-13T11:10:24.226+10:00

I had to do one 3 o'clocker or it wouldn't be a World Cup. The Socceroos were playing international minnows Liechtenstein, and I put it to you that there are less people in that country than in your average Australian metropolitan library, any day of the week. Certainly, the majority of the population there are aging billionaires or Formula 1 race car drivers, so the Socceroos should have gone in

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1149720205918813692006-06-08T08:38:00.000+10:002006-06-08T08:44:17.470+10:00

‘I leave for Germany on Friday, and will be in Frankfurt Saturday, picking up tickets and punching the air. Alternatively, the ticket to the Japan game won’t be there, in which case I’ll grit my teeth, make my fists into tight little balls, and punch something a little more solid than air. My fan odyssey will take me across Germany from June 9th to July 10th. Apart from maintaining this blog, I’

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1149572127938040762006-06-06T15:34:00.000+10:002006-06-06T15:35:27.946+10:00

The Duke has said that he will take another hundred penalties if that’s what it takes to score. The DukeI’ve taken this in the positive light it was intended, presumably that the boys are so confident about our prospects that Viduka blasting five score penalties into the great beyond will have minimal impact on our overall chances. My own view is that Lucas Neill has the right haircut for

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1149568808367652122006-06-06T14:34:00.000+10:002006-06-06T14:40:08.463+10:00

The Socceroo match against Greece was as much a celebration of Melbourne as it was a football match Skoko’s superb slow-motion dipping goal was the moment that allowed a crowd that was falling in love with itself to vocalise its passion. For the Australian fans, ‘Yes! And we’re going to Germany’. For the Greeks, ‘Noooo! … but actually, we’re Australian fans as well, so it’s hard to get too upset

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1149564762741047082006-06-06T13:27:00.000+10:002006-06-06T14:44:17.230+10:00

Scott Chipperfield (Australia)I love Scott Chipperfield because he used to be a bus driver. Better than that, according to his interview with Andy Harper in his excellent ‘Socceroos, Voodoo to Destiny’, he plans on becoming a bus driver again.‘I enjoyed the job. It was a beautiful drive down the coast road from Stanwell Park. I’d meet a lot of people and a lot of them were Wollongong fans and

Tony Wilsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435316989067188931noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29078534.post-1149122790959819312006-06-01T10:45:00.000+10:002006-06-06T13:39:09.630+10:00

MY SEAT at Telstra Stadium is as close to heaven as it is possible to be. Seat 29, aisle 624, row 42. Back row, bar none. If heaven is taken to be in the general direction of up, this is the top of the sports-watching world.The Signs Were All Pointing in The Right Direction MY SEAT at Telstra Stadium is as close to heaven as it is possible to be. Seat 29, aisle 624, row 42. Back row, bar none. If

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