Defensa Street, San Telmo, Buenos Aires

I am writing while coming to terms with the fact that Australia’s 2010 World Cup Odyssey is over.

The tactical calamity of the Germany game proved the exception not the rule. Pim’s tactics for the Ghana game were spot on and our players were allowed to shine until the red mist shrouded us again.

It is difficult for non football public in Australia, that take no interest in the sport save for these do or die finals every four years, to recognise that it is an achievement just to be part of the tournament.

These same people usually follow sports in which Australia is pre-eminent and winning is the norm. Being the best in the world is an expectation. Unfortunately these teams, i.e. The Kangaroos and Wallabies, are big fish in small ponds. Place the Socceroos on the World Stage, a game played by all nations of the world, and we become small fish in a big pond but with the same expectations.

I am proud of our performance.

Football means so much to me because as a child it was my window on the world. The city of my youth, Toowoomba, was homogenous in almost every aspect. The height of Multiculturalism was ordering take away from the local Chinese restaurant. Come the weekend, whether it was my game or watching my Father play, I heard accents and languages I had never heard before. By listening to the stories I discovered why people from one country didn’t like people from another then I saw these same people embrace each other in celebration of a goal or a win.

I saw people that couldn’t communicate with speech walk on to a field and let their feet do the talking. This potpurri of cultures found a common voice. Football was a crucible that melted opposing forces then combined them to make something stronger. Football, for me, has always been a unifying force.

It also started a life long search of discovery. Why did you have to avoid certain topics when the Irish and English were drinking after the game? Why did one guy take umbrage with being called a Serb? One of the benefits of the small size of the city was that the community groups were generally not big enough to form their own teams so we avoided the enclave culture that larger cities suffered.

I could continue about football ad nauseam but I will contain myself by relating the contrast between the disappointment I feel today and the joy expressed by Argentines following their victory over Greece yesterday.

Having missed the Argentine victory over South Korea, for which I place the blame squarely at the feet of two vivacious young ladies from England, Ash and Kathryn, yesterday I witnessed another example of the unifying possibilities football has.

I have been watching some games at a Parrilla owned by Dennis, a guy who moved to Australia when he was 12 only to return, marry, settle and open his business here in Buenos Aires. It is from his Parrilla that I walked yesterday to find the city in universal celebration. The only event I can relate it to is a State of Origin game but this pales into insignificance compared to yesterday. It must be remembered that the game did not determine whether or not Argentina progressed to the round of 16, this was already assured.

Fireworks were released, people were hugging in the street, horns blowing and there was not a face that didn’t display a wide grin.

I was still awake at 2am when the garbage truck came past the hostel. It stops to collect rubbish from the café El Federal next door. This evening the collectors placed a large plastic bottle away from the truck and took turns kicking it into the back. When a kick was successful they wheeled around in celebration calling, ’Palermo goaaaaaaaaaal’, imitating the announcement of Argentina’s final goal, and its scorer, Martin Palermo. I should mention these were the actions of grown men. I can not imagine what the scene will be like if Argentina win the World Cup.