A Win Truly Worth Its Weight In Gold
The Age
Thursday December 2, 2004
On a balmy Athens night, the Kookaburras finally ended their run of Olympic outs, writes Greg Baum.
THERE was a dream-like quality to Australia's hockey gold medal at the Athens Olympics that doubtless meant the Kookaburras had to pinch themselves harder the next morning than any other winner this year.The setting was Helleniko, a converted airport whose most obvious feature was that it still looked like an old airport. Temporary stadiums sat at intervals down the tarmac of the old runway but between them all was bare and windy.On the big night, all the stadia were empty, dark and ghost-like except the hockey stadium, which was brilliantly lit and from a distance looked like a spaceship set down in a paddock. The night was balmy, the only kind in Athens, but a strong sea breeze blew, causing flags to flutter madly. What drama was blowing in that wind.Inside was a stage. The Olympics were drawing to a close and the athletes who had not left were in a mood to party. For Dutch and Australians, the hockey pitch was the place to be.The orange-clad Dutch outnumbered Australians about four-to-one, but the tightly packed Australian contingent was a match in noise-making. The atmosphere was taut, but convivial; this was hockey after all, a gentlemanly game.The match and the beer flowed, but for the Australians, never freely enough to wash away a communal stomach knot. The Kookaburras had a history of epic failure at the Olympics equal to any star-crossed team in any sport. In 48 years, they had won three silver medals and three bronze, but never gold. In Sydney, they had lost a semi-final penalty shootout.Now there would be redemption or yet another stake to the heart, but nothing in between. The Kookaburras had been tough in this tournament, three times recovering from a goal down in group matches.Arguably, this was destiny, but just as arguably, they were set up for another fall. And the Dutch were good; everyone knew it. Expectation pulled this way, foreboding that.Muscular in their sleeve-less tops, the Kookaburras dominated the first 15 minutes, but did not score, and when the Dutch poked home a goal against the run of play, it was happening again. Half-time lasted forever, at least two big beers. Dutch fans made rowdy trains on the concourses, the Australians held their breath.The best Dutch player did not return because of a knee injury, a lucky break for the Kookaburras, but one that still had to be made good. Both goalkeepers were heroic. Travis Brooks scored and full-time arrived, and all was up for grabs. The temporary stands rocked wildly.Later, it was all so obvious. In the dying moments of the first half of extra time, Australia won a short corner, though the Dutch protested. Jamie Dwyer had been the revelation of the tournament, and it was he who seized the moment, whacking the ball under the goalkeeper's pads and into the net.The dull clunk it made was a one-note concerto. It was a golden goal, a gold-medal goal, a goal made of gold.The next five minutes were joyfully chaotic. The Australians screamed, hugged, leapt about, did not know quite what to do next, for there was no precedent. Two climbed the stands, another hurled his stick into the tangle of fans. A spray filled the air, part water, part champagne, and so did a single thought: the spell was broken, the monkey was gone.Perhaps not in any other event at the Olympics was the Australian anthem sung with such heartfelt pride. A final won from behind, a curse lifted, a gold medal won; all the elements of greatness were there.At length, all had to go home, or at least into the steamy Athens night. At midnight, the stadium was empty, but still fully lit, not a hockey pitch now, but a hologram. Today, I believe, it is gone altogether. But that stretch of that windblown runway will always be for Australian hockey a field of dreams. It was no illusion after all.
© 2004 The Age