Football bit me hard in 1982

Sport Review #316

So, if the All Whites win tonight and then again on Monday, we will go to the World Cup. The first time that happened, I was nine and living in suburban Hamilton - genuinely, what a time to be alive.

At school, we all played soccer, with epic story arcs that spread across several lunchtimes. I don’t know how it worked out that way, but rugby didn’t appeal as much. It started when we were five or six, so this wasn’t some kind of Springbok-tour related backlash, it was just a lot of fun.

The first whiff of professional football was Big League Soccer - highlights from the English league and FA Cup that played on Sunday afternoons. On the face of it, things didn’t look that appealing with boggy pitches, horrendous-looking grandstands and egregiously balding men with incomprehensible analysis. But it was was truly heady stuff.

The 1982 World Cup qualification requirements now seems incredibly convoluted and unfair to a New Zealand team, but back then it was just a series of exotic names and games like Indonesia, Kuwait and Chinese Taipei. They all seemed to happen on sunny Mt Smart afternoons on coverage presented by men in blazers from entirely brown TV studios.

As things got closer, the players became genuine household names, in our household anyway. We all had goes at being Steve Sumner, Winton Rufer, Grant Turner, Steve Woodin and goal keeper Richard Wilson. I latched on to Duncan Cole, because Duncan Cole took a lot of throw ins, and I considered myself a throw in specialist at the time.

The crunch games came with an incredible 5-0 away win in Kuwait, and a one-off playoff against China in Singapore. My dad woke me and my brother up in the middle of the night to watch on a black and white TV at our place at Mount Maunganui - I can’t say I made it through the game awake, but we bloody won it and we were off to Spain for the World Cup.

One of the big moments in the campaign happened when our soccer team was handed out the national team’s merch catalogue. It was full of All Whites nick nacks like the biscuit tin and an amazing chocolate football. I can’t remember if we got the biscuit tin (probably got thrown in next to the Charles and Di wedding one) but I definitely got the Duncan Cole medallion.

And now we were here. My dad truly loved a cut out and keep schedule of matches, and the Herald’s was carefully bluetacked to the den door. Again, getting up in the dead of night to watch, Espania 82 was the greatest thing I’d ever seen, full colour, crowd sounds of hooters and whistles, photographers dressed like third world dictators roaming the sidelines and a whole new set of players to admire.

I thought the talk about qualifying being an amazing achievement in itself and keeping realistic expectations about what we could do against the world’s best teams was bullshit, we were in it to win it. But things came down to earth pretty fast against Scotland - we were 0-3 down at half time. But we came back hard in the second half, and Steves Sumner and Woodin’s goals are burned on my brain - we were here and we were doing it.

The 0-3 loss to USSR meant the end of qualification dream. But playing one of Brazil’s greatest ever teams was mind-blowing. Oscar. Falcao. Junior. Fucking Socrates. These names were like drugs to a nine year old. They didn’t bother with running around chasing the ball, preferring to just kind of stroll imperiously with their yellow shirts and long legs, looking for new and interesting ways to torment our guys. And then the astounding Zico went and scored a bicycle kick. Sorry All Whites - we were all Zico from that moment on.

We were pros at getting up in the middle of the night now, sleeping on the couch to watch Paolo Rossi knock Brazil out in blazing Barcelona sunshine, and West Germany knocking Platini and France out thanks to the dastardly german keeper Schumacher almost decapitating poor old Battiston.

Luckily, the good guys Italy won in the final, with Tardelli scoring and running towards his bench, bug eyed, screaming and waving his arms like he was physically unable to handle how wonderful and overwhelming the moment and indeed the tournament was. I knew the feeling, Tardelli.

Thanks for reading - Richard

This week's best NZ sport content

In great timing, Marc Hinton got a big interview with Tauranga force of nature Sam Ruthe and his running royalty family before he became the youngest person ever to run a sub four minute mile - you can see the race here [Stuff]

Great chat with Emile on the F1 and its endless coverage, cricket and the super hero jerseys at the rugby, in which I reveal my retro grumble grouch replica jersey strategy [RNZ Nights]

The boys’ chat with All Whites coach Darren Bazeley is one for the football nerds, from National League days to playing under Graham Taylor and New Zealand tours to the islands and loads more. And here’s Baze scoring a penalty in a 1999 Championship playoff, great times [Between Two Beers]

In deeply disappointing news, a Te Kaha v Eden Park ‘national stadium’ debate is happening already and it’s occurring on Linked In, complete with cheap and nasty AI images. In fairness - this is pretty sick [Linked In]

The Sportsfreak supremo reckons we should go against all our instincts and give Liam Lawson a bit of space while he’s sitting in the toughest seat in F1 [Sportsfreak]

Cambridge is great but not even the finest cafes and resort wear spots in the land can tempt kayakers to the high performance centre at Lake Karapiro [RNZ]

Video nasty

Solving mysteries like crazy.

Long read

Reviewing Graydon Carter’s new book, all about starting Spy magazine, then editing the New Yorker and Vanity Fair and the general associated magic of times when magazines were huge business [New Yorker]

Recommendation 

It What It Was is an amazing football history podcast that goes deep on origin stories and the game’s most famous incidents, games and people. Start with the Postecoglu / Puskas story or any of the Alex Fergusson ones, this is highly recommended.