Nothing will corrupt us,
Nothing will compete,
Thank God heaven left us,
Standing on our feet
- Beauty and the beast, David Bowie
I literally came to the game in a bandwagon on Sunday. For most of the season, Id been going to the games at Bluetongue by myself. Occasionally, my sister who lives up this way would come along in the spirit of local parochialism, even if her heart really belongs to Valentino Rossi. This week however, I suddenly found myself in a seven-seat Delica van with everyone bar my mum and dad in the back rollicking along the coastal road leading to Gosford. As a fan who usually makes his communion with the multitude in a solitary fashion, this was somewhat disconcerning. The bareing of ones obsession is always want to come a cropper in unfamiliar company, and the signs were not good when we missed the usual left hand lane turn off to the car park, and ended up roaming around the East Gosford looking for a park in unfamiliar territory.
A man of infinite habit, I had never come in this way to the stadium, but as soon as we unloaded out of the van and began slowly walking around the bay towards the palm tree end of the ground, something measured, calm and reassuring came over me. This was something new - the calm of Brisbane Waters to our left, the crammed stadium to our right. Almost beatific. All this and we got there with ten minutes till kickoff - just enough time to evict some uncoloured usurpers who dared to take our seats in Bay 17. Charlatans.
So, to the game. You have no idea how tense it was in the stands - I have since had the pleasure of watching the game on Fox, and have come to appreciate the dominance (for the most part) of the Mariners, the coughing up of the ball by Newcastles midfield, the hunger of our own midfield and the desperation of our defence, but- from our position it was tense. So very, very tense. We could see Kwasnik scurrying up the wings, giving Elrich hell, but we held our breath every time they long balled it to Griffiths. You could see and feel the stakes on offer, the wrestling of possession in the first thirty minutes where neither side wanted to get caught out. I thought to explain to my sibling entourage that sometimes this is what football was, a grappling struggle of wills and tense, measured play - unsexy but all the more enthralling for it - but I neednt have bothered as they were, like me, completely absorbed in the contest.
They only need one goal and were gone, right?, my sister asked. I nodded. Every Mariner fan in the stadium knew it.
Heres the thing. That feeling didnt go away until the 120th minute. The pressure, the grip it exerted on us, slowly fell away as each goal was scored, but it never went away. If, as Tony overheard, it was better than sex, then it was definitely of the Tantric kind. Tension, tension, followed by momentary but not fully felt release, a sequential substitution of anxiety with relief with the scoring of each goal.
OK, I lied a bit there. The last one we unloaded in an orgy of unbelievability, forgetting for a second that they could still score one and win, but then it was back to so many times before in the season where, having taken the lead in the game, I would have happily had the game finish there and then, guilty in the knowledge that that was the only thing i paid my money for, the pretence of a fair go be damned.
In retrospect, the game went exactly to plan. Pressure play, patient probing at the start, stretching the defence down the right, cutting in on the edge of the box to shoot, a goal in each half around the same time (10 to 15 minutes before the end), and the sheer, ruthless elegance of Petrovskis last goal in the 5th minute of extra time.
sash-kwasWith that goal, Sasho in his imperious, joyous, mongrel style became the Cantona of the Coast. McKinna, in the post-match interview, was being asked who had what injuries, and someone asked how Sasho was. McKinna chuckled and said, Yeah Sashos fine. He `scored two goals. He doesnt feel anything.., at which point Adam K, who was sitting exhausted next to him, cracked up laughing. Invincible, irresistable, and at home on the Coast.
Adam himself endeared himself to the faithful by throwing his boots in to the crowd at the end of the game, and going back to the Kendall Bar later to thank the fans, and was given a Marinator premiers T-shirt for his troubles. The new Donkey shirt perhaps?
So, I apologise here and now for not adequately describing the effort and determination of each team member on the night - they were all superb, young and old.
Anyway, now they have a grand final to win. They have already won over the Coast.
I still have to pinch myself. Its Wednesday, and Im still tingling.
On Sunday, in Heaven, they left us standing on our feet. My my.
