The Socceroos brought me so much heartbreak - 20 years ago against Uruguay, it all changed

I almost didn’t go. I couldn’t handle another heartbreak. For 32 years the Socceroos got so close to qualifying for the World Cup, but then something catastrophic would happen. In 1994 they lost to Argentina when a ball deflected off Alex Tobin. In 1998 they were two goals up against Iran at the MCG, when an idiot invaded the pitch and ripped the net down, shattering the momentum, allowing Iran to come back. In 2001 I got up in the middle of the night to watch Australia get obliterated by Uruguay, so badly that players left the ground in tears. And I swore I wouldn’t put myself through it again.

But when the 2005 sudden-death qualifier against Uruguay came around, an old school friend had organised a bunch of tickets, and gave me one. “We have to go,” he said, “for Marco.”

We went to school with Marco Bresciano, who had become one of the Socceroos stars. Some of our group that night had been close mates with him, but I didn’t know him that well. Our most memorable interaction was in a year seven PE class, when we collided and nearly knocked each other out. If only I’d known I’d almost wiped out one of the greatest footballers this country would ever produce.

Our school, Marcellin College, was a Catholic boys school that worshipped the holy trinity: Jesus, footy and cricket. While the footy and cricket oval was a sacred turf which no one was allowed to set foot on, round-ball matches were relegated to a crudely marked rectangle on the junior cricket field. The cricket pitch in the middle was covered with dirt, but in winter it became a muddy ridge which cut across the ground. So football players spent most of the match hurdling the mound, and trying to flick the ball over it.

During World Cup qualifying in 2005, Uruguay won the first leg 1-0, so the Socceroos needed to win by at least 1-0. On one hand a very simple equation, but going by their history, the perfect scenario to absolutely screw it up.

Our seats were about 15 rows behind the goal. As the Socceroos walked on to the then Telstra Stadium pitch, I spotted Bresciano and yelled out, “There he is,” like an excited parent spotting their kid at a school concert. Australia were kicking toward our end, no muddy cricket pitches in sight. When the match kicked off, Uruguay leapt out like a wild animal that had been released from a cage. Three minutes in Recoba flashed a free kick just wide, causing a collective gasp that sucked the air out of the stadium. Ten minutes later Lugano just missed a header, and we gasped again. When Recoba sprinted toward goal, but blasted his shot wide, the whole stadium was hyperventilating.

After 20 minutes of this barrage, the familiar dread was rising. Faces were turning forlorn. Brows were furrowed, bottom lips were chewed. People were muttering to their mates, “Not again.” But like a boxer leaning back on the ropes, Australia absorbed the blows, and then started to punch back.

Before the match, one of Bresciano’s old friends told us a story: As a junior, he had been left out of a rep team, because the coach said he couldn’t kick on his left foot. Instead of complaining, Bresciano went home and kicked hundreds of balls against the garage wall with his left foot. He did this every night, until his weak foot became so strong, that opponents couldn’t tell which was his preferred foot. The practice paid off because when he went to Italy, he could play on both sides of the field and cut back inside on either foot. And that night it was about to pay off for Australia.

At 35 minutes Australia surged forward. Tim Cahill kicked to Mark Viduka, who flicked a back heel pass to Harry Kewell as he was bounding into the box, but Kewell mistimed his kick. The ball wobbled off his boot, and fell toward Bresciano who lunged sideways and scored, with his left foot.

We leapt off our seats, like we’d been hit by a high voltage shock. If there was a roof, it would have blown off. But amid the ecstasy and insanity, Bresciano stood utterly still. Legs spread, arms wide, like a roman statue carved from granite. As teammates piled on him, he still didn’t move. He just glared down the field toward the Uruguay players. The message was clear. This time nothing is going to knock us down.

He was right. They held on for the remaining 60 minutes. And another 30 minutes of excruciating extra time. We endured the famous penalty shootout where Schwarzer saved twice before John Aloisi stepped up to take the final penalty and slammed it into the back of the net, sending Australia into their first World Cup in 32 years.

Players hurtled on to the field, fireworks exploded, and Down Under blasted through the speakers.

In the crowd we hugged hundreds of random strangers. As one of the blokes behind us released me from his bear hug, I said, “Marco’s our mate.” And he replied, “Tonight, he’s everyone’s mate.”

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