Festive season in Adelaide as Santa Cruz is coming to town

The Commonwealth Games are off and running in Glasgow after a fun-filled opening ceremony. Somewhere in Celtic Park amid a giant haggis, tartan and kilts galore, something that may or may not have been the Loch Ness monster and singalongs from Rod Stewart and Susan Boyle, the 4500 athletes from 71 countries strutted their stuff in front of a raucous, bubbling crowd of more than 40,000. The Games look like being a fabulous bonus addition to the rich tapestry of sport that wonderfully swamps the UK summer months. Even the Tour de France started off there earlier this month with an incongruous ‘chocs away’ in the ever so English heart of Yorkshire. Next on the calendar comes Wimbledon, the British formula one grand prix, the British Open for golf fans. On and on it goes. My own favourite month is August when the start of the football season neatly dovetails with the climax of the cricket campaign. This year it looks like England’s Test failings are gonna couple up with relegation for Lancashire. Ho hum… But I still love being there. Alas, this year, I will have to miss out. For reasons beyond my control (in other words, I’m skint), I won’t be able to trek back for my annual sporting smorgasbord. So I’m stuck in Adelaide. For the first time ever in August. I don’t wanna sound like a whingeing Pom but without my UK break, life in Adelaide suddenly seems like being trapped in an episode from The Prisoner. With me playing Patrick McGoohan’s role as Number Six. So if I can’t get out of here, I’m just gonna have to make the best of an Aussie winter and try not to worry that I’m living in an open prison. Already the signs are promising. A couple of weeks ago on a trip to the flicks at Mitcham, the Torrens Arms put on a “Christmas in July” evening. The weather was chilly and just perfect. So to add to the atmosphere, they had installed a snow machine in the beer garden. As the flakes tumbled down I felt like singing. “You better watch out, you better not cry, you better not pout, I’m telling you why, Santa Claus is coming to town, Santa Claus is coming to town, Santa Claus is coming to town…” And tomorrow (Friday, July 25) he is. Well, not Santa Claus, but Santa Cruz. Roque Santa Cruz, to be exact. The suave Blackburn Rovers old boy will be putting his striking talents on display for Spanish side Malaga in the friendly against Adelaide United at the revamped Adelaide Oval. What a great excuse to go along and see how the Paraguayan hitman is doing. It’s not every day that an ex-Rover arrives on the scene. It seems like only yesterday he was at the peak of his powers at Ewood. Yet it was the first day of the 2007-08 season when the signing from Bayern Munich made his debut, coming on as sub and scoring against Middlesbrough at the Riverside in a 2-1 away win. A fine day out as I remember with pints in the Yorkshire countryside before the less than attractive skyline of Teesside came into view. That was a great week to be back as Lancashire had hammered Yorkshire the same week in the County Championship at Headingley. Some August jaunts are better than others. Santa Cruz continued to get on the scoresheet that season, arguably his best-ever. He finished as top marksman with 23 goals in all competitions. He wasn’t quite as prolific the following season but did enough for the new greedy sods, Manchester City, to splash out a big fee to lure him across Lancashire in June 2009. For Roque, it never worked out there and indeed it didn’t click when he came back on loan to Rovers under the odious Steve Kean’s regime. Nine games, no goals but plenty of gum chewing from a player who didn’t look interested second time around as the dreadful demise at Ewood began. But I would like to remember him from his first stop so I will give him a warm welcome at Adelaide Oval. Whether the experiment by the Reds of playing at an Aussie Rules venue works will be interesting to gauge. I saw ‘em there against Sydney FC a few seasons in a one-off A-League fixture and the configuration of a football field in the middle on an oval left a lot to be desired. Maybe the stadium’s new look will make a difference this time. Anyway, I will need all the sporting succour I can find with no UK escape on the horizon. All together now: “Santa Cruz is coming to town…”

Madcap celebrations swamp Adelaide’s German Club in wake of World Cup triumph

In the end the best team won the World Cup. Congratulations to Germany for lifting the trophy in Rio de Janeiro after their hard-earned win against Argentina. I witnessed the occasion in the early hours of Monday morning in Adelaide’s German Club on Flinders Street. It was a long way from Brazil but seemed to be the next best thing to being there as the place was ram-jam full upstairs and downstairs. We made a safe entry into the club about half an hour before kick-off at 4.30am but others who had left it too late were not quite so lucky. The queues apparently snaked along the pavement with everybody wanting to sample a piece of Germany for two hours as the showpiece got underway. The beers flowed and German brekkies were snapped up in quick time with party atmosphere also laced with a touch of apprehension as the action unfolded. I almost felt as though I was a voyeur at someone else’s shindig as folk jostled for pints amid the mayhem. After all, I’m not German. But I did wish them well. They are a very welcoming bunch and I’m just glad there was a result in extra-time before we would have had to endure the mammoth game being decided by the unsatisfactory ‘pot luck’ method of a penalty shoot-out. The Germans have been the stand-out side of a tournament that has thrown up plenty of highlights during the past month. The zenith of their grand passage towards the ultimate prize came during the crazy, wham-bam demolition of Brazil in the 7-1 semi-final rout. In all my years of watching football, I don’t think I’ve witnessed such carnage. Remember this was not a bunch of no-hopers against superstars, but elite rivals supposedly engaged in a cat and mouse ‘chess match’ for a place in the final. The German made a mockery of such pre-match predictions and at the same time dealt a mortal blow to the aura of Brazilian superiority against mere mortals that has seemingly spanned generations. I’m not being cruel but I didn’t shed any tears for the Brazilians. Football suffering should be shared round, so if it was Brazil’s turn it was overdue. But they certainly made up for lost time. Yet my abiding memory of that rout was that it should have been 8-0. Remember in added time, Germany’s Arsenal midfielder Mesut Ozil was clean though and missed a chance that was a lot simpler than many that they had already put away. It may seem petty but the Brazilians then broke away for their meagre consolation goal. But at least 7-1 sounds better than 8-0. The crippling damage to the Brazilians’ psyche was plain for all to see when the Netherlands cruised to a 3-0 success in the third-place game, amid more comical defending from the crestfallen hosts. At least the Argentinians provided sterner opposition in the final. And in Lionel Messi they had the player of the tournament. Yet in the dying minutes it was substitute Mario Gotze’s deft clincher that sent the German Club many miles away in Adelaide into a frenzy. I shall be back there for my midday pint on Saturday after my gym session at Fitness on Flinders next door. I’ll ask Christa behind the bar, and ever-present local Ziggy on this side of the serving procedure, how long the celebrations went on. I suspect many would have lingered for more lager rather than have made it to work. One day maybe I will be able to soak in such atmosphere during an English triumph instead of being a ’nosey parker’ observer. Well, we can all dream, but this well-assembled German team look as though they are gonna be around for some time yet. What odds on a repeat feat in Russia when the next World Cup rolls around in 2018?

Quality foursome likely to ensure thrilling climax to World Cup

And then there were four… the World Cup reaches the business end with this week’s semi-finals. After all the talk and hunches of surprise packets bursting though, it’s a line-up of familiar nations, four genuine footballing heavyweights, who will be fighting it out to make it through to the final and carry off the main prize. None of the pre-tournament in-form upstarts such as Belgium and Switzerland have been able to disturb the old order of hosts Brazil, constant challengers Germany, the stylish Dutch or the Lionel Messi-inspired Argentina. It’s a familiar cast, who should provide a thrilling finale to what has been an enthralling competition. And I don’t honestly care who comes out on top. I shall just sit back and watch the action unfold. The TV schedule on SBS works out perfectly for me to survey the contests before heading off to work. My only connection to favouring Brazil is my esteemed former colleague from the Sydney Morning Herald and Daily Telegraph in London, Rod Carr. Rod is now domiciled in Sao Paulo with his Brazilian wife Fernanda. I suspect he may be sporting the canary yellow shirt of Brazil as his adopted homeland side try to get past Germany. The Germans seem to make it to the latter stages of any World Cup on auto-pilot. If only England could do the same… South Australia boasts a healthy contingent of German descendants. I usually run into them in the ever-excellent German Club on Flinders Street in the city. It’s right next to my gym, Fitness on Flinders, and I usually adjourn there on a Saturday morning just before midday after a session on the treadmills. They are amazingly friendly folk and I would much rather re-hydrate on Cooper’s Pale at Happy Hour prices than some trendy energy drink. Christa and the bar staff are usually pouring my stein as I walk in. I would have no qualms if the Germans lifted the Cup. I know the German Club has been showing their country’s games so there would be quite an atmosphere in the ornate venue if they reach the final. The Dutch link comes via my old mate from Brummie student days, a jazz drummer of no mean ability, I introduce to you… Mr Hans Ferrao. Once of the parish of Streatham in Sarf London, Hans and his clan have now shifted base to Sidcup. Hans was a member of the barnstorming English team of the mid-70s, a cultured centre back, who also played a big part of the five-a-side exploits of (Leo) Nolan’s Nippers. I know Hans would be chuffed if his Oranj men could do the deed. The only time they have seem ruffled is when the Socceroos shook them up but managed to lose a game they deserved to win. Football is not fair all of the time. That leaves the Argentines. I have no personal rivalry with them though every time England cross paths with them, it seems to spark fireworks. My first memory is the 1966 World Cup meeting at Wembley when Antonio Rattin was given his marching orders and Alf Ramsey labelled the beaten South American side as “animals.’ The Falklands conflict sent relations between the counties to a new nadir. Then there came the Diego Maradona “Hand of God” goal in 1986 and epic encounters at the 1998 and 2002 tournaments. But with Messi in full cry, the Argentinians would make worth champions. It all adds up a to a hectic helter-skelter ride for the closing. Whether Rod, Christa and co, Hans or the Argentines will be smiling at the end of it, who knows… It should make for compulsive viewing.