Australia vs Nigeria at Craven Cottage
November 19th 2007 13:15
Seizing the small window of light that is the London day, now that winter grey and gloom have suddenly descended, we set off for Craven Cottage Soccer Stadium at Fulham last Saturday to watch the soccer (or football) match between Australia and Nigeria.
Fulham, from the small slice we saw between train and stadium, is a picturesque little place with an imposing stone church, a high street with some enticing-looking vintage clothes shops, a rather grand block of forties style apartments with a regal name, a beautiful park with winding gravels paths along the river and numerous pubs, one by the unlikely name of The Temperance.
We lunched at the The Eight Bells, which offered a traditional English menu with cottage pie, bangers and mash, roasts, fish cakes, cod and chips and old ales as well as a roaring fire and paneled walls decked with ye olde pictures of sailing ships and prominent figures from when Fulham was a village.
It was evident, even from as far away as The Eight Bells that this was a great occasion for Australian Londoners. They were all there; Davo, Robbo, Thomo and Stevo as well as Gazza, Bazza, Dazza and Jase along with Mel, Becs, Kazza, Shaz and Sas, resplendent in green and gold. Enthusiastic Rudd supporters had seized the occasion and were handing out how-to-vote cards. John’s crew may have been there but were somehow lost in the crowd.
While singing was not the Aussie’s strong suit that day and the Anthem and even Waltzing Mathilda were swallowed up in the fog, encouragement for the ‘Roos (Carna straya) and discouragement of the opposition (Ya rubbish!) was loud and enthusiastic. Although it wasn't one of the world greats, it was a game that had us all leaping to our feet and sinking to our seats, especially after David Carney’s goal at the 52nd minute.
There was much jubilation and great celebration after the match, as much, I suspect, at the reunion of old mates as at the result. Chance meetings swelled into impromptu parties on the road outside until they were moved on by pleas from a loudspeaker (Australians, please do not wait for your friends outside the gate move away from the stadium) and melted away into pitch black of the late afternoon.
Craven Cottage Stadium
Fulham, from the small slice we saw between train and stadium, is a picturesque little place with an imposing stone church, a high street with some enticing-looking vintage clothes shops, a rather grand block of forties style apartments with a regal name, a beautiful park with winding gravels paths along the river and numerous pubs, one by the unlikely name of The Temperance.
We lunched at the The Eight Bells, which offered a traditional English menu with cottage pie, bangers and mash, roasts, fish cakes, cod and chips and old ales as well as a roaring fire and paneled walls decked with ye olde pictures of sailing ships and prominent figures from when Fulham was a village.
It was evident, even from as far away as The Eight Bells that this was a great occasion for Australian Londoners. They were all there; Davo, Robbo, Thomo and Stevo as well as Gazza, Bazza, Dazza and Jase along with Mel, Becs, Kazza, Shaz and Sas, resplendent in green and gold. Enthusiastic Rudd supporters had seized the occasion and were handing out how-to-vote cards. John’s crew may have been there but were somehow lost in the crowd.
Australian and Nigerian teams line up for the anthems
While singing was not the Aussie’s strong suit that day and the Anthem and even Waltzing Mathilda were swallowed up in the fog, encouragement for the ‘Roos (Carna straya) and discouragement of the opposition (Ya rubbish!) was loud and enthusiastic. Although it wasn't one of the world greats, it was a game that had us all leaping to our feet and sinking to our seats, especially after David Carney’s goal at the 52nd minute.
There was much jubilation and great celebration after the match, as much, I suspect, at the reunion of old mates as at the result. Chance meetings swelled into impromptu parties on the road outside until they were moved on by pleas from a loudspeaker (Australians, please do not wait for your friends outside the gate move away from the stadium) and melted away into pitch black of the late afternoon.
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