UNBEATEN, AND WORTHY OF THE CUP
By STEVE BRAUNIAS
OH, JUST give us the World Cup. We deserve it. We worked harder and slogged our guts out more than any other nation, and we thrashed the holders 1-1.
No one gave us a chance. Neither did we. Look, we said, we're a nation of only four million people and one of them's Chris Carter. We play rugby. We're just glad to be here.
All the previews saw New Zealand as rank outsiders, no-hopers, bums. "All Whites captain Ryan Nelsen hopes to set up his own wine company," yawned the Guardian, "but there probably won't be much call for champagne in the post-match dressing room." The crates kept coming.
"Can it get any better?" asked coach Ricki Herbert after Winston Reid climbed out of nowhere to head that amazing, last-second goal which gave New Zealand a 1-1 draw with Slovakia in the opening game.
It got better. It got epic. The 1-1 draw with Italy deafened New Zealand all last week with a roar of pride and celebration louder than any number of vuvuzelas.
Italy resorted to their old tactic of falling down with a sudden case of leprosy to earn a penalty. Football's great masters of the defensive arts were outmastered by us.
"New Zealand defending well," allowed the commentator, as the line held firm and goalkeeper Mark Paston did what New Zealand's Richard Pearse became the first man to do in 1903: flew.
His saves, time and time again, lit a match. Rome wasn't burnt in a day. It took 90 minutes for the empire to fall into a smoking heap.
"It wasn't pretty," said Nelsen post-match. Stripped to the waist, sweating and big-jawed, the happy, freckled, muscle-bound galoot looked exactly like the kind of creature we've all seen in post-match interviews – a victorious All Black.
But the moment belonged to that other game of football. The one that took us over all last week, right up until the last minute of the final game, when our big adventure ground to a halt. The 0-0 draw with Paraguay wasn't pretty. It wasn't anything much, except for the small, real matter of another point – one more than Italy, two more than wretched France. Three more than anyone expected.
It was thanks to Herbert, who looked more and more like Bobby Moore, his haircut and demeanour as smooth as England's triumphant 1966 World Cup captain. It was thanks to veteran Simon Elliott, who seemed to lose more of the few strands of his hair as the tournament progressed, but never stopped running. It was thanks to Nelsen, Paston, Reid.
It was thanks to everyone in and of the 2010 All Whites. They were the team no one knew, but became the team no one knew how to beat.
http://www.stuff.co.nz/sport/fifa-world-cup/all-whites/3858800/Its-the-end-of-the-World-and-we-feel-fine