Azadi Stadium, Tehran, November 22, 1997.- The Australians had flown with the warning of the 1974 Socceroos resounding in their ears: “Boys, you’re going to the most hostile venue in world football. You’d better be ready for what you’re about to encounter.”
It would be a tense transit for the vanguard of the Golden Generation, seeking to be the first Australian qualifiers since Rale Rasic’s part-timers had pulled off the miracle 24 years before.
If the concrete cauldron known as the Azadi - with its heaving, fanatical, all-male crowds - wasn’t a daunting enough prospect, the stakes had been cranked to fever-pitch courtesy of an unintended faux pas from within the green-and-gold camp.
Keen to stress how every contingency had been covered, team management had thrown in the news that the squad would be taking its own drinking water, and all catering would come courtesy of an in-house chef. In the Middle East, where hospitality to strangers is a hallowed tenet, the news caused outrage.
Tehran was primed like a time-bomb.
Two-hours before kick-off, the Azadi was jammed to its brim. Years later, it would be reduced to an all-seated stadium for 83,000.
On this day, a record 128,000 chanting, stomping, righteously offended Iranians came seeking retribution and a route to France ‘98. Among the visiting media corps, tension thrummed like piano wire.
Then . . . . . BANG!
Experienced Australian reporters ducked for cover as a brick cannoned into the plexiglass window of the press box. Below decks, in the bowels of the Azadi, what would the Socceroos have been thinking in the countdown to kickoff?
Instead of the conventional tunnel on the halfway mark, the players’ entrance was via a large trapdoor set in the grass verge behind the goals. All eyes were on that point. And then, a flicker of movement. Into the light stepped goalkeeper Mark Bosnich.
The roar from 100,000 throats must have hit him like an avalanche. Bozza didn’t flinch. As if to say, “Get a good look at me” he was wearing a warm-up top of bullfighter red, with a ball cradled under his arm.
And nor did he wait for company.
Instead, this solitary figure, head held high, strode slowly and defiantly towards centre-field, all the while fixing his gaze on the roaring walls of humanity.
At every interval or so, he’d bounce the ball, slowly rotating while drinking in every bit of hostility the Azadi had to offer. The body-language said it all: “Bring it on, whatever you’ve got to offer, we’re ready!”
As Bosnich stood tall, the din gradually gave way to a respectful murmur. Then, the rest of the Socceroos streamed out to join their ‘keeper.
Maybe Bozza was channeling Ron Corry, the king of ‘keeping coaches, who’d made his Socceroos debut in the historic 1967 tour of war-torn Vietnam. Whatever. From boxing to the bullring, or any arena you can name, it’s hard to recall a more inspiring display of nerve, coming as it did before a ball had been kicked. The result? One-all.
In a career both colourful and controversial, the brilliant shop-stopper enjoyed so many memorable moments. That afternoon at the Azadi was among his best.
