Adam Peacock: View from the ground as Matildas advance to World Cup semi-final

The Matildas celebrated with their friends and family after beating France, blissfully unaware of their impact on the nation. ADAM PEACOCK had the view from the ground.

The Matildas celebrated with each other as the nation partied. Picture: Justin Setterfield/Getty Images

We know it was emotional for the nation, because the clips from every part of the land keep flooding screens.

It happened. It feels not real, but some form out of outer body experience. Maybe in a decade it will make sense. Maybe never.

For those involved, it was more than emotional.

In the seconds and minutes that followed Cortnee Vine’s calm pass of the ball to end a penalty shootout for the ages, the Matildas couldn’t stop the tears.

Steph Catley, forever the calmest woman in the room or on the field, let go of whatever it was bubbling up inside. She hugged and cried, and cried and hugged.

Sam Kerr had to go and hide on the bench for a hot minute and take it all in. She was tired, 70 minutes on the pitch at the outer edge of what she was physically capable of, and mentally, the enormity hit even the most famous face in the stadium hard.

Except Ellie Carpenter. She hollered like it was just a wild Saturday night out with friends. That’s Ellie. The life of the party.

None of them, though, had any idea of what they’d just done, because they were too happy for each other.

Tameka Yallop with her daughter Harley. Picture: AFP

As AFL crowds walked out to watch on screens they could access. As dance concerts were paused to find out the result. As diners huddled around phones perched on salt shakers in restaurants.

This group of close friends could just think of each other and what they’d lived together.

For those who don’t understand football, who scratch their heads at why disciples of the game are so intrinsically besotted by the pastime, this was the greatest lesson of all. The sport has a habit of drawing people in. It’s easy to understand. But hard to comprehend. Until nights like these.

You see a young girl accept Kerr’s shirt in the crowd, and know she’ll tell her great grandkids about the moment at the turn of the next century.

You see the team immediately search for loved ones in the crowd, because they are the ones that have hugged them through tough times, got them to where they need to be in every way imaginable, and here they were, waving back, tears in their eyes.

Kyra Cooney-Cross, with an ice pack on her foot, stood and stared for what seemed an eternity. She finally found her crew, and the smile was one of a thousand that lit up the night.

Young fans are inspired. Picture: David Clark

You see beautiful sights, too. Mary Fowler, who had just expelled everything over two hours, plus a coolly taken penalty, jogged across the pitch with Harley Yallop, daughter of Tameka, another one of many calm heads in the shootout, who stopped the infiltration of panic by focusing on what she’d be taught for over two decades, back to when she would ride a skateboard around the QAS training field in the southern suburbs of Brisbane.

Mary and Harley ran, and Harper Gorry was handed over the fence, into mum Katrina’s arms.

Mum was rightfully exhausted after. Harper was wide-eyed. Sleep would not come until dawn was near for either of them.

And what of Tony Gustavsson, the coach.

He was happy to take the bullets after the Nigeria loss, as he approached the role of villain for f***ing all of this up.

Harsh assessment, but he knew the score. Team wins: players did well. Team loses: coach screwed up.

This was an achievement for the Swede. He was an assistant for two World Cup wins with USA, but it’s not the main gig.

It was never his neck on the line. It was never strangers pommeling his tactics. It was never journalists questioning his every decision. Part of the territory. This was new ground for him, too, and he couldn’t hold back the tears.

Even half an hour after full time, when asked by CODE Sports about the personality of his team, he had to stop, compose himself, and blubber some words about how great they are.

Interview over, he was off for a drink. A kombucha. Guts twisted, he could only think of his gut health.

Tony Gustavsson couldn’t help showing his emotion. Picture: Bradley Kanaris/Getty Images

And then there were the unsung heroes, like goalkeeper coach Tony Franken, happy to be unsung because that’s his gig. Mackenzie Arnold walked away with a Player of the Match trophy, and notoriety of a nation only Mark Schwarzer knows about.

Franken has been the ‘keeper coach for both the Uruguay shootout, and the Matildas miracle. Graham Arnold and Guus Hiddink, whom Franken worked with in 2005 to help the Socceroos make a World Cup, would call him the European Cup, making fun at the natural inclination of his ears to resemble a famous trophy in men’s club football.

He celebrated Arnold’s achievement like he’d won every trophy on offer, running to family in the crowd, delaying the customary team huddle Gustavsson organised with all the players and staff.

By the time this is read, sometime Sunday, all involved with the Matildas would have stepped off cloud nine, and back to reality. England on Wednesday.

A World Cup semi-final.

A what? World. Cup. Semi. Final.

It doesn’t make sense. Gloriously, it doesn’t need to.

Originally published as Adam Peacock: View from the ground as Matildas advance to World Cup semi-final