It is now incontestable. After an A-League grand final played at an unmatched intensity, Sydney FC emerged limping victors. In doing so, they applied the arguable but evidently necessary sheen to crown themselves undisputed champions, and can now safely enter the realms of A-League legend. After a bruising encounter that won’t be soon forgotten, the operative word in Sydney is surely, “phew”.
While Sydney overflowed with scenes of euphoria after Miloš Ninković dispatched the decisive penalty, relief will eventually win the day. This was an excruciatingly close contest, and it was very nearly not about Sydney at all. They entered the fixture as statistical champions-elect, and one sensed such casting was fairly asking for a boilover. Suggestions of Victory as grand final sidekicks were always ignorant at best and embarrassing at worst. Instead, Kevin Muscat’s men as the enemy gently stalking Sydney’s slipstream was a far more accurate representation of matters, and the ensuing contest reflected it. An agreeable post here, a helpful hand there, and the conversation would be vastly different. Victory were inches away from the title.
In the end, this grand final served up the blockbuster it was designed to serve, and was settled on the margins. A bumpy pitch notwithstanding, it was a setting that befit the occasion. As 41,546 people poured into Allianz Stadium, the scene looked every bit a platinum-level event. Cameras panned at a glorious Sydney twilight that oversaw smoke billowing and rival cadres wagging fingers, swinging scarves and clapping in unison to commence a feverishness that barely relented for the following two and a half hours. Faceless men in suits surrounded the hallowed golden toilet seat, as an a capella rendition of the national anthem lingered, almost hauntingly, before referee Jarred Gillett blew time on.
It was apt, as both sides clashed brutally in the game’s opening half hour. However upon closer inspection, the physicality was no clichéd enactment of simply “letting him know you’re there”. Muscat’s outfit in particular had arrived with a clear plan to disrupt and nullify Sydney’s primary pivot, Ninković, and largely succeeded in doing so. While Sydney conjured the occasional zippy combination, they left Lawrence Thomas largely untroubled in the first half. Victory continued with the high press that served them so effectively against Brisbane last week, and following Besart Berisha’s balletic zig-zagging, complete with a stepover and cool finish in to the bottom corner, Sydney were very much the team wondering whether their nightmare scenario was manifesting right in front of them.
As TV viewers glimpsed an exasperated and animated Graham Arnold griping with the referees in the tunnel before the second half, the notion of Victory nicking the game became ever more plausible. While they hadn’t necessarily enjoyed a dominant foothold, their key pillars were in solid working order. Up front, the triumvirate of Marco Rojas, James Troisi and Berisha – while creating little of substance as a group – still looked a chance of summoning a moment. And at the back, James Donachie and eventual Joe Marston Medal winner, Daniel Georgevski, continued to make crucial interventions. At the touchline, Kevin Muscat exhibited his full array of verbiage, complete with flecks of spit for our widescreen, HD pleasure. With half an hour of normal time to go, visions of a Jose Mourinho-esque sprint up the Allianz touchline didn’t seem far-fetched.
And yet, as the match wore on, Sydney’s midfield dominance began to tell. Ninković, the only player who appeared consistently capable of finding a pass in a claustrophobic midfield, grew into the match as Victory’s legs wore, and Sydney eventually found parity. Their equaliser owed much to that dominance, though it was a singular moment of class that created the opening. David Carney, very much a cameo act these days, fashioned the chance courtesy of a delightful dummy and shimmy across his body before shooting to the bottom right. Rhyan Grant managed to finish the carnage that Carney created.
It was a goal in keeping with the tone of the match. Chances through systems and patterns were out the window; whoever could first produce a moment of brilliance would likely win the day. From 80 minutes onwards, the game was anyone’s, and the opportunities that fell reflected as much. Most of them came from wide areas, as Troisi and Carney regularly found themselves in pockets of space. Meanwhile, Berisha and Bobô were otherwise reasonably subdued, with the latter making way for an energetic Matt Simon for the final quarter of regular time.
Muscat, whose high-octane press must have told on his players’ energy, may wonder whether fresher legs might have changed things. One substitution in 120 minutes of play most likely spoke to his faith in his starting unit, though the diminishing influence of a below-par Rojas does warrant the question. Even so, that the match finished 1-1 after 120 minutes was fair reflection on the battle that had preceded it.
Thankfully, the shootout produced a hero, not a villain. Danny Vukovic’s save from Rojas’s well-directed shot should rightly be remembered as the enduring image of the difficult ritual. It was a save significant not just for its athletic ability and technical excellence, but for also helping to confirm what we all knew: Sydney were just about the better team on the night, and they were unquestionably the best team of the year. Now there can be no argument, though there probably shouldn’t have been anyway.
