England vs Argentina – World Cup Semi Final. I couldn’t believe this was actually happening, the Mexico game was huge, but this was the biggest in God knows how long. Italia 90 Semi Final, World Cup Final in 66, there aren’t many bigger than this. Time for the ticket search to begin.
I was feeling blessed, when I left home 3 weeks earlier, I had tickets for two matches secured and knew that the insane prices would be a huge barrier to me getting to anymore games, so I arrived with little optimism.
Thanks to one freebie and a great bunch of lads, I’d now seen two England knock-out matches and was in search of the holy grail. A ticket to watch England vs Argentina.
The tension for this encounter had been rising as Argentina were constantly being accused of being on the right side of several decisions, and that FIFA had a desire for Messi to win his second World Cup. Absolute nonsense of course, but it all added to the narrative.
Reunion
My old mate Girds, from Manchester had moved to Houston, Texas some 20 years earlier to build an amazing life for himself. After narrowly missing out on the Mexico trip there was no chance he wasn’t going to get involved in the atmosphere this time around.
He came to Atlanta with his daughter and her boyfriend. They had a spare bed in their Airbnb so that was a lovely little bonus for me given how the insane costs were racking up by the day.
Another old pal saw my search for a ticket on Instagram and let me know he lived north of Atlanta.
“Hey man, I would struggle to meet up but just to let you know, don’t stay south of the centre, there are plenty of no-go areas”
“Where is our Airbnb Girds?”
“Just south of the centre mate”
The day before we found a spot full of England fans to watch Spain progress past France. I didn’t have any particular preference on who we’d like to play in the Final, that prospect still seemed so far away despite its relative proximity.
Thank the Lord
Halfway through the day I received an urgent sounding message from my mate Nick. We’d again bumped into each other at Miami airport en route and he had this little glint in his eye, ‘I’ve got a good feeling for ya pal’.
“You still looking for a ticket mate?”
Rarely have I ever responded so excitedly.
“I sure am, what’s the situation”
One quick conversation by the quiet of the Portaloos and £750 later, I was now the proud owner of 1 ticket to a World Cup Semi Final. Unbelievable. I had been scouring prices online for the last couple of days and you were looking at £2000 easy. And that was not in the England end with the risk of being sat beside Argentina fans, or even worse, neutrals who think it’s a theatre and expect you to sit down.
I headed back to the festivities to celebrate my newfound happiness. Inside was a dark and dingy bar where England songs were being sung passionately and the beers were flowing. A couple of hours of entertainment followed, lightly sozzled we decided to head home and call it a night, only to be greeted by bright sunshine outside and only 7:30pm. Nice to have sensible influences amongst my group for once.
Back home we enjoyed some beers on our porch, one of those experiences that made you feel like you’d been dropped right into a 1970’s American Movie. The house and neighbourhood seemed fine in the end so no complaints. Happy days.
An experience to remember
Morning came and so did our first ever experience with a driverless car. Bloody brilliant. I’d always found them an incredible concept from the comfort of my own home and loved the idea of trying one. Without warning, our Uber rolled up with an empty driver seat to take us to the stadium.
Insane technology and we contently sat back and let the algorithms and cameras do all the work. A ridiculously smooth process. A fascinating glimpse into the future of the world, this is just the beginning.
It was a fair old mooch once our Uber dropped us off to get to the Fanzone but we stayed there, soaked up the vibes before heading our separate ways. Them to find a decent bar to watch the game. And me to the Mercedes-Benz Stadium for our most eagerly anticipated match of my lifetime. To me this felt bigger than either of the Euro’s Finals. This was something else!
Incredible Stadium
Heading inside into the air conditioning, I’d never seen anything like it. With the roof on, it felt more like an indoor music venue rather than a football stadium, but immediately you could hear the noise bouncing around the arena.
The rather optimistic chant of “There’ll be no f***in Messi in New York” was echoing around the concourse at the England end. Something to counter the thousands of Messi shirts being adorned around the stadium.
On top of the Argentina fans, it was clear that the locals had a huge love for the little Magician, understandably so, I do myself, he is after all the greatest player I’ve ever seen play the game.
However, the last few days I’d been building up that anti Argentine feeling in my head in preparation for the game and we were ready for an epic battle, my love and respect for the wee man can be reignited sometime in the future, but not for now amigo.
After a quick catch up with ‘That World Cup Guy’ and his buddy Stu, I took my seat in Row 66, a positive omen surely. Here we go. Before we knew it the anthems were being sung, and boy did the feeling of mutual animosity amongst the fans come across in those songs.
They really despise us
Only those right in the thick of the England fans could hear the anthem, the rest of the stadium could only hear boos and chants of
“EL QUE NO SALTA ES UN INGLES!!”
He who doesn’t jump is English.
Needless to say, we did our very best to reciprocate the polite welcome and sang throughout their anthem. I can honestly say I’ve never done that to anyone else’s anthem in my 20+ England games, but that was the rivalry and merely intensified the already tense atmosphere.
We know all about how the Argies play and they were straight into it with their niggly fouls and wind-up tactics. We knew we had to ride this out and the players kept their control, even if the referee failed to do so, 19 fouls in the first half and only Elliott Anderson booked.
Half time came with few chances and the fairly even battle started to settle a little. 55 minutes in, Harry Kane released Morgan Rogers down the right, he whipped in a ball to the back post. Anthony Gordon had run from deep, and his momentum took him inside the defender to direct the ball into the bottom corner. 1-0 ENGLAND. The crowd went mental. Is this really happening?
Shortly after Djed Spence pulled off an incredible last-ditch tackle to deny the irritating Simeone. But the tide had turned, momentum had swung firmly in favour of the South Americans. Maybe just instinctively from England, they started dropping back. Tiredness, nerves and that natural reaction when defending a lead.
This ain’t looking good
We’ve seen Argentina unpick defences just like this against Cape Verde and Egypt. It seemed there was no better team at breaking down a low block, no bus would be large enough to park in front of the goal.
On 72 minutes the tactical decision was clear. Ezri Konsa came on for Anthony Gordon. Official instruction was now to just try and ride this out. Tuchel was like a kid with no idea clicking ‘ultra defence’ on Football Manager, hoping it was the magic button for not conceding.
‘We’re playing Lionel F***in Messi’. Time and time again over the last 20 years he’s proved that if you give him an opportunity he will take it.
Big Dan Burn came on to replace another midfielder. Enzo threatened from distance. Gonzalez forced a world class save from Pickford. Mac Allister hit the post. The mood in the England end was as edgy as you could imagine. The frustration was clear to see. It was like we’d already lost.
It had been coming for quarter of an hour but on 86 minutes, Messi drew in two men before laying one off to Enzo who let rip from 20 yards out and finally beat the despairing Pickford.
Our end went silent. Only later did I see Barco running over to our players to celebrate, a classic example of Argentine class. The roar around the stadium was depressing, and as the match restarted, it just felt like a matter of time before the second goal would come. 6 defenders on the pitch was a sorry sight.
7 minutes later, Mac Allister unleashed an effort from the edge of the box which rebounded off the post. Messi and Spence battled for the loose ball, only ever going to be one winner there. Messi then crossed in an inch perfect ball onto the head of Lautauro Martinez. 2-1. Devastating. We knew we were done.
There were still a few minutes left on the clock, but that final scene of us booting it up the pitch in the hope that our 6’7” defender would save us, was a sad way to go. Needless to say, he didn’t.
Dream Over
We’d sat back and let them have a free run at our goal. The whole country could see this panning out the way it did. And we did nothing to stop it. We let the greatest player to ever play the game see if he could do what he’s done all his career. And ‘quelle surprise’, he only went and did it.
A terrible tactical display, worse than anything Southgate ever did and a cowardly way to fall to our biggest rivals. A sorry way to end a brilliant tournament.
As always after sad defeats, I sat in my seat until the stadium was empty. Watched the opposition fans celebrate and take it all in. I feel it’s the best way to absorb and accept the defeat. You can’t take it away from the Argies, they came to battle and fight as they always do and ultimately, they deserved the victory.
Post match they unveiled their banner stating ‘Las Malvinas son Argentinas’. Not a debate I’m going to get sucked into, well, because there is no debate to be had. But anyway, it merely added yet another chapter in this epic story between the two countries, yet again Argentina come out on top on the field and our journey was over.
Outside was full of blue and white shirts celebrating. A familiar feeling, that emptiness when the dream is over. One day boys. One day.
I returned to meet Girds in the bar to drown our sorrows. There was a reasonable police presence in town which prevented any trouble kicking off beyond a few songs sung between opposing fans.
We rounded off the night back at home with a stroll through what may or may not have been a ghetto, to grab a few beers. Seemed sound enough though to be fair and we had a bit of craic with the locals.
Heading for home
We finished off our time in Atlanta with a trip around the Coca Cola Museum and Martin Luther King’s old gaff. Two of the biggest exports of the city.
Back in New York I could barely muster up the energy, or desire to go out and watch the third place play off against France. The most pointless game in international football. But it ended up being great fun, 6 bloody 4. A Saka hat trick and a worldy from Jude, again. The fact Saka didn’t play a single minute vs Argentina but was fit enough for 90 here was a criminal decision.
It was a fun way to lighten the mood. Ultimately Tommy Tuchel cocked up his tactics in the biggest moment, but it doesn’t make him a bad manager and doesn’t mean he should be sacked or vilified. This is football, these things happen. We go again.
When you say you were in New York for the World Cup Final, it sounds like a really cool experience. But that would also require having the foresight to book somewhere. Not just hoping to roll into a pub 30 mins before kick-off. All bars were full. The free showing at Central Park was sold out.
So, a little café it was. It had beer, scran and a TV. Does the job. I wasn’t the only one underprepared, the empty café soon filled with Argentina fans. Once again, I was hugely outnumbered but after years disliking Manchester United and growing up in their glory years in Manchester, I was used to hiding my glee.
Salvation
Thank God I had the opportunity to do just that on 106 minutes when Ferran Torres finished smartly, my favourite part of this goal was that it was that little rat Giuliano Simeone who left him free, poetic justice.
A hapless Donald Trump looked his usual confused self as he presented the trophy to Rodri. Spain had deservedly added a second star to their jerseys and continue to define a generation of football with supreme class and control. Seven games and only one conceded. The worthy winners and boy was I relieved.
My chest was held a little higher and I had a grin from ear to ear while wandering around Times Square. Stupidly for a little too long as I ended up needing an £80 Uber to get me out to the airport. Who knew the traffic would be chaos on World Cup Final day in New York City.
But that was me done. What an adventure. I arrived with a little uncertainty about how things would pan out and left with a thousand wonderful memories. I’ll forever now be in love with the American bar system and their love of sport. Tremendous hospitality and really bloody great people.
My mate Nick relayed a lovely quote to me
“If you want to hate America, watch the news. If you want to love America, then drive through it”.
What a country
I completely get it, the country gets a whole load of stick for a plethora of reasons, making it one of the most hated countries in the world. And I must confess, I’ve done my fair bit of US bashing over the years but after this trip, I’m fully converted.
What an incredible country. There really is something for everybody. You won’t see diversity and acceptance like this anywhere else in the world.
As for Mexico. I already had a deep love for this special country. The first place I ever spoke Spanish when travelling the continent some 11 years earlier. The food, the culture, the nature the history, it has a bit of everything.
If you ever get the chance, get away from the holiday resorts around the beaches and get stuck into the cities in the heart of the country. Trust me, it’s amazing even without the World Cup. Mexico is often branded unsafe but take your usual precautions you would do anywhere else and you’ll be absolutely fine.
The aforementioned qualities are amazing, but like any truly wonderful country, it’s the people who make it.
So welcoming, gracious and humbled in defeat. The sense of national pride was a real joy to see. Huge flags flying high at every opportunity. Hundreds of millions of green shirts sold across the country. Even if they didn’t like football, they wanted to win because they loved Mexico. Something that pains me about my own country.
We’ve been robbed of that right to express pride in who we are and what we represent, so to see a country doing it so freely, proudly and with a great sense of togetherness. Beautiful to see.
You did us proud
And finally, the English fans. They were a real joy, passionate, respectful, great banter. Of course, our fans have long deserved their reputation they rightly carried for decades. But these are different times, just like everyone else, we are good, down-to-earth people living the dream, representing our nation and simply wanting to cheer our country to victory.
Thousands of fans spent ridiculous amounts of money, travelled God knows how many miles, all to be able to support the lads and be rewarded with those priceless memories of singing Wonderwall after a victory. Memories we will take to our graves with us.
I met countless great people, in stadiums and bars. Those that honourably passed on tickets to me for face value rather than trying to exploit other fans. That kindness and respect allowed me to enjoy the greatest game I have ever been to without having to go (too far) into debt.
And that was that, I can’t lie. As soon as England are out of a tournament like this, all you want is your own bed. These trips are incredible, particularly the unknown element of this adventure. The adrenaline and beer keeps you going through the intense schedule and long journeys. I wouldn’t want it any other way.
But boy was I glad to be back home. Thanks to everyone who followed any of the adventure and I’ll see you in World Cup 2030, if not before. Hasta la próxima.