Give me torrential rain in Mexico City any day of the week over the horror that was the Miami weather. Despite the midnight arrival, 5 seconds out of the aircon and you can feel the humidity starting to soak through your clothes. Highly unpleasant, but hey, we were here for a World Cup Quarter Final. Ticket lined up. Shouldn’t complain too much.
Before the flight, I’d broached the all-important question with my line manager at work back home.
‘Can I stay if we win?’
All my friends and family had it down as a given, literally no one even saw it as a discussion.
“Of course you’ll stay, you always do, is it even a question?”
“You’ve gotta stay, it could be Argentina, how could you come home?”
I was starting to feel like it was my obligation to continue the journey and complete the story.
Morning came and as I prepped for a difficult call with the big boss, my football travel buddy and colleague, Lee, had already sorted it back home as they were 5 hours ahead.
“As long as you’ve got some holidays left, you’re good to go.”
“WOOHOOO, let’s do this.”
Miami Beach
With a little spring in my step and after a non-drinking travel day, I continued with my new running routine. Sometimes the best way to deal with this environment is to embrace it and get sweaty. Seemingly the brightest place on earth, I purchased some sunglasses before heading down to the world-famous Miami Beach.
I set off jogging past fellow runners and skaters, some people working out but all in all, there wasn’t anything particularly spectacular about this beach that gives it such a reputation. Maybe that would become clear in the following days.
A quick loop around the equally ‘decent’ South Beach before conking out for a rest in the shade. Even a dip in the sea wasn’t even terribly refreshing. What even is this place?
There’s the healthy box ticked, now for a day of fun. I’d signed up to Steve Bracknall’s party. An influencer based on a Sunday League Manager character which epitomised all we love about traditional football. It was set to be a day of drinking and singing England songs, this is what we’re here for.
Showered but barely refreshed, I mooched over there with my buddy Arthur back down to South Beach. We rocked up at the hotel and I was already annoyed. I NEED AIRCON. I took my spot inside and waited patiently at the bar while one staff member tried to appease the whole place. When my cider finally arrived, it was down the hatch in about 5 seconds.
Party Time
Propped up at the bar, I watched Spain edge past Belgium, but more importantly, every time the door opened you could hear the songs from outside. ‘Vindaloo,’ ‘Wonderwall,’ ‘We’re on the Ball.’ The tunes were flowing.
After a good few ciders and a burger to line the stomach, it was time to join the festivities. I was lightly sozzled by now and less stressed about the heat. There are few happier places for me than being amongst my own fans singing songs after a few drinks.
All the classics came out, people jumping in pools and general happy vibes. We passed a good hour or so before returning to freshen up for whatever the evening brought.
My boys from Xochimilco were in town so back to South Beach it was. Tropical thunderstorms kept us entertained during dinner, although I imagine it would have been spectacular from the beachfront itself.
The US had been extremely expensive already but $25 for a Caipirinha and $13 for a bottle of Corona was a disgrace. A few of each and I did the classic of not going home when I should have, instead staying out until the wee hours. Well kick-off isn’t ‘til 5pm so it shouldn’t be too much of an issue, right?
$250 was spent that day, a burger, not an insane number of drinks and a bang average night out, I’ve had a shocker there.
“You absolute Wally, Mart”
I woke up around midday with a stinking hangover and in need of more sleep. Kev had my ticket and sent me a meeting point by the Miami Dolphins stadium. I checked Uber, $25, sound, will get my head down for a bit more then make my way over.
A couple of hours later, still feeling ropey I lowered myself off my top bunk and rechecked the app again. $100.
“Oh Shit”. There must be some kind of event on today. ‘You absolute wally, Marty’
Starting to worry I went to the main road to see what the craic was. I spotted 3 white shirts and noticed that unmistakable sight of someone checking their phone then car registrations for an Uber’.
“Excuse me, random question, are you heading to the match? If so, any chance I can jump in with you?”
An initial facial expression of ‘Who the f… are you?’ was quickly followed by, “Sure, I don’t see why not.”
I offered my share, but they seemed a well-to-do family and generously turned my offer down. Bonza!
Just when things seemed like they were picking up, the infamous Miami traffic brought me back down to earth. For the next two hours we trudged across the city to the Hard Rock Stadium. Nervously updating Kev all the while.
Plan B
An hour until kick-off, the traffic wasn’t moving so it seemed better to walk.
Another message from Kev “Any closer, we’re gonna go in soon, where are you?”
Not gonna lie, I started to panic. Hungover, thirsty, hungry and God knows how many degrees. Fuck it, ‘taps aff,’ I’m gonna get a jog on.
Don’t you hate it when something seemingly pointless and jobsworthy prevents you from getting where you need to be. Greeted by four police officers.
“You can’t walk any further this way?”
“What? Why?”
“You’ve gotta go back there and catch the shuttle bus.”
……the one that you need a match ticket to get on.
“I don’t have my ‘effin ticket yet.”
More calls from the understandably restless Kev.
Now I’m really panicking. I’ve paid £750 for this ticket but I can’t expect him to miss the start of the game. FUCK! If he goes in without me, I can hardly complain.
I jumped in a new Taxi as traffic was lighter around here hoping he could get me to the right spot.
Thankfully he did, I started running again to meet up with Kev and there he was, I couldn’t apologise enough but we still had time to get inside before kick-off.
Due to the weather, people were dishing out water and electrolytes, they only needed one glance at me.
Dripping like I was stood in a shower.
“Are you ok? You don’t look great, take some of these.”
No place I’d rather be
Smooth enough process getting inside but no time for a drink at the bar, straight into the mix behind the goal. We found our seats and let’s just say it was cosy, the tight space meant I was pretty much stood sideways at a weird angle with the tallest men in England on the row in front of me.
My body hadn’t cooled down, and the sweat continued to pour off me, it felt like a hot Yoga session just standing there.
I checked later and found out humidity was 85-90% and the 35 degrees actually ‘felt like’ 45. This was so grim.
I was stood behind the goal watching The Three Lions in a World Cup Quarter Final, about to sing ‘God Save The King’ and I’ve got to be honest; I wasn’t enjoying it one bit.
The anthems led into a poignant minute’s silence for the South African Jayden Adams who passed away merely days after competing in the World Cup himself. A stark reminder of what is really important in life, so maybe I should stop whinging about the weather and be grateful for where I am.
Norway were a formidable opponent, a brilliant new generation of talent, well organised, tough and in the best moment in the country’s footballing history. Add to that their phenomenal support, the technique and guile of Martin Odegaard, and a small matter of the most relentless goalscorer we have ever seen. Erling Haaland.
These were no mugs, but let’s not beat around the bush, England still had the better eleven and started the tie as favourites. An amazing opportunity for us to progress to the Semi-Final. One I would have bitten your hand off for three weeks earlier when the tournament commenced.
Understandably with two Northern European teams, the match got off to a slow cagey start with England patiently knocking the ball around but to no avail. 20 minutes flew by with no drama, so I snuck off early for a very much needed ‘Hydration Break’.
Finally some relief
What a bloody wonderful idea these are!!
I necked a bottle of Sprite like it was some TikTok challenge before devouring a Pulled Pork Sandwich. Two beers to be brought back to the seat and suddenly I felt a little human again, I only wish I had a seat I could relax in now.
I missed 10 minutes but nothing interesting, that wasn’t to come until the 36th minute when Andreas Schjelderup rifled a shot across the area, straight into the top corner. Pickford had no chance, who knows if it was a cross or a shot, but it doesn’t matter. We were 1-0 down.
By now the famous rowing chant was echoing down from the other end but England responded well. Gordon played it to Bellingham on the edge of the box, an immaculate first touch at full speed followed by another that took him beautifully around the defence before sliding it past Ørjan Nyland in the Norwegian goal. Game on.
Declan Rice had looked a shadow of himself during the first half, a ridiculously long season with Arsenal and the current conditions, he had nothing left in the tank and was removed at half time.
Both teams had goals disallowed, Norway hit the bar and looked dangerous, but things stayed level meaning Extra Time, another 30 minutes, oof.
‘Who else?’
Just 3 minutes in, Morgan Rogers struck one from 30 yards out that the Norwegian Keeper spilled in the 6-yard box. Bellingham reacted faster than his good pal Haaland and turned the rebound home to scenes of ecstasy in the England end. What a man! 4 goals in 2 games to put us on the brink of an absolute all-timer of a fixture.
Half time, 15 minutes to save their dream, in need of a goal and Norway took off their greatest player of all time. That just shows the severity of the playing conditions, he’d given everything he had.
The removal of that threat meant England held out relatively comfortably compared to their exploits in Mexico. Holy Moly, we’ve done it! Another World Cup Semi-Final. How blessed we are to be living through this era of English football. Now to find out who we play.
But first, the mega mission home, I’d found a free bus that could get me halfway. The moment my bum hit the seat, I received an email.
‘Virgin Atlantic – Time to check in for your flight to Manchester.’
Decision time, by now there was no doubt. My country needs me!
“No thanks Mr Branson, keep your £250, I’m staying right here in the US of A”.
The next hour was spent hurriedly trying to apply for refunds for my two flights and seek out the cheapest route to Atlanta.
Returning to the hostel, a few England fans were watching Argentina edge past Switzerland. As much as it pained us to watch them progress, we all looked at each other and were unanimous in our decision that ‘this is the one we wanted.’
Incredible, an iconic rivalry with so much history, and at this stage in a competition. England vs Argentina. It’s actually happening. Unbelievable.
Another day between the iconic beaches and hiding in the aircon and my time in Miami was done. Hard to judge a city too much on this experience. All I know is it was bloody expensive; I won’t be returning in Summer and make sure you practice some Spanish if you want to maximise your experience with the locals.
Time for Atlanta! My mind immediately switched to ticket hunting as my current source with Kev had run out. Let the fun begin!