Clock strikes 12 on Russia’s World Cup effort
SOCHI, RUSSIA — It was only a couple of minutes to midnight and Miroslav Romaschenko did not want to leave. As Croatia’s players bounced around in ecstasy and as Russia’s collapsed, disconsolate, onto their backs, the losing team’s assistant manager sat down, frozen in place on the Fisht Stadium’s turf.
He stayed there staring into space as the Croatian captain, Luka Modric, leapt into the crowd, celebrating his country’s second-ever World Cup soccer semifinal; as both teams sought out Fyodor Smolov and Mario Fernandes, the two players whose missed penalties brought Russia’s tournament to a close after a 2-2 extra-time draw; and as the fans turned to leave, back to reality.
His colleagues tried to rouse him, leaning in close to whisper their commiserations, asking if he wanted a hand up. Gently, he waved the first few entreaties away. When he finally moved, urged to his feet by Alan Dzagoev, the Russian midfielder, he did so slowly. Once he left the field, once the clock ticked 12, once tomorrow came, he knew it would all be over. For all the sorrow and the hurt, he had the look of a man not quite ready for it to end.
Nobody expected Russia to remain at its own party for quite this long. A kind draw in the group stage raised the possibility that the host — on the eve of the tournament ranked just the 70th best team in the world — might avoid the embarrassment so many here feared it might suffer. At best, Stanislav Cherchesov’s team might have expected to survive to the knockout rounds. Alexander Samedov, the midfielder, said on the eve of the tournament that all he wanted was to “make the country proud.”
He and his teammates did that and far, far more. The first weeks of this tournament felt like a reverie for Russia. At the start, as the seemingly endless crowds of Latin American fans swept into the country, an invading force wearing sombreros for helmets, the host seemed unsure of what to make of it all: welcoming, of course, and intrigued, but a little detached.
The rest of the world benefited, too. Russia’s unforeseen success illuminated the whole tournament. It meant that the host was not just a stage for the carnival, but a continuing participant in it. By knocking out Spain, Russia also did its bit to add to the air of the surreal that, most likely, will be the abiding memory of this World Cup.
That victory was not enough to ensure Russia a place in the planet’s collective heart, however. A note of doubt, remained. It is not unusual, after all, for World Cup hosts to exceed expectations, for an average team to be spurred by a partisan crowd and patriotic pride, and advance further into the tournament than its apparent talents might suggest.
Nor is it unusual for such homegrown success to attract raised eyebrows: witness South Korea’s referee-assisted run to the semifinal in 2002, Argentina’s controversial appearance — and victory — in the final in 1978, even the long-standing South American allegations of a European plot to ease
England’s path to glory in ’66.
In Russia’s case, those suspicions came easily. It is only four years, after all, since the Winter Olympics in Sochi, in which a vast state-backed doping program corrupted the results and boosted Russia to the top of the medals standings.
Russia played Saturday’s
World Cup quarter-final in the stadium that opened and closed that event; the doping laboratory at the centre of the accusations is a restaurant now.