My World Cup ODYSSEY
Having travelled over 5300km in just under two weeks, Michael Burgess recalls some of his fondest memories of arguably the best tournament in World Cup history.
From the first taxi ride, there was a sense the World Cup in Russia was going to be different. After arriving in Moscow, via Doha, a local sim card was sorted and American dollars changed before a taxi was organised. As we sped along the motorway, the driver became flustered when she couldn’t make herself understood. Before long, we had pulled over, hazard lights on, perched on a median strip in the middle of the motorway, three lanes of traffic zooming by each side. Was this some kind of ruse?
I needn’t have worried. It was eventually established, via Google Translate, that she wanted to check if it was okay to go on the toll expressway, as it would incur an extra charge. In a way, it was a microcosm of the next three weeks; some language-based confusion, impressive thoughtfulness and kindness from the hospitable locals, with things all working out well in the end.
A memorable tournament
Russia put on a spectacular World Cup. One where footballing logic and the traditional defensive mindset went out the window, even in the final. One where anything seemed possible, especially with Germany’s shock demise and England’s unexpected success. One where an entire Russian nation exploded with joy and patriotism as their team marched to the last eight. And one where the world had to question their cliched beliefs and stereotypes about Russia, whose people proved wonderful, generous hosts.
Pyjamas on the platform
An example was the free transport provided for fans, with more than 700 long-distance trains put on by the Russian government. The trains became a travelling fan festival, as supporters bonded and mixed on the long rides. But my first train journey wasn’t entirely memorable. Jet lagged and tired, I took the 10pm overnight train from Moscow to Kazan, an 830km, 13-hour journey.
Second class meant two bunk beds, sharing a compartment with journalists from Brazil, Russia and Norway. I was still dozing as the train pulled into Kazan the following morning. I’ll never understand why my room-mates hadn’t alerted me but I gathered my bags in a rush before stumbling out on to the platform in my pyjamas into 30 degree heat.
In 12 hours, I was due to return to the capital, and making a 1700km round trip to see Argentina v France started to seem a crazy idea. But I refreshed with a quick dip in the Volga before heading to the futuristic Kazan arena.
Around the precinct, it felt like you were in Buenos Aires, with Argentine fans everywhere you looked, with drums, trumpets and high hopes after their dramatic win over Nigeria.
“Ole, ole, ole, Ole, ole, ola. Cada dia te quiero mas, Soy Argentino, Es un sentimiento, No puedo parar.” (“Every day I love you more. I’m Argentine, it’s a feeling, I cannot stop.”)
Seeing Lionel Messi in the flesh was a thrill, even in the warm-up. From 25m, he beat the goalkeeper three times and hit the crossbar twice more, all from a casual four pace run-up. Magic.
It was a game for the ages. France went ahead, inspired by the pace of teen wing Kylian Mbappe. But the South Americans responded, equalising with a stunning 30m strike by Angel Di Maria, before a deflected Messi shot took them ahead. The 25,000
Albiceleste fans went nuts. “Argentina! Argentina! Argentina dos, Francia uno . . . vamos Argentina!” shouted a radio commentator near me, almost falling off his chair. It didn’t last. Messi tried everything but couldn’t break through, though he set up Sergio Aguero with a 40m assist, probably his last touch at a World Cup.
The journey back to Moscow was chaotic. I had a third class berth, “the people’s train” as a Russian colleague called it. Instead of a four bed compartment, I was in a carriage catering for 80 people.
Beside me were two Ukrainian couples who had moved to Israel two decades earlier. They shared tea, cheese and biscuits, and sung along to Queen and Beatles songs, though the night was a snore-fest.
Russian rapture
Of all the memories from this tourney, none epitomised jubilation like Russia’s upset second round win over Spain. The Luzhniki Stadium was at capacity on a bright, sunny evening but there wasn’t much hope, especially after La Roja took an early lead. But Russia equalised and the crowd began to believe.
Chants of “RUS-SI-YA, RUS-SI-YA, RUS-SI-YA” filled the arena, and never relented through the second half, extra time and then the penalty shootout. The post-match scenes were almost indescribable, with shirts being ripped off, strangers hugging and general disbelief. Even four hours after the match, on the journey home on the Metro, the train was almost shaking, as flag-waving fans bounced around in a spontaneous celebration.
English entrance
After a week in Russia, I came across England fans for the first time. They didn’t disappoint. It was early afternoon, ahead of a 9pm kickoff against Colombia, but they already had four or five pints under their belts. One was falling asleep on his feet, while his friends were encouraging some Moscow commuters to take a photo of him.
“A lot of fans have stayed home,” one told me. “We was expecting some trouble here, but so far, it’s been brilliant.”
Arriving at Spartak Stadium, something special was in the air, as thousands of Colombian fans sang and danced.
“Where are the English, where are the English?” they taunted. “They are invisible in Moscow.”
The game was more tense than terrific but came alive with Colombia’s 93rd-minute equaliser, scored in front of a sea of yellow shirts.
“Vamos, Vamos Colombia . . . Esta noche, tenemos que ganar” they all sang, reverberating around the stadium.
The penalty shootout was almost surreal, with so much at stake; Colombia attempting to make history, England trying to reverse their wretched run at shootouts. When Eric Dier converted England’s fifth kick, taking them into the last eight, journalists from Nepal and Nigeria beside me on the press benches stood and cheered, in the best Commonwealth traditions.
Big guns spiked
A World Cup provides so many memories. It’s hard to forget the thousands of Brazilians converging on Kazan, where the main street reverberated to the sounds of samba until the early hours of the morning ahead of their quarter-final against Belgium. But a day later, Brazil were out, with most of their players so shocked, they sprinted off the field, failing to acknowledge their huge army of travelling support.
Watching Germany’s loss to South Korea in a packed Moscow media centre was also notable for the brief stunned silence, then universal explosion of joy among journalists from across the globe.
“This World Cup is crazy,” said a Dutch reporter. “But the Germans are out . . . you have to love that.”
Samara or bust
In terms of travel, a mad taxi ride from Kazan to Samara was the unexpected highlight, during a tournament where I travelled more than 5300km by road and rail. The Uber driver had looked at us incredulously when he turned up at 4.30am — “Samara?” — before it was established that, yes, we did want to make the 360km journey south.
We negotiated a fare of 6000 rubles ($140) and set off over highways and potholed roads, with our driver seemingly determined to set a new land speed record for a Kia Optima and ruin his suspension in the process. We made it but it was a white knuckle ride in a haze of cigarette smoke and Russian house music.
English exuberance
Samara was a closed city in Soviet times as the home of the Russian space programme and jet industry. But it was a charming place where you could visit Stalin’s World War II bunker, see crumbling wooden houses that belonged in a museum and take in the sunshine on a long walk by the river.
The quarter-final there was the high point of England’s adventure. Their fans remained in the stadium hours after the final whistle, singing and chanting, before a joyous journey back to the city.
“This is unbelievable,” said one. “We are going to do this . . . England’s going all the way.”
England became the talk of the tournament. It didn’t seem to matter that France clinically dismantled Belgium on a chilly night in St Petersburg, where the Red Devils self-destructed after a promising start.
“It’s always like this,” rued one long-suffering Belgian fan in a red and yellow suit. “They didn’t believe they could beat the big brother.”
In contrast, England were drowning in belief ahead of their semifinal against Croatia, accompanied by a Fleet Street media pack that fulfilled every cliché.
There was plenty of loud banter, complaints about an editor back in London who had booked early flights (“he’s having a laugh”) and a
Daily Star journalist who managed to use a vaping device at his desk in the media centre, quite a feat in a room of 500 journalists, countless volunteers and inside a stadium precinct declared smokefree.
The atmosphere was electric as the game kicked off, enhanced by England’s spectacular opening goal. But there was a growing feeling of unease during the first half as England blew several chances.
The Three Lions unravelled in the second half, as Croatia came back with the momentum of a runaway truck. The English players showed their mettle by facing up to the press after the match, unlike their Argentine and Brazilian counterparts who had ducked the media after their respective exits.
Hospitable hosts
Away from the stadiums, this was a tournament of the people, as Russia hadn’t experienced such an influx of foreigners since the 1980 Moscow Olympics.
“I never thought I would see so many Mexicans in Moscow, or Colombians in Kazan,” explained one excited local, who had attended two matches with his family. “For us Russians, it’s amazing. People can see Russia . . . and we can learn about other countries.”
The travelling fans included an eclectic bunch. There was a serious Swiss chap trying to visit every stadium, a group of Finns travelling around Russia on bicycles, a pair of Kiwis who made a last-minute dash from Auckland to see England’s semifinal and a Londoner who forked out £2500 for tickets to the World Cup final (before the semifinal) and spent the next week trying to offload them.
But perhaps the funniest were some wet-behind-the-ears English teens in Russia before they headed to Oxford the following term.
“It’s so easy to pull birds in a foreign country when you speak a bit of the lingo,” opined one, in a scene straight out of The Inbetweeners.
Russian police were suddenly friendly and welcoming (though locals suspected this was a temporary measure). Stereotypes about Russian people were also exploded; they were warm, funny, friendly and incredibly hospitable.
“The Russians you see in Hollywood are ‘American Russians’,” explained one. “This Russian is much deeper and wider. To understand the Russians, one must read Tolstoy in the original, listen to Russian music and watch the ballet.”
Yup, or just attend a World Cup.
Enduring memories
In a kaleidoscope of experiences, the best memories came from the football. I won’t forget the magic of Neymar and Philipe Coutinho against Serbia, as Brazil turned it on in their best performance of the tournament; a crestfallen Messi, standing by himself after Argentina’s exit; the outpouring of Colombian joy with their equaliser against England, when it felt an entire stand at Spartak Stadium was going to collapse; England fans staying behind until 1am to salute manager Gareth Southgate after their semifinal defeat, with a stirring rendition of God Save the
Queen; and the tremendous wall of noise provided by Croatian fans at the final.
Bring on 2022.