Putin profits from El Gasico and can play the genial host
The Russian leader was able to entertain Saudi royalty and watch his side defy the critics
CHIEF SPORTS FEATURE WRITER
This was not christened El Gasico for nothing. Just hours before a World Cup curtainraiser long on petrodollars but short on enchantment, Vladimir Putin had met Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman to thrash out the finer details of an oil pact. To judge by their joshing, grinning exchanges behind a glass screen in the Luzhniki stands – even when Saudi Arabia’s hapless defending enabled an improbably easy Russian win – discussions had been fruitful.
Between them sat Fifa president Gianni Infantino, trying to play the neutral, or perhaps wondering what on earth he should do for small talk. In the realm of rousing sporting overtures, this match had its work cut out. A host team ranked below Mali and Albania, versus a side whose home internationals are still men-only gatherings.
And yet, thanks to five deliriously-received Russian goals, it delivered the requisite shot of adrenalin. Just 24 hours earlier, The Moscow Times had tossed aside their boys’ chances with the tender headline: “Ageing and inexperienced: Why Russia Is Doomed to Fail”. At the very least, the army of fans in ushanka- hats could tell themselves last night, their team had been spared the embarrassment of equalling the worst winless streak since the reign of Tsar Nicolas II.
Putin, for his part, celebrated with gentle applause rather than joy unconfined. Football, by and large, tends not to provide his thrills. More of an ice hockey fan, as his personal investment in Sochi’s 2014 Winter Olympics attested, he has kept his distance from the beleaguered Sbornaya.
After Russia lost 2-1 in one friendly against Qatar, he said, waspishly: “To be honest, we haven’t seen beautiful play from the national team for a long time.” Not that this stopped him striving for some glory by association. In a statement last night, he said: “Ever since the first football match was held in Russia, we have dreamt of playing host to this.”
Given the game laid down roots in the country in the 1890s, but the first World Cup only arrived in 1930, this was quite the claim. Still, as he understood, the occasion was less about detail than image. Ever since he decided to throw his patronage behind this tournament, he has viewed it as a chance to show Russia in a palatable guise, and to mine its potential for the projection of soft power.
In keeping with the convivial scenes in their VIP sanctuary, Putin shares a couple of parallels with the heir to the Saudi throne. Each has made concessions to modernity: Putin stated at his annual news conference that he wanted to see Russia “aimed into the future”, while Crown Prince Mohammed’s forward-looking lustre is such that on his most recent tour of the United States, he secured tete-a-tetes with everybody from Bill Gates to Oprah Winfrey.
Then again, both men’s feats in this regard are shall, we say, relative. Sometimes, you can judge a leader by the company he keeps. For all that Putin might revel in the presence of Saudi royalty, the list of other dignitaries awaiting an audience is short. So far, RSVPS have only been forthcoming from the leaders of Panama, Moldova, Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan. Emmanuel Macron has suggested he could be Moscow-bound if France reach the next round, but as yet, Russia’s breakthrough in international relations has proved slow to materialise.
Still, there was always Robbie Williams. What could advertise the president’s credentials on tolerance quite like inviting a singer who, just two years before, had outraged commentators here by performing his song Party y Like a Russian – complete with its s lyrics about oligarchs settling disputes utes by “putting the boots in”.
This time, Williams, who has stayed stubbornly popular in n eastern Europe, tried to be on his best behaviour, only for the facade to fracture when he flipped the bird. Perhaps organisers believed they could make Williams more acceptable by partnering him with a Russian soprano. Yes, Robbie and Aida Garifullina, together at last. This pair’s quavering work was a curious blend.
Logic seemed to dictate that hat the football would struggle to o offer a stirring encore. But after fter all the doomsaying, the Russians ians were rampant. Just when a 1-0 -0 win had been perceived as the summit ummit of their aspirations, they came me to the party with gusto, scoring g five.
If this were El Clasico, one e would call such a result a manita, anita, a humiliation where one team leaves the other breathless and broken, ken, and where the victory salute is to raise five fingers to the sky.
But this was El Gasico, and d different rules applied. When Aleksandr Golovin rifled in a free-kick for the fifth, Stanislav lav Cherchesov, the Russia manager, ager, for whom the pressures were e at last released, instead shook a defiant fist at the crowd in triumph. n