Greatescapers's Blog

Watching England is torture. Watching everyone else is freedom.

And so it was that Kirsty and I decided to stream the ITV coverage of the Argentina vs Egypt last 16 game, via my phone to our TV, in our room. It was a 10am kick off local time here in Mexico City which was a noon kick off for the teams.

I am still yet to work the logic of these kick off times. They really do seem to be all over the place. There must be the magic FIFA algorithm that works out what is best from a TV broadcasting perspective, who knows? It would be nice to find out.

Both of us were feeling distinctly sub par. It was likely to be a mix of altitude, pollution and generally being tired out after over three weeks on the road. My chest was getting a little better thanks to the antibiotics, but it was still hard work breathing without having a coughing fit.

The game was billed as Messi vs Salah and it got off to a brisk start and Argentina pinned Egypt into their half with their customary high press and phenomenal work rate. Our WiFi connection came and went which made for a bit of frustration, but that really is a first world problem at the end of the day. It was during one of these lapses where we lost the game that we heard a scream from somewhere else in the hotel. It sounded like someone had scored. When our screen finally caught up, it was a goal for Egypt, a cracking header. The first half came to an end and Egypt were somehow one nil up. Roy Keane, Gary Neville and Ian Wright all said what I was thinking, this would not last for the second half.

I decided we needed some coffee so nipped next door to the amazing bakers called The Green Rhino.

This place was something else, a full on bakery run by loads of young people. The sandwiches and coffee looked and smelled delicious and the woman serving me was as friendly as every other Mexican I had met.

She was interested to know that I was here for the World Cup and when I told her I was English she told me that the co-founder of The Green Rhino was a British baker called Richard Hart. This baker is a legend in the sourdough world. But he is a legend with baggage as he had criticised Mexican bread as ‘ugly’ and ‘pretty cheap’. Apparently his language was a tad lazy as he was talking about mass produced bread sold in supermarkets, but via various Mexican influencers he had almost been cancelled.

The lesson therein being, use your language carefully especially if you are in a different country with a different language and culture.

As I left the shop, the woman called me back and gave me a freshly baked little biscuit on the shape of a bear as a gift. That was so charming.

I headed back to the football replete with my coffee and an amazing kimchee sandwich. Egypt were still under the cosh but somehow managed to break out and score again. Another amazing team goal. 2-0. Argentina were still dominating and doing everything except score, but that clock was running down. VAR ruled out an Egyptian third goal, definitely a foul, but one committed back near the Egyptian corner flag! Had that goal stood, 3-0 would surely be curtains for the reigning World Champions.

There was still ten minutes to play and I said to Kirsty that Argentina would still win the game. I just felt that they had too much for the Egyptians and they also had the luck.

Four minutes later and Argentina had scored twice and pulled level. Messi made up for his penalty miss in the first half. And then, as predicted, they got their winner just before the end of normal time. What a game this was and Egypt, just like Cape Verde before them, came so close to putting the World Champions out. This Argentinian team are fighters. For me, the best fighters around. They never ever give up. If we are lucky enough to play them in the semi finals, it will be some battle.

We headed out to meet up with Supes and Billy at a little bar called Bolero that was run by a Colombian friend of a friend of Billy. It was a shortish walk and along the way we bumped into two really friendly dogs dressed in Mexican shirts, Bella and Bilko. From what we have experienced, dogs in Mexico City all seem really friendly, just like their owners.

We plotted up on a table reserved by Billy’s mate Darren, aka Cartel Bee, and met with a couple of Darren’s friends ahead of the Colombia vs Switzerland kick off at 2pm local time. Supes and Billy duly arrived and we were all set. The whole bar were supporting Colombia. As our friend Hugo had told us, Mexicans and Colombians are like brothers and support each other.

I have been enjoying a drink called Clamato out here, which is a mix of tomato and clam juice with herbs served in a tall glass with salt around the rim into which you add a Mexican beer. Quite delicious and refreshing. I made the call, this would be my drink for the afternoon.

Darren’s friend Ollie arrived midway through the second half. He, like Darren worked in Mexico City and was a West Ham fan who used to have a season ticket in the Chicken Run. We discussed the state of our club. He asked if I had heard of the #NoMoreBS campaign to rid us of the appallingly inept regime of Brady and Sullivan. When I told him that I was not only aware of it, but had actually helped out with the organisation, he was pleasantly surprised. Me and Ollie clicked immediately. He asked me if I had ever met Karren Brady. I smiled and said I had a fair few times. He said that she must have been a very tough person to deal with. I replied that I felt that I had got the better of her time and again in our dealings. When he asked me about her strengths and weaknesses, I smiled again and gave him and Darren chapter and verse on both sides of her character. Ollie said to me later, ‘you really should write a book’ to which I replied, ‘watch this space’.

The game although initially promising really didn’t deliver, with both teams managing to miss key chances. Colombia especially. It drifted into extra time and penalties.

Colombia missed a couple and the Swiss missed one. Switzerland were duly through to the quarter finals to face Argentina. I can’t see past Argentina winning that tie and winning quite convincingly.

We decided to get some food and dined Asian. Ollie’s brother in law and nephew were in town so they joined us. Supes didn’t join us as he needed to charge his phone and do some washing ahead of his journey to Miami in the morning.

Kirsty wasn’t feeling great and decided to head home post dinner. Ollie and his team left us too, leaving Billy and I to take an early evening stroll through the streets of Mexico City to meet up with Marc, Reg, Spanish Dave and later Supes.

Billy and I are World Cup veterans and have been around the block to say the least. We talked about the challenges of organising these trips and keeping people together, often when there were pretty incompatible character types having to rub along. We both laughed a lot, as the truth is often hilarious if a little challenging, but clearly people like us always try to see the good in others whilst always wanting to ensure that everyone enjoys World Cups and Euros for what they are. Some people just don’t get it and some never will. These are opportunities to meet a huge variety of people from all over the world and enjoy football together. I did mention the unmentionable to Billy about how long we would do this for. Needless to say I won’t quote what we both said to each other, at least not just yet.

We found a lovely little bar called Cicatriz in the Cuauhtémoc area of the city. We had a very relaxing drink or two with Reg, Marc, Spanish Dave and Supes whilst the rain came down. Me and Supes then and headed back to base. We fly to Miami via Atlanta in the morning and the adventure continues.

Who knows what comes next.

Sometimes sport and in this case football, shines a light on something much bigger.

At the Azteca Stadium on Sunday evening everything that is great about football was present. Two teams giving their all, two sets of supporters getting behind their teams and passion and commitment from, all in spades. Everything was left, by every player on the field. Sport at its very best.

Indeed, this World Cup has delivered some amazing games of football as anyone who watched Cape Verde play Argentina would testify.

But yesterday it was all about a red card, and not the one awarded to Jarell Quansah.

We woke up on Monday in a mix of daze and disbelief. We were both mildly exhausted but wanted to meet up with our friends. So we found the bar that Mark, Reg, Spanish Dave and Obi were in to watch the Spain vs Portugal game. The bar turned out to be the Mexican version of Fawlty Towers. They were clearly overrun, didn’t have enough experienced staff and their systems seemed to be ‘down’. It reflected the game really, which came and went. Two incredibly talented teams doing precisely the opposite to what Mexico and England had done the night before. This game was no bang and all whimper.

The main topic of conversation amongst us however, was the rescinding of Balogun’s red card for Team USA as a result of the reports of multiple conversations between President Donald Trump and FIFA President Gianni Infantino where the US President had asked for the decision to be reviewed. The one match suspension which follows a red card was then ‘suspended for a year’ citing some obscure FIFA rule, allowing one of America’s best players to take his place in the biggest match the United States had played for years.

Good piece here from ITV

https://youtu.be/pQXRxJmS-WU?is=jeEokmW9h6_rDf1Z

Coincidentally, the same trick had been pulled by FIFA to suspend Ronaldo’s red card playing for Portugal in a World Cup qualifier so that he could play in the opening games of this World Cup. ‘No Ronny, no money’?

Our discussion wasn’t centred on whether Folarin Balogun deserved to be sent off. Football supporters will argue about decisions until the end of time. That’s what we do. Some think it was harsh. Others think it was obvious. VAR gives us endless opportunities to disagree.

No, what fascinated us wasn’t the decision. It was everything that had happened afterwards.

Whether you think Balogun should have been available or not almost misses the point. The question is actually much simpler.

Would that have happened if the player had been Belgian? Or Norwegian? Or Ghanaian? Or from Cape Verde? Or a New Zealander?

Of course not. And that is the uncomfortable truth.

For generations America has projected itself as one of the world’s champion of rules, institutions and fair play. A country that exported constitutional government, independent courts and sporting competition built on the principle that everyone starts at 0-0.

Yet increasingly it appears to be embracing a different philosophy. If the rules don’t produce the result you want, challenge the rules. If that doesn’t work, challenge the referee. If that doesn’t work, challenge the institution.

And if all else fails, use influence.

That isn’t uniquely American, of course. Every country has flirted with that temptation. Every powerful individual has occasionally believed they deserve different treatment.

But when the most powerful nation on earth begins normalising that approach, the implications reach far beyond the beautiful game of football.

Because institutions can only work when everyone believes the same rules apply to everyone. The irony is that America became a superpower precisely because investors, businesses and allies trusted its institutions more than its politicians. Presidents came and went. Congress changed hands. Judges retired. Yet the system endured because the rules mattered more than the individuals.

That confidence has been one of America’s greatest export. Far greater than Hollywood. Far greater than Silicon Valley. Far greater than the US dollar.

Trust. Once that begins to erode, it is remarkably difficult to rebuild. Football and football fans understand this instinctively. Us supporters can accept losing, let’s face it we have plenty of experience in that department. We can accept poor refereeing. We can even accept bad luck. But what we cannot accept is believing the game has been tilted.

The moment supporters think one team is playing by different rules, something precious disappears.It isn’t simply unfair. It stops feeling like sport.

Perhaps that’s why this story resonated so widely with all of us. It wasn’t about a tackle. It wasn’t even about FIFA. It was about whether influence should ever outweigh process. Whether power should ever trump principle.

Whether the biggest nations should receive treatment unavailable to everyone else.

We took a break after the Spanish victory over Portugal and re-convened in a lovely little bar called Tap Room Dos Aves. Reg, Mark, Obi, Cass, Billy, Spanish Dave, Supes, Mark, Sam and Kirsty assembled and enjoyed the very relaxed vibe.

I don’t think it was a secret that all of us were now rooting for Belgium purely and simply because of the mess that Trump and Infantino had inflicted on our World Cup. Up until now the USA had played with pace and aggression and I thought they would beat the Belgians.

Americans had embraced the football and the World Cup in general. The USA had really got some great press and media coverage because they had done a good job with their third of the hosting duties. That soft power is so important. Mexico and Canada have gained loads of it too.

Team USA’s young and talented players had built a clear and very effective identity under the genius that is Mauricio Pochettino. All that was up in the air now. How would those US players react to this frankly ludicrous situation? How would the much maligned Belgian squad react to this? This is the kind of thing that brings teams together.

As we watched the game it was clear that something had changed. Team USA were a shadow of their former selves. Belgium rose to the occasion, scoring an early goal. It got worse and worse for Team USA. The majority of our bar were behind Team USA and we couldn’t help ourselves by cheering every one of the four Belgian goals. That would not have happened last week. Pure and simple.

I thought of all the really good American football fans I had met these past three weeks. What must they have been thinking at the end of this? They really don’t deserve this.

Belgium won the game convincingly 4-1 and the footballing debate moves on.  

But the constitutional debate won’t. Because the real red card wasn’t shown on the pitch. It was shown to the idea that institutions should be bigger than the people who happen to lead them. History suggests that’s a game no country can afford to lose.

It really is a shame that Team USA have exited the World Cup. Those players and manager did not deserve such an ignominious end to what had been a triumph of their will and endeavour.

And if ever a country’s leader scored an own goal, today this bloke did it, not once, but four times. Who’s the loser now?

‘May the best team on the night prevail. Whatever happens, it will be memorable. A World Cup match in the Azteca Stadium against Mexico. It really doesn’t get better than this.’

I wrote those words 24 hours ago. All of you would have watched the game, endured the stress, suffered the tension, counted down the clock and then gone absolutely ballistic when the referee finally blew the whistle. I am sure the whole county stayed up late or got up early and lived every single second of that most amazing game of football.

But before I relay my experiences of last night, I want to tell you all about the Mexicans. In all my years of following England, I don’t think I have ever met better people. Kind, funny, warm, hilarious, generous and just downright lovely. Every single one of them. We have been lucky to be with our dear friend Hugo and his posse of wonderful friends, David, Arturo, Roberto, Luis and Eduardo. They have shown us the real Mexico here and not what an experience it has been.

We had an early start and headed to a traditional Mexican restaurant for breakfast come lunch called the Restaurante Arroyo. It was huge and had its own bull ring inside.

We were the only English people there, outside of Sam, Mark, Ian, Lee, Andy, Jamie and us two.The ‘all you can eat’ buffet was incredibly delicious and plentiful. The staff were wonderful despite none of us understanding each other, and smiles and joy were everywhere. Families and friends were out all eating and enjoying Sunday. There was a brilliant Mariachi band moving around between tables singing, everyone was joining in.

We had to meet up with Hugo and his friends as we were going to have a few hours pre-match on the boats on the Canal de circunvalación in Xochimilco which is to the south of Mexico City. Our cab driver was a lovely man, adorned in his ubiquitous Mexico shirt had Mexican music on his stereo. As is the way, he drove hard and fast and always with a smile on his face. He even filmed all of us singing and laughing in the cab at about 100mph. Brilliant.

As we got close to Xochimilco, we had a succession of moped riders coming alongside telling our driver that ‘roads were closed’ and we had to follow them to the boats. It was clear from what our lovely driver was saying, via Google translate of course, that they were hustling us to use their boats. He apologised. We duly found Hugo and the boys who had a massive cool box of beers and Tequila ready for the boat.

The boats which were a sort of flat bottomed punt come gondola, were all moored on the canal and you had to walk across a load of boats to get to ours for the afternoon which was a very interesting experience indeed!

The canal was a euphoric mix of all sorts of music, laughter, colour and loads, loads more. If you ever wanted the definition of joy, here it was right here.

There are all sorts of bands on the canal. They have their own boats and come alongside and await being asked to come aboard and play, which is quite a logistical exercise to say the least.

Hugo told us that there were three fundamental styles of musical groups. The first is the Mariachi, which most people will know as the quintessential representation of Mexican culture, violins, trumpets, guitars and bass.

The second is the Banda which is far more military brass band influenced. The final style is the Norteño, which emanates from the north of the country.

Norteño musicians are dressed far more cowboy style with cowboy hats, checked shirts and cowboy boots.

I don’t think we ever had a pre-match build up like this! So much fun. We walked 10 minutes to the metro station which was a 20 minute ride to the Azteca Stadium for the game.

We had one last team shot of Los Amigos, before we bid farewell. I kissed and hugged Hugo and said one of us would be happy and one of us would be sad in a few hours time. But may the best team win.

And now for the Azteca. Forty years on from that game, I had dreamed of a return. And this was it. The stadium had not changed from the outside at all. And they still had those tunnels that fed the lower parts of the ground. Today it was falling down with rain, back then it was burning hot sunshine. To say the atmosphere was a million miles away today was an understatement. Thank god, for that, but not his hand.

The news came across that the game would be delayed by an hour. So more time for a few beers! We met up with some Blues fans John and Archie who were both of my generation and knew Blues fans that I knew. John and I had a great chat about not disrespecting the opposition’s national anthems and singing stuff about the war.

We also met up with Matt and Connor again, lovely lads from the New England generation. Matt was a Stoke City fan and Connor a fellow Hammer.

And so to the delayed kick off. We were right behind the goal in row 2. We met up with Neil, the retired Gareth Southgate lookalike, who stood with us.

The game was frenetic and intense from the start and the atmosphere was like nothing I have ever experienced ever. Pickford made a world class save down to his left, which I initially thought was as good as Banksy’s from Pele in 1970.

We got to the first hydration break and I don’t think we booed it, we were all just so wrapped up in the game. But we had got there without conceding a goal. First achievement unlocked! I can’t remember how much more time elapsed before Jude Bellingham scored the opening goal up the other end and then what felt like less than a minute he got his second. We were in dreamland.

The rest of the half was blur until Quiñones scored Mexico’s first goal. I will always remember the water flying off the net when the ball hit it.

Half time and it was 2-1. We were in the game.

We met up with the lovely lads we have seen before, most recently at the wrestling, Sam, Jonah, Ned, Brett and Rob. These boys always bring smiles to our faces. Such positive boys.

If the first half was intense, the second was another level. Quansah got a red card that none of us could see early doors, then we got a penalty which King Harry converted.

At 3-1 with 10 men, could we do it? I’ve never felt like this at a football match. Just when you start to believe, King Harry gave away a penalty, again none of us could see it. Raul converted it and Mexico were on their way back. Our backs were against the wall, every man for each other now.

The Mexicans came at us like nutcases time and time again. But they couldn’t get past Pickford and his defenders. Somehow there were an added eleven minutes. I always refuse to look at the clock once we are into that added time. Somehow we made it through. Somehow we found a way to win this.

The players ran over to our end, jumped the hoardings and sang Wonderwall with us. What a time to be alive!

Outside the stadium the Mexicans were all incredibly gracious and congratulated us. So many of them said ‘please beat Argentina for us’ to which we said, ‘we will try our best but have a small matter of Norway to get past first’.

We took the train home and were completely worn out. We got back just in time for a BBC5Live interview.

We had a great night’s sleep and turned our attention to using our last day in Atlanta wisely. We had gambled and booked flights to Mexico City on the off chance we would beat DR Congo. The gamble paid off. But first Kirsty had a BBC interview to do.

I’ve been to Atlanta a few times when the videogames show E3 was here, but it was another new city and state for Kirsty. We were impressed by the ‘Southern Hospitality’ which was pretty evident not least the contrast between cab drivers in Atlanta and those in New York. We had three amazing cab drivers, all quite different and all big advocates for Atlanta even though they had all relocated here from other states, two having come from New York and the other from Detroit.

Donald, no irony please, picked us up from the airport and was so laid back, literally, he was in the back seat with us. With his bandana, Prada shades and jewellery, he reminded me of Layfayette from True Blood and his looks and mannerisms really rammed that impression home. He appeared a tad cold on the current US president to say the least. He loved Atlanta as ‘you can choose your pace in this city brother’ and never wanted to leave.

Rod had what could only be described as a massive 4×4 come truck cab with an array of internal disco lights. He was a big man, with a booming but warm voice. Rod and I discussed the reasons why he loved Atlanta and for him it stemmed from the fact that in his words, Atlanta was the first city in the South to ‘open up’ as a result of the Civil Rights movement. Major US corporations had decided to locate their headquarters here for sound business reasons, something I had not ever realised. CNN, Coca Cola, Delta Airlines, UPS, Home Depot and more were major employers and contributors to the city. Rod was hilarious and just laughed and laughed when I asked him what he thought of the US president. ‘Huh, we stuck wid him now for a few more years, but he’s gone soon, he just wants to make as much money as he can, he don’t care about us’. When I suggested that the word buffoon was potentially applicable, he guffawed so loud it made me jump out of my seat.

Ronnie was a whole different story, but equally hilarious. He picked us up in his Tesla and in between rally driving around Atlanta, he asked Grok some questions. ‘Hey Grok, I am with some Brits and they are asking me about their football’. Grok then proceeded to tell us that we were ‘tea sipping Limey ***s and we loved a game played by ponces who can stand being hurt’. The three of us laughed so loud we forgot to notice the speed we were driving at. When I asked X about his views on you know who, he burst into laughter and told us both that he was a complete ***t.

On a serious note, Atlanta was the birth place of Civil Rights campaigner Martin Luther King Jnr, which all three of the boys and Mitch who we met up with at the match, had specifically mentioned. There is a big memorial park and significant buildings that featured in Martin Luther King Jnr’s life.

So we decided to visit the The King Center which was in Downtown. We went there via the MARTA and had a 15 minute walk from the King Memorial station. This was properly Downtown and I am not sure Kirsty was that comfortable walking. It was so incredibly hot and humid, and as we found out later, the hottest day of the year so far in Atlanta, never great for anyone’s mood!

We saw the Ebenezer Baptist Church where Martin Luther King Jnr had preached to his congregation and the row of houses that he lived in as a young boy.

His actual house was being restored, due to open on Independence Day on Saturday, which was a shame as we missed it by two days.

The Old Fire Station housed a lot of artefacts on a temporary basis as the main visitor centre was also undergoing refurbishment. All in all it was well worth visiting given the historic significance of Martin Luther King Jnr and the Civil Rights Movement in the US.

I can remember watching the news as a very young boy when the reports of his assassination came through on the BBC. Something about Martin Luther King Jnr resonated with me at a very early age and I remember my Mum telling me about the racial discrimination in the US back then. She told me that Martin Luther King Jnr’s mother had told her young son after he had been prevented from mixing with his white friends, ‘you are just as good as them son’. That stuck with me and I think it meant something special to my Mum who had suffered discrimination as a young girl at school during the war given she was Italian and the Italians had started on the wrong side in that war.

At his funeral, his coffin was transported on a simple donkey cart and over 20,000 people paid their respects and lined the streets. The man who had always said that all protest must be non-violent met a violent death, but his example and inspiration was key to the Civil Rights Movement making key changes to equality that the country and the people so desperately needed.

Kirsty and I then indulged ourselves and took a driverless cab back to Midtown to meet Colin and watch Spain demolish Austria 3-0 in a great sports bar called Midtown Hudson Grille.

Two more games to watch, a real thriller between 41 year old Ronaldo’s Portugal and 40 year old Modric’s Croatia. It ended up 2-1 rather controversially with VAR again but delivered the best second half of the tournament so far.

Mexico City awaits now and a date with destiny.