For many sports fans, attending a World Cup is a bucket list item. The Argentinians are world famous for their passionate, almost religious devotion to their national team. That passion would prove contagious during my time in Kazan.
My spectacular World Cup experience came through pure chance. About a year before the tournament, I noticed hotels in Russia were still allowing normal points redemptions during the World Cup. I quickly made a speculative booking at the DoubleTree Hilton in Kazan for just 10,000 Hilton points per night, before the hotel blocked out future bookings.
With room rates going for over $280 a night, my points redemption was worth an incredible 2.8 cents per point.
Even though the US didn’t qualify, experiencing a World Cup on a budget was too good to pass up. I purchased tickets for a few group games in Kazan, along with a Round of 16 match ticket appropriately labeled “1C vs 2D.”
The group stage turned out to be quite dramatic, with Argentina barely squeaking into the knockout round to face group winners France in Kazan. Overnight, match tickets quadrupled in price, with my $250 tickets now selling for $1000.
With flights and hotels completely sold out, many die-hard Argentina fans opted to rough it overnight on Russian trains. This hardly dampened their enthusiasm as they arrived early morning at Kazan’s train station, singing and chanting.
I left my hotel three hours before kickoff, not wanting to be late for this one. The special World Cup bus routes set up by Kazan’s government worked perfectly, getting me to the stadium in just 30 minutes.
Walking through the gates, I was immediately surrounded by masses of Argentina fans singing in unison. I met a father and daughter who’d traveled from rural Argentina, who like me had bought their Round of 16 tickets months in advance. We shared a couple Budweisers, ironically the only alcohol sold at the venue, before heading to our seats.
I’d been to two earlier matches at Kazan stadium – a dull affair between Australia and France, and Iran vs Spain which was dominated by the drone of vuvuzelas. But neither could compare to the electric carnival atmosphere that afternoon. The stadium was a sea of blue and white Argentine flags, with their supporters making up about 75% of the crowd.
The French had a smaller but vocal contingent of fans.
Thanks to FIFA’s policy of grouping solo ticket holders together, I lucked into a seat next to the Argentina fan section. My seatmate was an Argentine who’d scored a last-minute ticket, and we instantly bonded over beers.
Fifteen minutes before kickoff, they brought out the national flags and played the anthems – France’s rousing La Marseillaise followed by Argentina’s wordless melody.
When the match finally began, the Argentine fans launched into their repertoire of songs.
France dominated early possession and drew first blood when Mbappe’s blistering pace earned a penalty that put Les Bleus ahead. The Argentine fans went quiet as their team struggled to create chances. But fubol always has room for magic, and near half time Angel di Maria unleashed a stunning strike from 90 feet that leveled the match.
The wondergoal left me speechless, only able to repeat “Whoa” as my seatmate and the fans around us erupted in pure joy.
The temporary quiet vanished as Argentine fans erupted in emotional chanting, awakening from their slumber. At halftime, they sent their team off with the loudest roar I’ve ever heard at a sporting event.
The passion spilled into the bathroom during the break, with fans pounding on walls and singing while stadium staff looked on in bemusement. The second half had barely begun when Messi’s deflected shot found the net. The stadium exploded, with strangers embracing like family in pure ecstasy.
But soccer can be cruel. France responded immediately with Benjamin Pavard’s spectacular volley, later voted goal of the tournament.
The French then added two more goals, crushing Argentina’s hopes. The electric atmosphere turned into a whisper.
As the match wound down, reality began setting in that this could be Messi’s final World Cup game (Thankfully, we were proven wrong 4 years later). The fans shifted from despair to gratitude, cheering for their idol. Aguero’s last-minute goal offered a glimmer of hope, but after some French time-wasting and a wayward cross, the final whistle confirmed Argentina and Messi’s World Cup dream was over.
The wild ride had ended. My seatmate, who I’d shared celebrations with all afternoon, bolted as soon as the whistle blew, too heartbroken to stay.
Such is the agony of the world’s beautiful game.
