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.
