Kevin Whitcher
Friday was the first day without football at this World Cup, a break between the group games and the first knockout round. In the past, they haven't had such a break. They've stormed straight into the last 16 matches without pausing. I have to say, I like the idea of a day without matches. It gives a chance to take stock, and provides a clean divide between saying goodbye to the 16 teams that didn't get out of the group stage and the real business of playing matches where there is no margin for error.
And of course, there were some high profile casualties in the group stage, but there always are. This time around, Spain, Italy and Portugal have made an earlier than anticipated exit. Russia will certainly have felt they should have got out of their group. As for England, in truth, their elimination was probably no surprise, but few would have predicted Costa Rica would be one of the two sides to qualify from what seemed a particularly tough group. Some might consider Greg Dyke to know little about football, but he called it right with his slit throat gesture at the draw last December. He knew, and only a few naive fools could seriously have thought England could have made the second round.
They played admirably well against Italy in the oppressive conditions in Manaus, but ultimately, you have to make the most of your opportunities. It was a similar case against Uruguay, although the England played far worse. They still fashioned enough good chances for Wayne Rooney to have scored a hat-trick, and the conditions - a grey, miserable day - suited them down to the ground. I didn't see any of the game against Costa Rica, but that was a glorified friendly in my book, at least as far as Roy Hodgson was concerned.
As for my trip to Brazil, to take in six matches in five cities, as Friday meant not watching football on a screen or in the flesh, it was a recharge the batteries kind of day. A slow start to the morning before leaving the hotel and heading with Adam and Sanj to Ipanema beach. I went in the water three times and I have to say it was utterly marvellous. Not chilly, and very relaxing, although if you didn't swim out a little bit, the undertow could be ferocious, and I would caution against any non-swimmers having a paddle more than knee high as some big old waves crashed in from time to time.
When not in the water, I was on a hired sun lounger watching the life go by. There were constant hawkers selling all kinds of items - food, drinks, souvenirs - but they were never too in your face or persistent. There were also lots of females sunbathing. I need make no comments aside from the cliched image of this place is absolutely true. 'The Girl From Ipanema' kept playing in my head. It was a lovely way to spend the afternoon. Sanj and Adam headed back to the hotel and I did a bit of shopping with gifts to buy for the folks back home. The evening saw Adam head off to meet up with a journo pal and he ended up drinking with some other journos, and getting the transfer gossip. As far as Arsenal are concerned, there is none. Zilch. Other clubs have managed to buy early - Manchester United, Liverpool and Chelsea come to mind. Arsene's having a lovely time in Brazil working for French TV. Never mind nailing down your targets, eh? Sanj and I eat at a steak and sushi restaurant (yes, I know). Rather strangely, my starter arrived after I had been eating my main course for about three minutes. The latter was substantial enough for me to send the supposed 'entrada' back to the kitchen.
Saturday it was back to the football, and our last full day in Brazil. However, Sanj was keen to go up Sugar Loaf Mountain, which overlooks the beaches, so I got up early with him and we took a cab there to beat the queues. It was a bit cloudy, but we could still see enough when it broke to make it worthwhile, especially as we were only charged half price because we could not wander round halfway up where you change cable car. This area had been hired out for some World Cup event, from the looks of things one of the sponsors inviting guests to watch the early afternoon Brazil game. The cab there had been 25 real, but the one back took us the long way and ended up at 40 real. Bloody villain. Not being fluent in Portuguese I told him I was well aware he was taking the piss, but at the end of it, you pay the money and just put it down to experience. Ultimately, Sanj and I were overcharged slightly under £2.50 each. We will get over it, but if I ever return to the country I will make damned sure I learn the phrase for 'the direct route, not the long way'.
Our final in the flesh match of the trip was kicking off at 5pm in the Maracana Stadium - Colombia v Uruguay. With Brazil v Chile kicking off at 1pm, we decided to get to the area near the stadium early. There were about three separate ticket checkpoints - all manned by armed police - between the metro and the stadium. This before security screening and the actual entrance where your electronic ticket is read. They weren't messing around, but then again, I figure the Maracana is the most obvious place where protests against the tournament are likely to happen. All routes to the stadium involved similar numbers of checks by armed security. We know this because we left the cordon once we had walked around the Maracana to settle in a local venue to watch the game.
We walked about four blocks away in search of a place recommended by a volunteer, passing a few options on the way, but didn't find it. I was given the opportunity to choose somewhere we would see the game, so picked out a local bar that did food and had a TV inside. Most people were sitting outside, but there were no windows or anything. If they were not 24/7, I guess they just pull shutters down. Adam and Sanj were dubious about the place, but ultimately they were glad they watched the match there. There was a barbecue of some sort going on outside and the clientele were just locals. No other visiting fans. We were probably a little too far from the stadium and down a side street to boot. And I think it's safe to conclude no-one present had a ticket to the game we would attend later. At one point, free food from the barbecue started coming over. Chicken, sausage, strips of beef. Out of sheer politeness, we also ordered some grub from the bar itself. It was a cordial atmosphere, we couldn't really understand anyone in the place, and vice-versa, but we had a great time watching the match in this setting.
As for the game itself, well, we were worried that if things hadn't gone the host nation's way, Howard Webb's decision to strike off Hulk's goal due to handball might have made us slightly less popular. However, all's well that ends well, even if we did fear Brazil's players looked so nervous at the prospect of a penalty shoot-out they couldn't possibly win it. When Brazil scored early (and indeed when they thought they had scored in the second half), the place went nuts, with someone setting off fireworks nearby. But that was nothing compared to the tension of the shoot out. So much rested on this game. Brazil being knocked out really does not bear thinking about if you spent time over here during the tournament. From a distance it is an irrelevance, but there is a huge patriotic feelgood factor and the suspicion would be that protests would get going pretty damn quickly if the host nation were eliminated too early. Fair play to Howard Webb and his officials though for calling the big decisions as they saw them and not showing any favouritism. Having said that, I doubt very much Webb will referee another Brazil game before he flies home after it has been decided his tournament duties are done. Certainly, one cannot imagine FIFA giving him the final again, but do not rule out him reffing a semi. Just not one that the host nation are playing in!
Anyway, back to the bar. Between the end of normal time and the beginning of extra time, one of the customers outside, who had been mainly responsible for sending free food over our way, got her daughter along to the bar - who spoke English - just so we could have a bit of an exchange. Another local sitting near us gave us high fives when Brazil scored in the shoot-out (or indeed, when Chile failed to). A bus stopped outside the bar for the last two penalties of the shoot out so that the driver could see what was happening on the screen. It was obviously a see-saw series of spot kicks with so many not being converted that the emotions were extreme and intense. It was living human theatre which really brought home how much the game means in this country. The explosion of joy when Chile hit the woodwork and exited the tournament was something I will never forget. We made our way to the stadium with a series of hugs, handshakes and high fives. It was a pleasure to be part of the experience.
As for the Maracana, it is obvious it has had a severe and much needed facelift. The seats are a bit like the old Wembley in that they stretch back a long way with the consequence of no-one really feeling very close to the pitch. Having said that, our seats had a perfectly good view, being on the back row of the lower tier, behind the goal which Colombia were attacking in the first half. There were pockets of sky blue in the stands, but dominated by yellow - some of Colombians (and a lot had travelled to see this game), but most locals in Brazil shirts. The winners of this game would play Brazil in the quarter final.
As for the atmosphere, there is history, to say the least, between Brazil and Uruguay so the locals were cheering on the Colombians. And my god, did it make for an atmosphere. I have never seen so much animated gesticulating in my life. The main point of derision from the Brazil side was that they had won five World Cups, so a hand with five fingers was raised. In response, the Uruguayans raised an identical hand, but with the other formed the shape of a zero. A reference to 1950 - when their team beat Brazil in this very stadium to win the World Cup. Stewards were constantly steaming in to try and calm things down, but astonishingly, I am not convinced a punch was actually thrown by anyone in all the heated taunting. However, you couldn't take your eyes off the arguments for a moment, although I swear, at one point, something involving 22 men and a football broke out on a piece of rectangular grass in the middle of all this. Really, you had to be there. After watching the Brazil game in a local bar, for experience, this topped it all off. What perhaps made it unique was the Brazil fans were probably not that interested in the game and more concerned with their immediate arguments with their equally noisy neighbours. I doubt this would be the case if their own side were playing.
As for the game, I think it's fair to say, from what I did glean, that Uruguay were pretty poor. Diego Forlan is nowhere near the player he was (and was removed at half time), whilst Edison Cavani made his reputation on the stellar service he received at Napoli. Colombia, on the other hand, have James Rodriguez - or 'Ham-es' as it's pronounced in these parts. And if that fails there is always Jackson Martinez. There is not much to say about Colombia's first goal other than 'phew', whilst the second was wonderfully crafted. They could actually give Brazil as tough a game as Chile did. Being our last match of the trip, and with us in no hurry to get anywhere, we hung around a bit whilst the place slowly emptied. I am not sure I have mentioned this before, but the drinks containers that bottles of water or cans of coke or beer are poured into are all marked with details of the match at which they were sold. They make obvious souvenirs, and I have bought a can of the Brazilian lager Brahma at each match attended to get a cup. Some people had several of them, although there are so many produced, I have no idea how much of a market for these things there is going to be on ebay. Heavy duty plastic Coke glasses also have the match details, although I think the Budweiser ones might be more tournament generic. At the end of the game, a couple of Japanese guys were collecting any that had been left behind, whilst a steward also nabbed a few for himself.
We made our way to the Metro, and although I would say it was a crowd scene between the stadium and the station, once we got there, it was very efficient. Mind you the train was so packed with Colombians (including some fine examples of the fairer of the species) that we actually missed our stop, due to uncertainty created by the noise and the fact we could not see out the window. A quick stop at the hotel before heading out for our last night in Rio, and Brazil for that matter. A stroll up the Copacabana and some chilling out in bars on the promenade. The place was heaving, but it was bearable. A guy started shining my shoes and I offered him five real for his services. He considered that an insult and asked for 50! That's about £15. In the end he took the five real note and moved on. Another character we will not forget was a stoned waiter at one of the bars, who took our order at the table and then completely forgot about it. Any fresh instruction, such as for more drinks, had to be repeated as well, as by the time he had wandered over to the serving booth, he had completely forgotten what he had gone there for.
I am typing this on Monday lunchtime at Madrid airport, a stopover on my return flight home. I am dog tired as I didn't sleep too much on the overnight flight from Rio, and am aware I have already written a lot. So I will save details of the day of departure until next time...
