Henry Winter’s World Cup Diary, Day 35
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Miami/Philadelphia/New Jersey
Sometimes you get days that expand your horizons, challenge your perceptions of others, and test your aging hamstrings’ ability to withstand airports, curbs, highways, shopping malls, and stadiums. abroad. Join a bunch of strangers (and babies) who just beat your team. Yesterday was such a beautiful day, one filled with patience, the occasional dash, and most importantly, friendship in crisis.
The last day of the World Cup. The biggest one. Adjacent to the Big Apple. Exciting architecture. But I was still at the Miami airport, covering the crazy scenes at Bronze the night before, and was now a little worried about hearing two ground engineers discussing the tire blowout on our plane while boarding. Maybe it’s more of a concern for those passengers who have just landed on the plane.
Departure time is 6.37am. Passengers were ordered off the plane. Some grumbled as they walked back along the bridge to the gate. One engineer said seriously: “Your life is in my hands.” We waited patiently, me and up to 20 Argentinian fans, who had chosen Philadelphia as New York battled the smoke from the Canadian fires.
New departure time: 8am. Then 8.30am. Apparently they had to jack up the whole plane, which was a complicated thing. To be fair, I had a hard time changing the tires on the mini. I spoke to a couple wearing Argentina jerseys, Julia and Fernando, and inevitably wearing Messi jerseys. He is the riverbed. So I asked them if they were going to the finals and wanted to carpool to MetLife, which was about 100 miles. Evan is American, the son of a Peruvian father and a Mexican mother, a Chelsea fan, and he was already riding with them, so we joined forces. They have added two more players, both Argentinian, both wearing Messi shirts, and their two-year-old son apparently playing for free, even to the World Cup final.
They all immediately mentioned Atalanta and Thomas Tuchel and what happened. I had to relive all those things that added to the misery of the morning. I explained that my first World Cup included covering Diego Maradona against Brazil in Italy ’90 – passing to Claudio Caniggia in Turin – and having covered all four of Messi’s Champions League victories, the World Cup in Qatar and most recently his coverage of England, I was about to report for the great maestro, planes and Spain permitting.
They proudly talk about Messi’s humility and how well he represents their country. The same goes for Lionel Scaloni and we take a brief look at his West Ham career and why he’s so beloved by Liverpool fans. After watching England play Argentina in Saint-Etienne, Sapporo and Geneva, I was able to contribute to the discussion about their best defenders. We’ve all come to Walter Samuel’s conclusion: The Wall.
The ground staff then announced that we would be on another plane and would have to make our way to D21, which was only a short light rail ride away. Evan is worried about missing the finals. Julia exudes belief. The two-year-old slept throughout the entire drama. The current departure time is 9.24am. The clock is ticking a little too loudly.
Julia and Fernando explain why they had to reach the final. They watched the semifinals at home in Denver, where they worked, and decided they had to go to New Jersey. They secured air tickets at eye-popping prices, purchased flights from Boulder to Miami to Philadelphia, and booked her mom to care for their two children. Without hesitation, she flew from Buenos Aires to look after the baby, apparently spending nine hours there.
Like Alvin, Julia and Fernando were shocked by the ticket price. Welcome to FIFA. They have good jobs, engineers and food producers, but it’s still an asset. They explained that every Argentinian would make such a sacrifice. Football, the World Cup final and Messi mean the world. Even at the cost of the earth. I think they’re in their early 30s and probably have another 60 years to live, so the amortized cost over their lifetime is $116 per year. Bargain. They saw Messi in the World Cup final.
Six (and a half) of us agreed to share an Uber. I organized a Whatsapp group “OPERATION KICKOFF” and used Scaloni’s avatar as inspiration. They appreciated even more the videos I posted of more Argentinians celebrating in Atlanta to welcome them. They also included photos of fellow citizens occupying Times Square. There seems to be a long distance. About 1000 miles. We finally boarded at 9.35.
The pilot apologized for the three-hour delay due to time pressure for a 3pm departure that day. “We know a lot of you will be going to the game,” he said. “But we can’t just put safety on the back burner.” fair enough. Now lift the wheels and put your feet down. He promised to get us to Philadelphia by twelve o’clock, and we did. “We have a quick taxi to the door and then you can go and watch the World Cup final.” Time is still not working against us. Twenty blue and white shirts poured into the terminal, one holding an unusually stoic baby. At 12.30 we took an Uber and the driver was a Moroccan who was still lamenting the exit of his team but was very happy to talk about his beloved Barcelona.
We talked about everything, strangers brought together by our passion for football. How does a non-believer start a conversation? Fernando mentions Enzo Fernandez’s “malvinas“The banner after the England game and my thoughts. I mentioned that I read a comment below an article telegraph or sporty Readers mentioned that the UK government should issue a statement saying it was dissatisfied with Mr Fernandez’s demonstrations, but would use the £4 million in tax revenue it receives every year from Chelsea employees and use it to defend the Falklands. Fernando changed the subject slightly and spoke of his favorite English players, including Alan Shearer and Joe Cole. Argentine respect for English football has never been questioned.
There is a problem. We need gasoline. Our Moroccan friend pulled into a gas station. Our hearts sank when we saw the lines at every gas station. Evan jumped out of the car and ran to the car in front of him ready to refuel. He explained our dilemma and the Americans kindly let us interject. As the pit stops progressed, everything went quickly. Approaching MetLife at 2.35 we took a gamble and got off the bus early, shook hands with the driver who wished us good luck, stopped for a quick group selfie and then set off.
A mile and a lift later, I entered the Northern News Forum breathless and with 10 minutes to spare. Before the game started, we exchanged photos. We’ve all done it. Strangers, separated in the semifinals, united in the finals. Football is exciting.
Catch up on the rest of Henry Winter’s World Cup diary here