Watching the World Cup in Argentina

After years without a permanent base, this October myself and Ailín made the long journey to her native Argentina for a temporary break from the chaotic nature of constant travel. An opportunity for her to spend time with her family was of course the main reason for picking this particular base, especially with both of her parents celebrating their sixtieth birthdays during our stay. That being said, the fact that the World Cup would be taking place was always a bonus we had in mind.

The excitement was building weeks before the tournament kicked-off with more and more flags and banners appearing in the streets as the nation’s first match approached. Added to that was the excitement of being able to enjoy the World Cup for the first time in summer; despite the constant complaints in Europe regarding a ‘winter’ World Cup, for half the world this was a wonderful opportunity to experience what the northern hemisphere has always taken for granted.

That being said, the initial excitement took a temporary drop. If a 7am kick-off time had already deflated the mood somewhat, a defeat to Saudi Arabia was the pin that burst the balloon and brought about a sense of reality. However, from that point onwards expectations and energy only grew exponentially over the following three weeks.

Fortunately most other kick-off times throughout the tournament were more kind to the Argentinian population: always in the afternoon and mostly at the weekend. This allowed family and friends to gather more easily and as such I had my first real experience of how truly superstitious Argentinian’s can be.

The concept of cabala borders on religion; everything is a sign, any tiny action risks affecting the result of the game. Consequently, anyone who unfortunately timed their bodily functions as a goal was scored could well be consigned to spend the rest of the match banished to the bathroom, peering through the door. In my case, by winning their second match against Mexico the rest of Argentina’s match-days were decided; everything had to be the same, we had to travel to Ailín’s parents house, wear the same clothes (Ailín’s mother suffered a scolding when she was caught wearing the wrong coloured shorts just minutes before kick-off on one occasion), take the same pre-match photo and sit in the same seats. The fate of Argentina’s World Cup success lay on our shoulders.

I have to admit that early in the tournament with England still also competing - and a possibility of the two meeting in the final - I couldn’t truly support or enjoy Argentina’s success. In this sense there was one positive to England’s defeat to France, as I could then fully embrace and engage in the atmosphere I was immersed in. In hindsight an England - Argentina final would have been impossible for me to enjoy; either Argentina won and I would be miserable about my own countries consecutive major final defeats, or England won and I would have no one to celebrate with and, indeed, be hugely unpopular.

The cabala was evidently effective as - spoiler alert - Argentina went all the way to win the World Cup. During earlier rounds we had experienced some of the celebrations. Making our way home after the quarter final against the Netherlands, the underground was rammed full of drenched fans who had spent hours celebrating in the torrential rain together. Songs, some of which poking fun at the English, would go on well into the early hours.

That, however, was no preparation for the scenes that took place on 18th December. Similarly, I was also in Liverpool for both of their recent trophy parades and marvelled at the scenes throughout the city; those were made to look like a quiet gathering compared to what happened all over Buenos Aires and Argentina.

Most people have seen the pictures and drone footage from central Buenos Aires as supporters gathered around the focal point of the capital, El Obelisko. Those scenes were replicated across the country as the whole country seemingly took to the streets to share in both the joy and relief of their success.

In Lomas de Zamora, less than an hour from those celebrations around the Obelisk, I found myself amidst tens of thousands of joyous locals. Being outside of the capital this was truly an authentic local celebration, with barely a foreigner in sight.

It is hard to put into words the intensity of emotion in that moment. Small children, elderly grandparents and everyone in between sang and danced together in a way only one can when completely overwhelmed by passion and emotion. Lost in the moment people climbed any structure possible from buildings to traffic lights whilst trucks passed through the crowds, with chanting locals hanging from every possible surface. As an Englishman one thing that struck me was the relative lack of alcohol, whilst still present there were very few excessively drunk individuals; alcohol wasn’t necessary with the natural rush of joy so strong.

Just two days later the players arrived back in Argentina and the country prepared for round two of the celebrations; well, at least for those who had stopped at some point since Sunday. Now, most Argentinian’s would accept that amongst their many skills, organisation is not especially high on the list, particularly when it comes to their government. Calaba had also prevented any prior organisation of a trophy parade as that would be tempting fate and bring bad luck. Consequently, five million took to the streets to see their heroes in a woefully unprepared procession.

Unsurprisingly the parade was abandoned and the players rescued from their bus and put into helicopters. Only those in the first couple of kilometres actually managed to successfully see their national heroes aboard the bus. Myself and Ailín spent four hours waiting in the intense heat to no avail but went away less disappointed than perhaps one would expect, as did most of the thousands of people we shared that particular section of the motorway with. The atmosphere remained positive and having enjoyed the celebrations just days earlier, the joy and pride from their success remained the dominant feeling.

To see all of this in a country I currently call home was a once in a lifetime experience that I will not forget. Next is for England to replicate those scenes when they win the World Cup in 2026. No pressure.

Posted: 28/12/2022

Written by: Tom Taylor (@tomtayloor)