An exploding airplane tire, a 100-mile Uber, and a World Cup final

Henry Winter’s World Cup Diary, Day 35

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Miami/Philadelphia/New Jersey
Sometimes you have days that expand your horizons, challenge your perceptions of people and test your aging capabilities that can withstand airports and hard-shoulder landings, highways, shopping malls and stadiums. In a foreign country. About a group of strangers (and a child) who just beat your group. It was yesterday, a day of endurance, occasional running and, above all, friendship in adversity.

The last day of the World Cup. Big. Near the Big Apple. The construction of happiness. Except I’m still in the Miami airport, covering the bronze medal madness the day before, and now I’m a little concerned to hear two ground engineers discussing a flat tire on our plane as we board. Perhaps most worrying are those passengers who have just disembarked.

Departure time was 6.37am. The passengers were ordered to get off. Others came back along the bridge to the gate, and complained. That was met by one of the engineers who had a firm “your life is in my hands”. We waited patiently, myself and, mainly, 20 Argentine fans, who had chosen Philadelphia as New York fighting the smoke of the Canadian fire.

New departure time: 8am. Then it’s 8.30am. Obviously they have to put the whole plane together, it’s a complicated business. Ok, I’m having trouble changing a tire on a Mini. I spoke to a couple wearing Argentina shirts, Julia and Fernando, Messi shirts for sure. You are River Plate. So I asked if they were going to the finals and I wanted to share an Uber to MetLife, about 100 miles. Evan, an American with a Peruvian father and a Mexican mother, a Chelsea fan, was already riding with them so we met. They added two more, both Argentines, both wearing Messi’s shirts, and their two-year-old son who participates in free games, even in the World Cup finals.

Soon they were all talking about Atlanta and Thomas Tuchel and what was going on. I had to remember all that which added to the sorrow of the morning. I explained that my first World Cup involved putting together Diego Maradona against Brazil in 1990 – that goes to Claudio Caniggia in Turin – and I put together all Messi’s victories in the Champions League, the World Cup in Qatar, and recently his swing to England and, the planes and Spain allowed him, then it will cover the second star of the powerful maestro.

They spoke proudly of Messi’s humility and how well he represented their country. Same with Lionel Scaloni, and we had a short tour of his career at West Ham and why he is loved by Liverpool fans. As I was at the England games against Argentina in St-Etienne, Sapporo and Geneva, I was able to contribute to the discussion about their best defenders. We all concluded that Walter Samuel, the Wall.

The Ground Crew then announced that we were getting another flight, and they had to head to D21, a short hop on the Skytrain. Evan was worried about missing the final. Julia expressed a belief. The two-year-old continued to sleep through the game. Departure time was now 9.24am. The clock was ticking slowly.

Julia and Fernando explain why they had to go to the finals. They were watching the semi at home in Denver, where they worked, and decided they should be in New Jersey. Somehow they got tickets at a great price, bought flights from Boulder to Miami to Philadelphia, and booked his mother to babysit their two children. He reluctantly flew from Buenos Aires to be with the baby, nine hours apparently.

Like Evan, Julia and Fernando were shocked by the price of the tickets. Welcome to FIFA. They had good jobs, engineers and food producers, but it was still a lot of money. They explained that every Argentinian would make such a sacrifice. Football, the World Cup final, and Messi, meant the world. Even if it costs the world. I reasoned that, since they were in their early 30s, they would likely live another 60 years so spreading the cost over their lifetime was $116 per year. Negotiation. And they got to see Messi in the World Cup final.

Six (and a half) of us agreed to share with Uber. I organized a whatsapp group “OPERATION KICKOFF” with Scloni’s headshot for inspiration. They enjoyed the additional videos of Argentinians celebrating in Atlanta that I sent them to welcome them. They helpfully added pictures of their own people taking over Times Square. It seemed far away. And it was, about 1000 miles. We finally boarded at 9.35.

Sign up for the World Cup

The pilot apologized for the three-hour delay on a day that was already under pressure with a 3pm start time. “We know many of you go to the game,” he said. “But we can’t just put safety second”. It’s understandable. Now lift the wheels and put your foot down. He promised to put us down in Philly on the 12th, and he nailed it. “We have a fast taxi that will arrive at the gate and you will watch your final game of the World Cup.” The clock was still against us. Twenty blue and white shirts were packed into the terminal, one holding an infant. We were in an Uber at 12.30, driven by Morocco, still crying about his team’s exit, but more than happy to talk about his beloved Barcelona.

We talked about everything, strangers united by the love of football. How do non-believers start conversations? Fernando talked about Enzo Fernandez “Malvinas” banner after the England game and what I thought about it. I said I would read the comments under the title The Telegraph or Athletic where the reader said that the UK Government should just issue a statement saying that they were not happy with Mr Fernandez’s behavior but will use the £4m they get in tax from the Chelsea job every year and will use it to protect the Falklands. Fernando gently changed the subject, and talked about his favorite English players, including Alan Shearer and Joe Cole. Argentina’s respect for English football has never been in doubt.

One problem. We needed gas. Our Moroccan friend entered the service station. Our hearts dropped to see the line of cars at each pump. Evan got out and ran to the car in front, which was about to fill up. He explained our plight and the American kindly allowed us to enter. As pit stops go, they went fast. Approaching MetLife at 2.35, we gambled on our morning exit, shook hands with the driver who wished us luck, paused for a quick group selfie, and then we were on our way.

After a mile and one ride, I was entering the North press office with 10 minutes to spare. Just before the start, we all exchanged pictures. We were all successful. Unfamiliar, separated in the semi-final, united in the final. Ball, swelling of the blood.

Check out Henry Winter’s entire World Cup Diary here