Samba Soccer, Ticos and Idiots - The Uncomfortable Patriot

I was not even six years old when I uncontrollably sobbed my heart out as England crashed out of Italia '90 in what was to become possibly The Three Lions' finest heroic defeat.

That night it was Stuart Pearce and Chris Waddle whose penalty misses broke the heart of the nation and set in motion a national mental block when it comes to penalty shoot-outs.

My memories of World Cup 1990 are fairly vague. There was Pavarotti, Schillachi and Cameroon's grievous bodily harm on the Argentinian midfielder Claudio Caniggia. There was New Order's World in Motion, Roger Milla's dancing - and of course there was West Germany.

I cried because I thought that was it; that England wouldn't be allowed to play football again. In hindsight, had that been the case, it may have saved us from another 24 years of abject disappointment and misery.

Go Mexico!

I remember World Cup 1994 vividly. Germany (no longer West Germany following the fall of the Berlin Wall) beating Bolivia 1-0 in the opening game; the crossbar collapsing on the Mexican 'keeper Jorge Campos; Ray Houghton's winner against Italy; Hagi; Stoitchkov; the drug-ridden Maradona; Baggio's penalty miss; Bebeto's 'craddling the baby' celebration, Valderrama's hair - the assassination of the Colombian Andres Escobar after he scored an own goal against the USA. And of course, the fact that England had failed to qualify. I would be 14 years old before I'd see England grace the World Cup scene again...and it ended the same way - a heroic defeat on penalties.

Me, Alex, John and Joe.

But it was the 1990, '94 and '98 World Cups which cemented my love for the world's greatest sporting event. I spent endless hours and endless pocket money collecting the Panini sticker albums and a few weeks ago I fished out the old albums from my mom and dad's loft to look through them again. The memories as a kid just came rushing back. It's also fair to say that collecting this year's sticker album has probably been equally as fun...I was never allowed to go to the pub to get 'swaps' when I was 10.

The following three World Cups haven't really registered that much with me. Fairly forgettable - as were England's performances. But this year was different. I'm 29 and the World Cup was going to Brazil. If England gave birth to the game of football then it was the Brazilians who nurtured it and gave it life. The skills, the colours, the names - they are the ultimate champions. Pele, Socrates, Romario, Ronaldo - the glamour and romance of Brazilian Samba-style football is still there; although this generation's crop of players, like Jo, Fred and Bernard sound more like a darts team from Oldham rather than glamorous world-beaters. But this was Brazil - realistically, a final chance for me to see for myself a World Cup in action.

Belo Horizonte was to be my 10th new ground

I traveled to Brazil with my older brother Alex and met later with his university friends John and Joe. We'd got tickets for England's final group game against Costa Rica in the host city of Belo Horizonte. Our assumption would be that England would qualify in either first or second place in our group then we would be there to watch England in the second round in either Rio or Recife. Irritatingly, 23 English players, a physio with a broken ankle, a mad Italian (whose dad lives in Wolverhampton) and a Uruguayan who lives on a diet of centre-halves had other ideas. By the time we flew out to Brazil, England were already eliminated which meant we were effectively going to the world's most expensive friendly game. Little did I know at the time how much of a blessing this would turn out to be.

Controversial - Collymore called Penn 'posh'

The game at Belo Horizonte's Mineirao Stadium was to be my tenth and final new football ground. That was to be number 28 on my list completed along with numbers 10 and 12 (go to a World Cup and watch and England away game). But the story of the game began 24 hours earlier. The hosts Brazil were playing Cameroon in their final group game so we made our way from our hotel to an area of Belo called Savassi. There was a town square which was full of England fans who were gathering to watch the game. As we made our way through the crowds, we bumped into former England striker and now TalkSport broadcaster Stan Collymore. It was a photo moment - and one which would probably cause a few debates. An admitted woman-beater and Cannock Chase dogger; Collymore has had his fair share of controversy during his career but has reinvented himself as as passionate (some might say shouty) radio pundit. Either way, it was pretty cool to have a brief chat with a former England striker. Shortly afterwards the atmosphere began to build as the Brazilian fans began to whistle, cheer and wave their distinctive yellow, green and blue flags. This was the atmosphere we wanted to feel. Annoyingly, within minutes, the Samba party was drowned out by the English. Lagers in-hand and St George's flags a-flying, we were treated to several rounds of 'ten German bombers in the air' and 'England 'til I die'. Now you can call me picky - but there are two fundamental flaws in these songs:

a) Technically you're English 'til you die, not 'England'

The Costa Ricans were loving the party

b) The 'RAF from England' who shot the Germans down were actually British - and with probably a bit of help from the Americans as well.

Now although I enjoyed the Brazil game - there was an underbelly of something which didn't quite sit right. 

Fortunately we made a swift exit from that part of the square and later that night we went to another part of the square in Savassi and the atmosphere was electric. You could still hear the drunken drones of 'No Surrender to the IRA' in the distance but the rest of world had seemingly got on with the party. The square was heaving, locals were having dance-offs in the street where music blared out of ghetto-blasters in car boots. We spoke to quite a few young Brazilians who were really keen to test out their English. We met a Mexican guy who was 'couch surfing' his way around Brazil; it's an internet community where people will let you stay at theirs, in return you have to let people who are traveling stay at yours. Not sure it'll catch on in Dudley though. But nonetheless, we'd ended the night on a high and the day after, it would be our day - England were playing at the World Cup and I was going to watch them.

We were up early to catch a mini-bus to the ground which is quite a way out of town. We'd teamed up with three friends who we knew were already out there; Ste, Andy and Lewis. When we arrived, there was a fifteen minute walk to the ground which was awash with football fans from across the world. The white shirts of England, mixed in with the yellow of Brazil and the red and blue of our opponents, Costa Rica.

It was an imposing stadium, A solid yet distinctive concrete structure, donned in the World Cup colours. The sun was shining and everything seemed set for a fun afternoon. England had nothing to play for - but we were in Brazil and I was sure that the England fans would lap up the party atmosphere.

We made our way in to the ground and found our seats. The sun was shining directly on us - it was the hottest I'd ever felt in a football ground.

The uncomfortable patriots. Proud of my country - just not so much of its fans

Now it's fair to say the game wasn't a classic. In fact, aside from Cameroon, England were probably the worst team in this year's World Cup. But I could forgive the players that. I simply think they're just not that good. It may be my naivety, but it was the England fans who disappointed me most.

In the England fanzine which was being handed out before the game, there was an article entitled 'We are all England' which was in response to an incident at England's opening match in Manaus against Italy. England fan and actor Riz Ahmed was at the game and had tweeted afterwards 'I was at Sao Paulo stadium, edge of seat, singing Eng-er-land. Half time I get racist abuse from England fan. 2nd half I just can't sing it". I naively thought this was something we'd left behind long ago. And my experiences for the next 90 minutes weren't much better. Fans were handing out 'The Falklands are ours' stickers with Spanish translations, they sang about no surrender to the IRA and yet again we were serenaded by the never-ending 'ten German bombers'. Drinks were being thrown around, they chanted 'Who are you' at the Brazilians and, what I found most bizarre, was the England fans' refusal to take part in the Mexican Wave. They booed instead. You're in South America for a World Cup - why on earth wouldn't you take part?

Everything about the English following felt aggressive and gladiatorial. There was little singing about pride in our country and what makes it great to be English. It was about war and violence and how crap everyone else is. I'm proud of my country but the flag waving patriotism has always made me feel uneasy. I don't know why, but not waving a flag and being quite understated about things seems more quintessentially English than being draped in a flag, drunk and being obnoxious.

The ironic thing is, most of those singing would have no idea about the history behind these chants. I imagine the Weimar Republic, the Sudetenland, the anschluss with Austria and the Treaty of Versailles are events which are alien to them. As indeed would the history of the Irish troubles.

The Colombians were great

We met Brazilians, Americans, Mexicans, Chileans, Colombians and Ecuadorians who were patriotic but who celebrated and partied their way through the World Cup. The English fans seemed to get pissed, aggressive and lairy - and lived in the past. I spoke to one German fan later in the tournament and asked him about these things. His reply  -'it was such a long time ago, I didn't fight, I don't see why it's a problem still'. We should of course never forget, but the world has moved on - sadly it feels as if England has not. England getting knocked out was probably a blessing - it allowed us to get on with the tournament and party with the rest of the world.

Costa Rica

Our second game of the tournament was in the city of Recife which was to host possibly the least glamorous second round tie: Costa Rica vs Greece.

I felt a bit guilty but Rafael seemed happy enough

We didn't have a ticket but we were confident that we'd find some tickets somewhere - it couldn't be a sell out. The Pernambuco stadium is a new ground built especially for the World Cup. It's built miles out of town which makes it a pain to get to. It took us a taxi, a train, a bus and a 20 minute walk just to get there. There were people selling tickets - but most were category 1 and were really expensive. Alex and I agreed a maximum price which we'd pay and set about trying to find tickets. There were plenty of scare stories about fake tickets so you're always running the risk of getting ripped off but we were fortunate to stumble across a Brazilian man, Rafael. He had two spare tickets and we managed to buy them for less than face value. He was going to game too, so having struck a bargain, we then had to sit feeling a little guilty next to him for 90 minutes. Still, we bought him a beer and he seemed happy enough. He used to live in England and studied in Plymouth for a while so he had a good grasp of English and was clearly a football nut. 

Costa Rica celebrate their first goal

The first half wasn't a classic but that didn't matter. We were watching the World Cup! It picked up in the second half and a red card for Costa Rica kick started what was to be a great second half and extra time. After 120 minutes it was 1-1 and it was down to penalties. From crying in my front room in 1990, to watching a shoot-out in a stadium in Brazil, it was one of many 'pinch me now' moments of the trip. It was heartbreak for Greece in the shoot-out but the plucky Costa Ricans who everyone had written off as whipping boys were through to the last 8. The whole stadium was feeling the love for the 'Ticos' (Costa Ricans). More than 42,000 fans sang 'olé, olé olé ole, Ticos! Ticos!'. Every World Cup has a country who people fall for; in 1990 it was Cameroon, in 1994 it was Bulgaria - in 2014 - it was Costa Rica!

Next up - it's all about Brazil (no more football Mom I promise).

This is what the World Cup should be about...the vocal minority of England fans please take note...

Que Sera, Sera - Whatever Will Be, Will Be - I've just completed number 11

I did it. Number 11 - done.

"Que Sera, Sera - Whatever Will Be, Will Be, I really wish I'd put this at number 23"

Instead - at number 11 on my '30 things to do before I'm 30 list' is watch a football match at Wembley. And last night, I did just that.

Wednesday 29th May 2013 will stay with me for a long time. England vs the Republic of Ireland - and I was there. Ok, the match had all the flair, excitement and atmosphere of a wake - but that aside, I managed to go to the world's most famous football stadium; something I've wanted to do since I was about 5.

As a footy-mad child, Wembley was the pinnacle. Games were rarely played there - it was something mystical. The FA Cup Final (which was played after the season finished and kicked-off at 3pm on a Saturday!), the (insert sponsor name depending on your age) League Cup and the odd England game were played there - and that was it. Now they seem to play every month and it seems to have lost its mystique.

My first Wembley memory is vivid. It was watching a VHS (that's the thing before DVDs for you younger readers) of England beating Czechoslovakia 4-2 - and two goals were scored by my hero: Wolves' Number 9, Steve Bull.

It was from 1990 - just before the Italia '90 World Cup. Gazza got all the plaudits for his pass (which was exquisite) but Bully's finish was pretty damn good too.

The old Wembley was of course iconic. It was where Sir Bobby Moore lifted the Jules Rimet trophy in '66. It's where we saw Rene Higuita's scorpion kick, Stuart Pearce's fist thumping penalty in Euro '96 and where the whole country cried as the Germans robbed us of what we all thought was our destiny in the Euro '96 semi-finals. It saw Wimbledon lift the FA Cup, Gazza's free-kick for Spurs in '91 - then his career defining injury in the final of that year against Notts Forest.

There's something about the new Wembley which feels like it will never recapture that glory - that passion. The iconic twin towers are gone - even the goalposts, which were themselves distinctive and unique, have been replaced by the usual standard variety. Where Bobby Robson and Sir Alf Ramsey once stood - we've had a wally with a brolly and a grumpy Italian. 

Was it how I'd always imagined it would be? No, not really. The new Wembley is a bit of an odd place. I wouldn't say it was soul-less, that would be unfair. But from the outside I really didn't get the wow factor I thought I'd feel. It's quite drab actually - too much concrete and despite only having opened in 2007, parts of it are looking pretty weathered already. But inside, when you climb the steps an enter the arena itself  - that's the wow factor. It's a splendid sight. I simply could never imagine what it must be like to step out on to that pitch in front of 85,000 fans.

But there's something about the new Wembley that symbolises what's wrong with the modern game. There's a feeling of everything being a bit too corporate. It's almost too nice. Bordy and I ordered a pint of lager and a pie. Aside from that fact it cost almost £10 each, we were then accosted by a lady collecting customer feedback about the service we'd received that day. 'Did they say welcome to Wembley?', 'Did they have sufficient knowledge of the product?' Sufficient knowledge of the product!! It took all my willpower not to reply - 'it's a pint of lager and a balti pie - what knowledge does she need?!' Perhaps a GCSE in pasties is called for? I'm normally one for good customer service - but quite frankly I'd rather pay £3 less and have some grumpy, spotty teen serve me a lukewarm, soggy-bottomed pie which has been kept warm for a fortnight...that's proper football.


Still, it was great to simply be there - at the home of the beautiful game. I had a great day out with my mate and it threw up a few pertinent questions in my mind:
 

1. Whatever happened to Des Lynam?
2. Has there ever been a footballer so universally disliked as Ashley Cole?
3. Can you ever buy a Cadbury's Boost without the caramel having already leaked and being welded to the wrapper?
4. Why don't they do FA Cup final songs anymore?

There were a few contenders for this outro - 'Ossie's Dream' from Tottenham Hotspur came a close second but this, for me, is bloody brilliant. Still not quite sure how they managed to get Barnes to rhyme with bananas though...