The cancelled flight from Lisbon to Recife. The look on your face when you realise you will miss your connection to Natal. That sinking feeling when you depart the airport for a nearby hotel on a courtesy bus and not for Brazil on an airplane.
The frantic calls trying to organise another flight to Natal. Down below, the English on their way to Manaus and with an extra day up their sleeve make haste for the pool to catch some rays on their sun starved skins.
All I want is to get to the World Cup on time farken. A day lost.
A breakthrough in Recife, a space becomes available on the afternoon flight. I reach my digs at Ponte Negra beach in Natal just as the referee blows the opening whistle in Sao Paulo.
I can relax now. The World Cup has started. The games have been brilliant so far.
Nothing like a good comeback to get your pulse to race, your spine to tingle and the hairs to stand on the back of your neck.
So take a bow Brazil, Netherlands, Costa Rica, Ivory Coast and Switzerland. Five comeback wins this World Cup (there were only four in the 2010 edition) and we have barely begun.
Despite national trepidation, the Socceroos acquited themselves well. The loss to El Roja came with a silver lining, but the Oranje cloud fast approaching Porto Alegre looks far, far more ominous.
Meanwhile, Natal has turned into Alamo, with the exuberant Mexicans livening up the town and the less demonstrative gringos also filing in ahead of USA’s game against Ghana. Even Montezuma, from a much earlier time, made an appearance as he queued patiently to enter the stadium for Mexico’s opening match against Cameroon.
Except for the rain. Bucket loads of the stuff.
Only now, as I am typing this, has it relented after being soaked for the last 2 days.
There were two winners last Friday at the Arena das Dunas in Natal. The Mexicans and the pitch. While the roads outside the stadium turned into rivers, the pitch soaked up the torrential rain like a great big green sponge as El Tri ran over a stodgy Cameroon rearguard. These weren’t Indomitable Lions. They played as if they were straight out of casting for The Wizard of Oz.
They only lost by a solitary goal, but it should have been more as the officials mystifyingly denied El Tri two good goals in the first half.
HIJO DE PUTA!
The chant rang out at the incompetent officials with more enthusiasm than any sodden attempt by the Mexicans to get up a Mexican Wave.
Not only did the Mexicans celebrate a deserved win, and boy did they celebrate, they embellished the occasion with colour and movement on and off the pitch.
Miss Brazil was spotted with Mr Lucha Libre.
And even El Tri manager, Miguel Herrera, and goal scoring hero, Oribe Peralta, made an appearance in the stands.
But the final word goes to the Mexican fans…and that word is PUTO!!
Poor Charles Itandje. It was the Cameroon goalkeeper’s turn to be on the receiving end from Mexican football hospitality. At least he can comfort himself with the thought that it is also a description for a Filipino rice cake.
