COSTA RICA v Germany

It was the first day of the World Cup finals, but football fever seemed a little thin on the ground. There were no flags on cars, no-one was wearing the national strip and there was very little excitement.

I wondered if it was because the team’s star player was facing a race against time to be fit for the opening game. Or maybe it was because of the huge corruption scandal that had shocked the national game, leaving some of the country’s most famous clubs facing relegation.

Whatever the reason, it seemed just as well that I was leaving Milan on the next flight to London.

Then I started to wonder if I had cut it a bit fine to get to the first game. I only had one bite at the Costa Rican cherry. The lady at the embassy had told me that there are only 100 Costa Ricans in Britain (after all, she said, why would you want to leave Costa Rica?) and that it was difficult to get them together for big events. She was trying to organise a gathering to watch the opening game but wasn’t sure if it would come together.

The German embassy had offered to play the Costa Rican embassy in a game to mark the start of the tournament, but, as she said, they only had two staff. I offered my services and said I’d be at the opening game even if no-one else was, and crossed my fingers…

So I was mightily relieved when the invitation to the opening game at a bar in Mayfair dropped into my inbox. And even better, there were to be free traditional Costa Rican hats for the first 20 people to show up. I had visions of 20 Costa Ricans sitting round a table politely cheering their team on.

But as we sat on the runway at Milan waiting for air traffic control to give us a slot I wondered if I would be there for kick-off, never mind a hat.

The delays mounted up and the journey from Gatwick into London caused its own problems, but I got to the pub with five minutes to spare, only to panic that there were no Costa Ricans in there. Then I found the stairs to the upstairs bar…

All 100 Costa Ricans in Britain must have been packed into that tiny room (including the ambassador), along with a healthy helping of English (“friends of friends”), Welsh, Australians… and apparently a couple of Germans who for some reason seemed to have chosen the least appropriate pub in London to watch the game. You couldn’t move for jubilant Central Americans.

The Germans made themselves heard early on, when Torsten Frings went close and Philip Lahm opened the scoring with a sixth-minute thunderbolt. But the Costa Ricans didn’t seem to mind, neither that there were Germans in their midst or that they were losing. They were here to enjoy themselves, and weren’t going to let the small matter of going a goal down temper their rampant enthusiasm.

They were cheering every tackle and every save (of which there were many, poor Jose Porras more than earning his corn between the sticks), so when Paulo Wanchope got behind the German defence and calmly pulled the Ticos level, the place went wild. Maybe Germany were there for the taking? Maybe they could be written off? But I’m sorry to say, my brain poisoned by a lifetime of supporting Scotland, my first thought was “oh no, now you’ve upset them”. My mind went back to Scotland equalising with Brazil in the opening game of 98, only for the champions to crush our naïve dreams with the winning goal.

And it wasn’t long before Germany took control. Wanchope provided another glimmer of hope when he pulled it back to 3-2 and the fans went crazy again, and, although it made no difference to the outcome, the Tico party carried on. After all, this was the game they could afford to lose. But I had to drag myself away. I had Poles to find… (and I never got a hat).