CZECH REPUBLIC v Ghana

I knew that the Czech and Slovak Club would be busy. As London’s undisputed premiere Czech venue, it would be heaving with fans for a Saturday afternoon kick-off.

So it was a bit of a pain to find that we were going to have to wait 10 minutes for our first tube. We formulated a quick, train-based change of route and headed up to West Hampstead. Whether our new route was any quicker I don’t know, but it made no difference. When we got there a sign on the gate told us it was full.

We pleaded our case with the gatekeeper, who was very understanding, but couldn’t do anything for us. “We are completely full. Our former president is in there,” he explained. I’m not sure if it was the ex-pres himself who had taken my seat, but it seemed like a perfectly logical explanation.

And he confirmed what I had feared: he didn’t think there were any other Czech venues. Oh well, there’s always the third group game, I thought. But then it got even worse: the gatekeeper told me he didn’t think they’d be open for it because it was a 3.00 kick-off. I knew they’d been shut for the first game and was beginning to think that I would have to hope for them to make the knock-out stages.

I didn’t have an alternative venue because I knew this was the place to be: my Plan B had been to come back for the final group game. We decided to check nearby pubs for Czech overspill, but there was no-one there, and, worse still, they were already 1-0 down. If they lost to Ghana they would be unlikely to make the second round, and I might not be able to watch them at all. I was starting to panic. I hadn’t expected to fail with the Czech Republic.

Then I got a call from a friend who was in the Czech Club and was asking where I was. I told him I couldn’t get in. He tried to get me in, but they were adamant. I asked him if the ex-President was there. He was. Was it Vaclev Havel? It was. I took some consolation from the fact that I’d lost my seat to the father of the modern independent Czech Republic, but was pissed off that I’d arrived too late to watch the footie with one of my heroes.

Then, like some sort of guardian angel, a blond Czech fan came hurrying up the street towards the Czech Club. In desperation, I pleaded for his help. He said he thought there might be one more place up in Willesden. He didn’t know what it was called and he didn’t know if they even had a TV, but we thanked him and rushed up there.

There was a big pub opposite the station, but there was no sign of any Czechs in there. Dejected, we decided to give up. Then, on the other side of the station, we noticed an Irish pub. It can’t possibly be there, we thought. But we had nothing better to do, so we checked it out. And there was a blackboard by the door with a Czech flag, some Czech writing, and an arrow pointing up the stairs.

So up we went, and found ourselves in what looked like a tiny Irish restaurant, but a tiny Irish restaurant full of young Czechs watching the footie. They had TV!

So I got myself a well-earned pint of Pilsner – in a good, old-fashioned chunky English pint pot – and took a very welcome seat.

But the atmosphere wasn’t great. This was an important game, and they were still losing. But there was sporadic excitement, particularly when they thought they’d equalised in the first minute of the second half (off-side); and one enthusiastic, loud bloke in the corner.

The team were clearly missing injured strikers Jan Koller and Milan Baros, and every moment of excitement was followed by inevitable disappointment.

And I had more disappointment to deal with: there was a delicious smell of Czech food, but the only menu I could see was in Czech.

There were cheers when Asamoah Gyan fired a penalty against the post, but Tomas Ujfalusi had been sent off and Sulley Muntari eventually grabbed Ghana’s second. The Czechs were understandable dejected. Maybe these wouldn’t have been good circumstances for my first meeting with Mr Havel after all. He’d just have to wait.