Football gods humbled

I went to the Bolivia vs Argentina football match today. Billed as a one-sided affair, this was a chance for Bolivian football fans to watch some real world stars in action. It was certainly a one-sided affair.
Despite the double-normal international-ticket prices, the stadium was packed. The Bolivian bloke in front of me was wearing an “Autonomia” t’shirt calling for autonomy for the prefecture of Santa Cruz. It seemed a strange choice of clothing when supporting your national side.
Stranger was his mate, who was wearing an Argentina shirt and tall, felt hat. At Wembley, Neanderthal fans mean the teams have to be segregated, so it was good see understanding and support for an opposition side. It was peculiar to see that understanding and support shown by one man for both sides, as his allegiance to Bolivia developed as the game progressed.
Argentina coach Maradona stood still on the touchline showing more movement than his team. He had been a prominent supporter of Bolivia’s right to play in La Paz, where the altitude strongly favours the home side. He even played a game with Evo Morales for the benefit for the media to prove to Fifa that anyone can do it.
It would appear his team couldn’t. Leaden-footed and disinterested, the Argentinians succeeded in making the Bolivian team look very good indeed. They lost 6-1 in front of a joyous, incredulous crowd. I would have loved to hear the goalkeeper blame his hopelessness on the altitude, as he hardly exerted himself beyond repeatedly getting the ball out of the net. The only Argentinian goal was as a result of a bobble in the pitch rather than skill.
It was a real privilege to see a game that will go down in Bolivian football history. Afterwards, there was no lap of honour, dancing in the street or pubs to throng; just an excited crowd making its way home.
Meanwhile in London: riots.

15.6.8 Brazil, it ain't.

I doubt the chant: “It’s like watching Brazil” has ever been applied to the Bolivian national team. But a game against arch rivals Chile in a last ditch attempt to stay in the qualification race for the World Cup should at least have had some spice to it. We arrived at the concrete monolith in time to hear both team’s fans politely respecting each other's anthem—it turned out the Bolivian’s were saving their whistling for the Chilean keeper.

Fans unfurled flags the size of Liechenstein, bounced up and down, set off bangers and fireworks, and the Chileans chanted along to a huge drum. Promising stuff! I wanted flares and the equivalent of burning Lambrettas (llamas?) being thrown off the upper tiers. Sadly, once the game kicked off, the home fans were disappointingly quiet—and I’ve watched Arsenal vs Watford at the Emirates.

Still, the first goal was a beauty, the ball hammered off the cross bar, was headered back into the box and bicycled kicked from the penalty spot into the goal. Blimey! The Chileans celebrated as if they had won the World Cup.

The Bolivians may not chant but they must have an impressive reputation for throwing: riot police protected Chilean corner takers with their shields, and escorted the ref and linesmen off the field in a Roman testudo-like formation.