Game 3: Spain v Costa Rica Al Thumama Stadium

With our next match a 7pm kick-off and the fact that our first two days had been completely dominated by football-watching, we decided that we ought to have a stroll and see what Doha was really like. We walked down from our apartment to Souq Waqif, all the way along the main road were rather opulent-looking banks which suggests just how affluent the state is. When we rocked up at the market it was already fairly busy with football fans from all over the world and it now started to feel like a World Cup. We had a bit of a wander round, and it is fair to say the fact that it was renovated in 2006 gave it a slightly strange feel, almost as if it was a movie set trying to look like it was authentic.

Next it was lunchtime, anyone who read about our adventures in Russia four and a half years previously may recall that Paul needs to eat at least every couple of hours or so. With the various restaurants starting to fill up, we opted for a Kuwaiti place with a couple of spare tables outside. After some complex deciphering of our menu options our choices were made all the more easy when the owner kept telling us that whatever we asked for wasn’t available, as Phil commented you could almost seeing him working out in his mind what he could offer us from what he had in stock. In the end it was Chicken Biryani for Phil, Roger and me while Kay and Paul opted for more healthy options, the food was passable if not the greatest culinary experience we had ever had.

Having seen one coming out of one of the grounds Phil, who simply loves a novelty hat, decided that he was on an official quest to find a camel hat complete with strings to actually work its legs, why would you not want one? Alas our search was to prove fruitless, although we couldn’t help but notice the rows of highly decorated wheelbarrows against the walls along the narrow, mazy streets. We later discovered that these were in fact for use by the stallholders in bringing their merchandise in and out; we couldn’t help but wonder how long these would be left alone back home before they would be put to use by people for racing purposes after a few refreshments!

Next up we decided to head down to the fanzone at the Corniche, the area was designed, and I quote, to be: “a carnival-like experience for fans along a 6 km stretch from the Museum of Islamic Art to the Sheraton Hotel. Visitors will enjoy roving performances, various rides and activities, 150+ food and beverage stalls, and retail pop-ups.” Perhaps they ought to have let some of the fans know, as when we arrived there were certainly a load of stalls and exhibits, including an interesting combo of break-dancing and BMX riding, but other than the five of us, hardly anyone else. As Paul and I remarked there wasn’t any beer or a large screen showing the football to be seen, which may have been where they went wrong.

We followed the route along the side of the bay away from West Bay and towards the Sheraton as Roger had worked out, after consultation with Google Maps of course, that the Best Western wasn’t too far away and of course Paul hadn’t yet had the privilege. This time we thought we would give Asiana a try. As we walked in there was none of the proving where we were from shenanigans that we had had at the Irish Bar and we walked straight through the door, it looked more like a restaurant and you had to be seated, but that wasn’t too much of a problem in mid-afternoon.

Of course, the first item on the agenda was for me to undertake my forfeit/ claim my prize, depending on your perspective, from the beer mat game the previous day. Even if I do say so myself, I polished my tequila shot off smoothly, as Phil commented (adopts Geordie accent) “neva flinched!” while keeping my sunglasses on my head, although at just over 10 quid a pop rather unsurprisingly that was the last game that would involve a prize for the rest of the trip. We had a couple of pints while watching the start of Germany v Japan, with the Germans taking a hardly unexpected lead just past the half hour mark, through a Gundogan penalty. Then we decided it was time to head up to Al Thumama again, this time via two taxis. 

After being dropped off pretty much where we had struggled to be picked up just under 48 hours previously, we decided there and then that on the way out this time we would get the shuttle bus to the metro, rather than try to find a taxi again. Paul of course insisted that we all pretend this was the first time we had visited this stadium, having missed out first time around. Kay was once again disappointed only to be able to secure a Costa Rica flag as the Spain ones had proven very popular with the locals.

Checking on the big screen outside the stadium we were shocked to find that Japan had not only equalized but had taken the lead 2-1 while we had been in transit. This was shaping up to be a World Cup of shocks already.

Once we had taken up our seats, we settled in to enjoy the pre-match entertainment, this time ahead of the large inflatable World Cup fire and light show, we had what sounded like a British compere whose main tool for geeing up the atmosphere seemed to be to bellow into his microphone at the top of his voice, encouraging Paul to suggest: “someone should tell him that you can be enthusiastic without f**k*n’ shouting!”. Still, it seemed to go down well with the local “fans”.

This match was pretty much over before it had even started, Spain opened the scoring in the 11^th minute through Dani Olmo and were 3-0 by the break with Los Ticos having hardly been in the match at all. The second half continued in very much the same vein and by the end of the match it was 7-0 thanks to goals from Ferran Torres, the impressive Gavi, Soler and Morata. Having enjoyed 74% possession, it was difficult to conclude whether Spain were in fact the real deal or whether Costa Rica had simply been poor. In truth, given Spain’s later results, it was probably more the latter.

After the match we made our way to the shuttle buses with the aid of volunteers every 10 metres or so advising us: “Metro this way” and/or “Metro straight” of course. Once we arrived at the boarding point, there seemed to be a largely random approach to filling the buses, with us being instructed to move along to the next stop and then the next one and so on (something that would become all too familiar!) when the buses themselves were no more than half full. When we eventually got on, ours set off with plenty of spare seats. On the way to the metro station, we got talking to a lad from Merseyside who was based in Qatar as an English teacher who gave us some suggestions of other bars to go to.

Just before we arrived at the slightly ominous-sounding Free Zone, we spotted one of the fan villages which was made up of rows and rows of tents and the odd converted cargo container. It was literally in the middle of the desert with nothing for miles around. We thanked our sensible judgement that we had booked our apartment rather than having to spend a week in one of those.

As we boarded the metro the staff on the platform hurried everyone they could possibly squeeze onboard onto the train before the automatic doors closed, it was certainly a different experience from being told to take care when boarding in Europe. 

Once we were underway, Paul and Kay decided that they had had enough fun for one day and opted to head back to the apartment. It will come as little surprise to anyone who knows us that Phil, Roger and yours truly decided that a trip back to Asiana for a few more beers, some food and to watch Belgium take on Canada in the late game was definitely on the agenda for us. If the bar/ restaurant had been fairly quite in the afternoon, it was utter madness at this time. Mainly led by a large group of Wales fans, who we were convinced were in there that afternoon, there was enthusiastic (drunk?) singing and dancing largely to a ditty called “Bella Ciao” which seemed to have become the unofficial fan anthem for the tournament, every time there was a pause in the match action. If for some strange reason you want to know how it goes look it up online, with no apologies whatsoever for the resultant ear worm.

After spending some time loitering around the bar area, the manager who looked like the kind of guy that no one should argue with, eventually rustled up a table and three chairs for us. We decided that the best way to enjoy this match was with a few buckets of bottles of beer and some Asian snacks specially selected by Phil.

By the end of the match which proved an uneventful 1-0 win for the Belgians, a couple of Australians complete with an inflatable kangaroo had found their way behind the bar, of course a picture with their friend proved to be a major opportunity for everyone, including Phil who may or may not have added one to his shopping list. After another few beers and a good few more renditions of “Bella Ciao”, we decided to call it an evening.

Phil nurturing International Football Relations

Game 4: Switzerland v Cameroon Al Janoub Stadium

Amazingly the heads of the three of us that had been out the previous evening weren’t too hazy ahead of another 1pm kick-off. As a result, all five of the squad were up, showered, and ready to go at 10:30 am. Roger had played another taxi blinder and booked a large cab straight to the stadium.

Al Janoub Stadium (literally: the Stadium of the South) was designed by architect Zaha Hadid who is unfortunately no longer with us, who you may remember led on the construction of the Aquatics Centre for the London Olympics in 2012. It was apparently inspired by the sails of the traditional Dhow boats, used by pearl divers from the region. It is certainly a unique design for a football ground, at least from the outside.

Al Janoub Stadium – another one in the middle of nowhere

As we were making our way inside we happened across a group of traditional Cameroon tribal warriors singing, dancing, and shuffling their way towards the entrance; not something we are accustomed to seeing at Brisbane Road, Prenton Park, Anfield or indeed St James Park.

Once we had negotiated the now routine Hayya Card, e-ticket and scanner checks, as was the case for the other stadiums there was a stage and mini-fanzone. Maybe it was our ages, but we found the dance-off being led by a very enthusiastic Indian lady, presumably some form of celebrity name amongst the youth of the region, just bizarre, although the crowds of locals seemed to find it great fun.

When we made our way inside, being something of a self-confessed hamburger aficionado (well that’s my excuse for seeking out American fast food wherever I go!), I decided that my fourth match of the tournament was the perfect opportunity to try one of the burgers. Despite it not looking majorly appealing, it was warm, edible, and served to fill the hole in my stomach as a result of having forgotten to have breakfast, again. While my brunch wasn’t complimented by the more health-conscious members of our party, it inspired Phil to try one for himself at half-time. Mind you the last catering option at a ground he had sampled had been a rock hard hotdog, which you could have feasibly used to knock home runs out of a baseball park, at Lusail two days previously.

The match itself brought a clash in styles between a typically organised European side and an exciting Cameroon side whose main tactic was to try to counter at pace with as many as five attacking players breaking from the halfway line. At the time I felt it was courting trouble, but it made for an eventful enough game. In the end the match was settled 3 minutes into the second half when Breel Embolo slotted home after cleverly being picked out by Xherdan Shaqiri. Hailing from Cameroon himself the goal scorer refused to celebrate, but unlike in the higher levels of club football it felt more heartfelt than contrived.

There was no way back for a fatigued Cameroon side who had given so much early on, and Switzerland were able to see out the match comfortably enough. After the game we opted for a shuttle bus back towards West Bay, once again each one seemed only half full, to try to check out the American-style sports bar at the swanky Marriot hotel. Once we eventually found it, it turned out to be absolutely heaving with a lengthy wait to be seated. This led to a split in our camp for the first time in the trip: with Paul, Phil and Roger deciding that they would go and sample the nearby main Fanzone for the Portugal v Ghana match, while Kay and I opted to get a cab to our “local” the Best Western.

We got a cab easily enough, but disaster struck as we got out when I realised that I didn’t have my phone with me. That’s right, the phone that had my remaining match ticket on and of course my Hayya Card. Anyone who has met me will know that I am completely paranoid about losing anything at all and this was completely out of character. I was in an absolute state of shock wondering what I could possibly do. I frantically searched the area where we had been dropped off, desperately hoping I would spot my phone, but of course it was nowhere to be seen. I could only think that it had fallen out of my pocket and was still in the cab.

In utter desperation, I went to speak to the reception staff at the Best Western who first suggested that I ask at the hotel opposite if they could have a look at the CCTV to try to find the number plate of our cab. To my immense frustration they informed me that they wouldn’t be able to do so without approval from the police. At this point I was flapping big time and felt sick right to the pit of my stomach.

While I was at my lowest possible ebb, the main security manager from the Best Western came out to suggest that while he wasn’t “officially” allowed to, he might have a way of finding out the cab’s registration and would contact the cab company to get the driver’s mobile number and ask him to return my phone. When the cab pulled round the corner an hour after we had gotten out and the driver handed over my phone, I was definitely the most relieved man in Doha. Lesson very much learned. I more than gratefully tipped the driver, the beyond helpful staff at the hotel and Kay and I headed up to Asiana for a much-needed beer or several.

After watching the thrilling Ghana – Portugal game which eventually finished 3-2 and a bit of Serbia- Brazil, we decided that we had had quite enough excitement for one day and headed for home. The cab driver who took us back tried to charge us a ridiculous price but had mistakenly left the meter running while driving so we knew how exactly how much it should have cost. Much to his annoyance we paid him just over the real fare and put it down to experience. I guess like anywhere in the world there are decent people and those who want to try to fleece unsuspecting tourists. For me all that mattered was that I had my phone back and was going to the match the next day. 

Game 5: Wales v Iran Ahmad Bin Ali Stadium

So here we were on the last day of our World Cup adventure. In their utmost “wisdom” Phil and Roger had decided they fancied a couple of late drinks back at Asiana and had actually arrived after we had left. Amazingly Roger seemed fairly chipper, but Phil was most definitely dealing with the impact of another late night.

Early on the previous day a long-standing football associate of Kay’s and mine, Hans from Norway, had messaged to say that not only was he in Doha but that he also had tickets for the Wales – Iran game. We first met Hans in 2016 in Valencia while watching Tottenham v Arsenal in an Irish bar (where else?) on one of our La Liga footie weekend trips. Hans is a professor at a Norwegian university specialising in the sociology of football fans. When I explained to the rest of our gang who Hans was and that we would be trying to catch up with him at the match, it caused Paul to wonder whether Hans was indeed a mate of ours, or whether he saw us as an intriguing case study. Fair point I had to concur!

With tickets apparently available for the England – USA game at 7pm that evening, Paul and Roger spent most of the morning trying to access the Ticket Portal to try to secure entry to that game. This almost led to disaster when we were underway in the cab to the ground, only to discover that with Roger still locked into the app, the driver thought we were going to Al Bayt Stadium, a mere 35 kilometres away on the other side of town from where we needed to be, and just the 8 hours before kick-off in the England game. Thankfully we managed to reorganise our route with the driver before we had headed too far in the wrong direction.

After having been to three stadiums with absolutely nothing around them, it came as blessed relief to discover that Ahmad Bin Ali has a huge shopping mall as part of the complex. With Phil in increasingly desperate need of a feed-up, we decided to head inside and see what food options they might have. The place was packed, largely with Wales fans, and had a massive choice of food outlets, Pizza Hut and McDonald’s seeming particularly popular with the Welsh. We all ended up having different things with Phil choosing a curry for a late breakfast.

With the lads still working on getting tickets for the England game, Kay and I decided to head in early to try and meet up with Hans. Once inside it was easy to walk around the stadium and we met up with Hans for an alcohol free beer and a footie-related chat, it almost felt like usual circumstances.  During the course of our conversation Hans let us know that he along with two colleagues had managed to convince the university to pay for his trip and for tickets to four matches so that they could complete a research paper into the impact of religion on football. When I relayed this information to the lads back in our seats it led to some wondering about our own career choices, specifically why we hadn’t thought of a “job” like that!

Professor Hans and your author: one of these men made a wiser career choice than the other!

The stadium itself is located right on the edge of the desert, although in all truth we could have said that about any of the ones we went to. Although the exterior looked pretty impressive with the façade designed to reflect “the undulations of sand dunes while intricate geometric patterns reflect the beauty of the desert, native flora and fauna”, according to the tournament’s guidance at least. Once inside though it was just like any other modern football ground.

Once we had negotiated with the people occupying our seats to vacate them and go and sit in their allocated seats, it wasn’t the only time we had seen issues with people sitting in other peoples’ seats, although I suspect it may have been naivety rather than an attempt to get a better vantage point in the majority of cases.

From our seats we had a great view of the massed Welsh ranks behind the goal, with just about every single one of them sporting a now traditional bucket hat. For their part the large numbers of Iran supporters really made a racket and added to the atmosphere, although it was baffling how so many had got large drums in given the issues Phil had had with his flag a few days earlier.

Even though the Iran players sang the national anthem in this one, whereas they hadn’t before the England game as a reported show of support for protestors back home, it didn’t look as if it had been by choice and there was a significant amount of booing all around us. Even for those of us who try to keep football and politics as separate as possible, this tournament was always going to have something of a crossover.

The game was a fairly evenly matched affair pretty much throughout with neither side dominating, but it was turned completely on its head with some very late drama. First up as we approached the last 5 minutes, the Wales goalkeeper Wayne Hennessey was shown a red card for charging out of his penalty area to try to sweep up a loose ball but succeeding only in taking the man. It was a cruel twist, but his dismissal was sadly justified. Wales’ fate was then settled by two goals in added time and the entire squad seemed to lay prone on the turf recognising that they were more than likely heading out of their first World Cup for 64 years at the group stage.

After the match we headed back to the shopping mall for something to eat (McDonald’s in my case if you hadn’t guessed having been disciplined in pre-match food choices!) before heading our separate ways. Paul and Phil were off to Al Bayt to watch England take-on the USA, while Kay, Roger and I were off back to the Souq for a bit of last minute shopping and then to Asiana (where else?) to watch England where we were joined by Hans and one of his fellow researchers, Dag.

The following day we headed for home to watch the rest of the tournament back in freezing pre-Christmas blighty. It was a surreal tournament both in terms of timing and location but once the actual football got underway and the locals and travelling fans got used to each other, it was a lot of fun, if somewhat different from previous tournaments. The five of us have pretty much decided already that we will be basing ourselves in Mexico next time around along with anyone else we can recruit between now and then. For now though, we are all just not-so-secretly counting down the days until we get there!