'%20x='0'%20y='0'%20height='100%25'%20width='100%25'%20%0A%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20%20xlink%3Ahref='data:image/jpg;base64,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'%3E%3C/image%3E%3C/svg%3E)
“One Two Three, Viva Algerieee!” was the chant by many even as we walked into the Estadio Beira Rio complex in Porto Alegre, the capital of Brazil’s Southern-most State of Rio Grande do Sul, and itself the Southern-most Host-City of this World Cup. Naturally, with this being winter, it was here that we were feeling the cold most, with the cloud-cover and the intermittent rain compounded with the constant wind coming into the city from the big bay of the River Rio Grande bordering the city and the stadium.
Having had my wish of Germany contesting this particular fixture fulfilled, I eagerly walked to the stadium with ex-colleague and former Pune FC striker Edmar Figueira, who had driven down almost 2000 kilometres just to see this game. Procuring tickets has not been easy for most Brazilians, so Edmar jumped at the chance to attend this fixture despite the two day drive upon hearing I had a ticket.
I was also hopeful of bumping into a very charming Algerian I had befriended earlier in Belo Horizonte. Djamal, an Algerian who had studied in France and taught Science in Finland now into his 50s, had been to the last several World Cups along with the 80 or so countries he’d visited. Alas we were unable to connect due to the hectic travel itineraries and relatively complicated local telephony services.
However, I did bump into a couple of familiar faces, as TSV 1860 supporting Muencheners Markus and Michel patted me on the back from behind in the crowd and exchanged pre-match hugs. They had stayed at the same hostel as us in Salvador, and then, just like today, had met on the streets of Fortaleza. Small country, this! Also like for me, this too was going to be the last German game they would be seeing, as they had to get back to work in Munich, they said ruefully, gulping down their pre-match beer.
Much as Edmar and most others might have taken the game for a given for the Germans, the only slight hope of optimism for me was the weather. The cold and damp conditions would have probably been a welcome relief to the Europeans who had till then had to play in much hotter climes. That apart, I still had a strong feeling it could be a potential banana-skin. The Germans had played alright but had always been vulnerable on the counter, which was what the Algerians would look to do, and had players to pose a threat on with. Then there was the historical anomaly of Germany having lost both their previous encounters to the Africans. That hadn’t happened for nothing.
Entering the Beira Rio gave a special feeling. The revamped home of Brazilian power-houses Intenracional, the flood-lights in the drizzle, and the atmosphere created by a lot of die-hard local football fanatic presence gave the stadium an immense sense of occasion. Porto Alegre also happens to be the home-city of former Brazilian mega-star Ronaldinho (although he played for Inter’s bitter cross-town rivals Gremio), and also our very own India-based iconic Brazilian Jose Barreto.
Djamal had enlightened that the Algerian government had funded the travel and tickets for the 3000 or so Algerians making their way to Brazil for the World Cup. But that still left a lot of room to be filled in the huge arena. So even while the vociferously co-ordinated (in both colour and action) Algerians supported their team throughout with gusto, they were joined by almost 20-30,000 Brazilian locals, either die-hards of Inter or Gremio, backing them on.
The few thousand or so German supporters, me included, would get a small chance to start our songs, and then quickly get drowned out. In fact, a Brazilian family sat next to me, had their father kitted in the German jersey at the start of the game, but promptly removed it and started cheering the Algerians mid-way through the game, as the spunky Algerians kept the Germans at bay and always threatened on the counter with chances of their own.
Other drunk Brazilians also started playing along with the Algerie chant, re-wording it to “One-Two-Three, Angelina Joliee!” instead for a bit, but all in good humour, as the game meandered into extra-time. Luckily for me and us German fans, the goals did come in at just about the right time, and come the end of 120 hard-fought minutes, what mattered was that progress to the Quarters was secured.
The German players went to acknowledge their fans for a bit before heading in from the rain. The stadium however was reverberating with “Algerie! Algeriee!” long after, as the Brazilians all gave a loud standing ovation to the vanquished under-dogs who proved themselves with such a good fight, their teary-eyed players applauding the crowd back in acknowledgement for the honour.
On the walk back home in the rain, with the proud Algerian fans loudly singing “Obrigatos, Obrigatos, Obrigatos, Porto Alegre!” (Thank you Porto Alegre), in the background it was a strange feeling of mixed emotions. Maybe for us German fans it could be put aside along with the relief, for the job had been done.
But Algeria had won over Porto Alegre.
