El Azteca Stadium

Got a surprise call from Sandra's dad, José to ask if I wanted to go see Mexico play U.S.A. in a World Cup qualifier at the world famous Azteca Stadium.

Needless to say, I accepted the invitation in a heartbeat. The chance to experience the national team playing (I've already been to a club match), but also playing against their Auld Enemy and the resultant atmosphere that would be generated, was too good to possibly turn down.

It is enormous with a capacity of 104, 000 (3rd largest in the world). It being Mexico, where timekeeping is never that big a deal and is more often thought of as a Gringo bad habit, it was nowhere near full when we arrived (as you can see). I don't think it was properly full until about mid-way through the 2nd half! We were right up in the Gods, but this is one of those stadiums where there don't appear to be any bad views.

We got there with about 15 mins to go before kick-off and the still huge crowd was certainly up for the game, with a buzzing, bristling, electric atmosphere all round. We hadn't even taken our seats when we were swept up in the 1st of an endless swirl of Mexican Waves, of course, here the just call them waves.

The game itself, it has to be said was awful, really dire. It started off brightly enough with Mexico doing most of the attacking. It soon became apparent that the U.S. would be more than happy to settle for the draw. Mexico, however, just didn't have any cutting edge and could not make any of their possession count. El Chicharito was virtually anonymous.

It's just as well that you can sip on a delivered beer and chat and take in the atmosphere. I'd loved to have had my 'proper' camera with me to shoot photos of all the goings on in the crowd, but José had advised against it, because officially it's not tolerated. As it turns out, it would have been easy to bring it along. I'll know for the next time.

As the turgid display wore on (it finished 0-0), the crowd became increasingly frustrated with their team and then, bizarrely and disturbingly, with each other. The cheapest seats (occupied by the poorest obviously) are as high up as you can go and they are fenced (with barb wire) off from everybody else. So, as their frustration turned from annoyance and then to anger an increasing amount of cups of beer and general rubbish started to rain down on the people below - their own fans. Until by the end of the game their was a deluge of crap being flung over this fence!

The people below didn't take to this too kindly and started flinging shit back and there was a lot of agression and (I believe) mutual, class hatred displayed. Very macho and in many ways, quite pathetic. Mexicans are all very proud to be Mexican, but only up to a point. And it was very interesting to see simmering tensions spill over.

Just as well, I wore a large, ridiculous Mexican Cowboy Hat to the game!!

But it didn't last outside of the stadium and there were no class riots as people left. All emnity was focussed on the small group (couple of hundred) of vocal and delighted Americans fans (The Outlaws, I believe) who had travelled to the game and were escorted out of the stadium by hundreds and hundreds of riot police.

Lots of insults and the occasional oject hurled in the U.S. fans direction by the very annoyed Mexicans. The best insult being, along the lines that the American Pendejos could forget about being sold anymore weed or coke from now on!

Reminded me very much of how the Irish (or Scottish or Welsh!) people used to be (are?) towards the English.

Of course, all during the night people assumed that I was American, so I had to correct them with, "No, estoy guero, no gringo" ( I'm a blondie*, not a yank). You would have thought the daft hat and the Mexico-emblazoned tee shirt would have been a clue, but apparently no.

A great night all round, apart from the actual football, and excellent company in Sandra's dad. To whom I owe a big debt of gratitude.

*ubiqutous term for a foreigner. I suppose it's better than "paleface"!