BEAUTIFUL CHAOS: The Socceroos and the 2014 World Cup

by Adam Peacock

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  After the short trip back to base in Vitória, the players and coaching staff said their goodbyes after six weeks in each other’s pockets and went their separate ways. Finally, they would step outside the bubble and discover what the rest of the world thought.

  Postecoglou returned to Melbourne for a few days before a family holiday in Greece and found himself conflicted. ‘It was kind of weird, I only stayed three or four days before going on holiday and everyone was coming up and congratulating me. I was trying not to be rude, but what’s the appropriate response when they are congratulating you for three losses? It didn’t sit well with me, but at the back of my mind I’m thinking maybe we have come a fair way where what they saw resonated with them. Yes, we didn’t win, but we played some good football and got them off their couches at 2 am. Those who travelled over there felt like they [Australia] were part of that World Cup, they weren’t just a sideshow. When I went to Europe, it was a backhanded compliment, them saying, “Oh, you Aussies can play football”. I didn’t know how to take that, so I just took it. We did want to get people excited by the national team again – I think we achieved that, which is a positive, but there’s no hiding from the fact we didn’t win any games, we didn’t progress, and in terms of bridging that gap, we’ve still got some work to do.’

  Spain do too, but Curitiba was not the time or place to think about how. Like all toppled monarchs, they left Brazil on a chartered flight hours after full-time, departing the field without even a wave, headed for exile which was what remained of a rare summer break. As they came into land in Madrid, mother nature attempted to end ‘tiki-taka’ once and for all. Lightning struck the plane. The plane survived. So too will ‘tiki-taka’, just not as the ruling force.

  7.

  WATCHING BRAZIL WATCH BRAZIL

  Winding through the backstreets of northern Rio, near the Maracanã, it is eerily quiet. Quiet, as in post-apocalyptic quiet. Aliens have won. Humans are a former species, apart for a chosen few who are looking to watch some football. I’ve been given the address of a famous street party to see Brazil play Colombia in the quarter-finals. But the streets are empty. Either the directions are wrong, or the reputation of this so-called street party is so cataclysmically misjudged – is someone playing some sick joke here? – it could end in the worst outcome of this World Cup, which is to miss the locals go to every part of a human’s emotional range all because 11 of their own are trying to kick a ball into a net.

  Out of an apartment block strides the first sign of life. A woman, who may as well be alien to a couple of Australians. English? Not even a no, which means … no. Terrible, broken Portuguese, combined with sign language, a smartphone and Google maps resembles the Amazing Race meets Charades. Finally, a breakthrough. Just down that way, she says, ‘um minuto’.

  Really? Looks like a dead end. This street party is supposed to be bigger than the football reputation and girth of the real Ronaldo (not Cristiano). At the end, a sign perhaps the woman wasn’t lying, after all. A TV truck is parked opposite some temporary fencing. There is a small opening to a walkway that funnels around a corner … and … sweet mother of Christ the Redeemer …

  The doors to another world have swung open, the colour and hyperactivity smacks all five senses at once with noise, yellow and green, Samba, beer and decorations hanging above a heaving mass of humanity stretched for as far as the eye can see. They are the parts to the sum total that is ‘Alzirao’. ‘Um minuto.’ That’s how long it takes to go from post-apocalyptic quiet to 20,000 locals having the time of their lives. Another example of Brazil’s wondrous spontaneity with a new surprise around every corner.

  Alzirao street party in full swing.

  A garishly-dressed tall man, well over six foot, carries a 1-metre replica of the World Cup. Lady Gaga meets Mané Garrincha. Green silk pants, yellow mittens (no, it’s not cold) and shirt of cobalt blue sequins mostly covered by a jacket of light green sequins. For the headwear, a yellow mullet wig, novelty sunglasses with ‘2014’ above the frame and a top hat that displays the Brazilian flag in the shape of a love heart. Standard, really.

  Street party in Alzirao. You can’t be overdressed!

  Next to him, a very familiar face. Neymar! Neymar da Silva Santos Junior, Brazil’s current number 10 and by some margin their brightest star. Here! But he … wait … double look, triple look. Neymar is meant to be 2500 kilometres away about to walk out for a World Cup quarter-final against Colombia. Of course, the real Neymar is in the northern city of Forteleza, but the best damn lookalike in world football is in Alzirao. Tiago Mendes is his real name. Not the former Portugal midfielder who also plays club football in Spain, but rather Tiago Mendes of Rio, one of the attractions at this street party, paid to be here by the organisers.

  ‘Being a Neymar impersonator is my life. I am the first Neymar impersonator and I have been doing it for five years,’ he explains in lightning quick Portuguese. He’s about to play a match. He’s amped. ‘I was the first one to appear on TV as a Neymar impersonator and this is my second World Cup. I am very happy, especially that it is in Brazil, my country. The people has been very kind to me. I can only thanks God for that.’

  Well, when you think about it, someone created him to look like someone else, so fair enough.

  Tiago (Neymar) can actually play. He was recently in a competition organised by FIFA to try to win tickets for the final. He missed out, but was second top goal scorer playing as, yep, shock horror, a creative number 10. Still, unlike the real Neymar who commands $250,000 a week, kickabouts with Tiago’s friends don’t pay the bills. Being a lookalike does.

  ‘I can help my family and my friends. I had an opportunity to buy a house and now I am buying a car. It is very lucrative; I can only thanks God, without Him nothing could happen, and also Neymar for that,’ he says. Yes, two creators. He should thank them both.

  He has to remain sharp. Like when the real Neymar stunned onlookers (yes, it is a big deal when this happens …) in the third pool match against Cameroon with a drastic change – brunette OUT, blond IN.

  Not the real thing, but the next best thing. Neymar makes it to the Alzirao street party for Brazil v Colombia. His world was about to come crashing down.

  Tiago (Neymar) was ready. ‘My media relations personnel – I have some people that work with me that follow Neymar everywhere – they told me [about the colour change] and two hours after, I was on the street with the same haircut as Neymar and he hasn’t appeared on TV yet and my other friends asked me, “Why did I change my haircut?”. I played a joke to them and answered that, “I do not want to be a Neymar impersonator any more.” I came here and started to record programs and when Brazil started to walk into the field, Neymar had the same haircut as me and all got stunned!’

  That’s why he’s the best. There are other Neymar impersonators, but Tiago Mendes is the original, the man to be the man. One important point, though. A disclaimer if you like. Don’t ask him to take his sunglasses off. Kinda kills the mood. His eyes look nothing like the real Neymar’s.

  The mood pre-kick-off at Alzirao is hypnotically frenzied, and the sight of Neymar’s lookalike brings that little extra excitement. No-one tries to rid him of his sunnies as he poses and smiles. A number of Brazil’s 53 million mobile phones are pointed his way in reverse thanks to the modern-day autograph – the selfie – capturing a precious few seconds with this most famous doppelganger. After this World Cup his pose will go back to all corners of the globe (including to Australia), if it doesn’t instantaneously through social media.

  ‘I have a big passion for Australia people. When they see me on the street they are very charismatics, they come to hug me, they are always happy. “Boldness and happiness, Neymar impersonator,” I love you, Australia!’

  And we love you, Tiago Mendes, Neymar lookalike extraordinaire.

  FIFA set up Fan Fests all around the country for the sponsors to be front and centre of attention. Rio’s is on Copacabana Beach. But no
ne of the others have Tiago. The Alzirao Fan Fest is not official, so FIFA tried to charge $10,000 to show the matches on the big screen. The mayor swiftly quashed that money grab. You can’t do that to institutions.

  Ricardo Ferreira, a tall, greying man, started the Alzirao Fan Fest when he wasn’t so grey back in 1978. He was watching Brazil play from a friend’s apartment above the road that is packed today. Brazil scored, so Ricardo thought he’d let off a flare. It ended up setting fire to his mate’s mum’s couch. Seeing his mate’s mum saw it all, Ricardo was soon out on the street. Bloody flares.

  By the end of that match he was joined by 200 others on the street crowded around small TV, and in a moment of clarity he thought, ‘Why not do this all the time?’ The best way in Rio to watch a Brazilian World Cup match was born. Not to say there is a wrong way, given the manner in which the nation responds to 11 of their countrymen walking out in the famous yellow.

  The crowd in Alzirao explode after Brazil beat Colombia. They hadn’t realised what had happened to Neymar.

  It is hard to find a greater truth than what Brazilians say about its national team, the Seleção. Eleven men, plus the coach and the odd substitution, are judged more than any political figure, entertainer or religious leader. Training sessions are covered with all the production values of the actual games, with reporters swarming the base, an hour outside Rio in the hills of Teresopolis. On off days, long-lens cameras focus 200 metres in on the gym, trained on Hulk, Marcelo and Dante on the stationary bikes for five minutes at a time. Official tallies are taken of who performed best at keepy-uppys in warm-up. And the games, whoa, the games. There is nothing like watching Brazil watch Brazil.

  12 June 2014, São Paulo: BRAZIL 3 CROATIA 1

  The opening fixture of any World Cup is hyped beyond all measure of reasonable anticipation and with Brazil starting this one, it is something else again. São Paulo is the centre of the universe, the city that never ends, with its high-rise apartments that stretch to the horizon and beyond. It’s a Friday, but a half-day holiday – as is the case for all Brazil matches – takes away the burden of dealing with a late rush home alongside millions of others on the nation’s third-world roads. Gradually, beaches empty, yellow is everywhere and for one day Croatia is the most feared opponent in the history of football.

  Marcelo, Brazil’s energetic left-back, comes up with a mad moment to stop the heartbeat of a nation. He steers a dangerous cross from the left home beautifully with his right, a textbook finish – apart from one crucial element. The ball is in the back of his own net. With his wild, frizzy hair and charismatic face, he turns with a deer-in-the-headlights look, an expression replicated from the outer reaches of the Amazon near the Peruvian border to the shivering outpost of Santa Vitória do Palmar in the south and EVERYWHERE in between. What … on … earth … was … that.

  In a rowing club turned nightclub on the banks of Rio’s Lagoa, it is as if the demon of doom has possessed all. Occasional outbreaks of adjectives thrown Marcelo’s way punctuate the now silent gathering of about 3000 people. This has happened just 12 minutes in. A long month lies ahead for many.

  Catastrophe is averted, however, and the mood lifted with two goals from Neymar, one from the spot after a questionable decision from the Japanese referee, and a toe-poke from Oscar.

  The Marcelo mistake feels like last year. The burden of possible disaster is averted, and the nation rejoices. When that happens, and there’s a samba band nearby, like there is at the rowing club, Brazil is a wonderful place to be.

  17 June 2014, Forteleza: BRAZIL 0 MEXICO 0

  The streets are empty and everyone crowds around TV sets. From chemists to department stores, fast food outlets and bars. The main road of Ipanema is usually bumper-to-bumper at this time of day. Now, you could fire a bullet either way and it would hit the ground before anything else gets in the way. A security guard keeping watch on a garage door has found the world’s longest extension cord to plug into the back of a TV made when Socrates was around. The footballer, or philosopher? Take your pick. Normal life is suspended, Brazil is about to play their second match of the World Cup.

  Usually busy street in Ipanema right on kick-off for Brazil v Mexico.

  Choice is not an issue when deciding where to watch. On every corner is a buteco – a Brazilian version of a café where beer is the principal offering. On another 30°C Rio day there is no better poison than the iceberg-cold brew that departs a fridge chilled to -1.8°C into a small glass and down a parched throat. Brazil has many issues in the way it was developed. Beer temperature is most certainly not one of them.

  Like all others, the seats in this Ipanema buteco are plastic, and on the footpath the company is not really company because all are engrossed in the tiny TV on the wall. Apart from at the game, it’s hard to think of a better place to be as Brazil prepares to play Mexico, who needed a play-off against New Zealand to confirm their status for the tournament.

  A Rio buteco fully focused on just two things: Brazil v Mexico … and ice-cold beer.

  Struggles in qualifying are irrelevant. Mexico are excellent and they keep Neymar shackled. The only time the superstar really expresses himself is singing the national anthem, which he blubbers through as though the credits to The Notebook were rolling.

  Mexico’s keeper Guillermo Ochoa is excellent and is crowned Man of the Match. His timing is impeccable. He is without a club, which means he’s newly single and has just scored an invite to the Miss Universe after party.

  Mexico’s manager is excellent. Miguel Herrera, a short bear of a man, used to patrol Mexico’s backline with a mullet that summed up all that was great and embarrassing about the 80s. Now the boss, Herrera was seen two days earlier outside the team hotel taking selfies in front of the spontaneous fiesta that had broken out. One of the 34 cameras used on the TV coverage is fixed on Herrera as he rides every moment. There are a few in one of the more entertaining 0-0s in football history.

  Brazil aren’t excellent. They don’t click, they aren’t the smooth running machine they should be by now and the locals in the Rio buteco are worried. There’s a lot of shaking of heads, rueful expressions and unrepeatable Portuguese phrases. Doubt is lurking ominously near the surface.

  23 June 2014, Brasilia: BRAZIL 4 CAMEROON 1

  Flying back from Curitiba after the Socceroos’ loss to Spain, one of modern life’s great inventions – TVs in the back of plane seats – means I don’t miss a second of Brazil’s next game in the capital Brasilia.

  Brazil score and, looking out the window, you can see a nation celebrate, as fireworks light up the sky. Football is the nation’s unquestionable love, but they are having a wonderful affair with fireworks. It makes sense really: anything goes here and that attitude is evident wherever you are, like on Copacabana Beach where marijuana is readily available from street vendors who carry it around in Tupperware containers. Metres away, a Mexican tourist sits on the sand trying to divert agony as he gets a lifelong World Cup memory burnt into his bicep.

  Getting a commemorative tattoo on Copacabana Beach. Why not?

  Back on the plane, Cameroon give Brazil a small fright, before class prevails. Or in Cameroon’s case, a lack of it exposes Africa’s one great hope. Much has changed for this team in 24 years. Back then, they were the novelty act of Italia ’90, featuring in the excellent doco One Night in Turin. With adulation, they received new boots. This time around, all their players sport flash new Nike or adidas kicks. They are pampered. The only surprise is how bad they are.

  Players had trouble getting to the World Cup, disputing the pay deal with their own federation, and this delayed their journey by 24 hours. The Cameroonian FA turned out in force too, basing themselves in the town of Vitória along with the Socceroos. Apparently their entourage numbers 80. Not the team – that’s a separate figure – the entourage is 80. Even the hangers-on have hangers-on. Where does the money go? The buffet at the Golden Tulip Hotel in Vitória is a good place to start.

  Camero
on finish the World Cup the worst performing team. Brazil top Group A on goal difference, with fine margins about to become a common theme.

  28 June 2014, Belo Horizonte: BRAZIL 1 CHILE 1 – Brazil win 3-2 on penalties

  To get the most out of an experience like watching Brazil in Brazil means spending time in a place where they have very little, but want to give you everything. Back at Barreira do Vasco, home of king Carlao and Conor Hartnett, the Irish-Aussie who runs a community football project in the favela to give kids a glimmer of hope, the senses are overloaded. Green and yellow streamers and Brazilian flags hang from every building, every wire and every doorway. The place Brazil wants to forget doesn’t forget its football team.

  Barreira do Vasco favela during the day.

  Barbeques are firing in streets and alleyways, smoky fumes wafting from upturned metal drums, simple metal grills ready for chicken soaked in garlic and beef lathered in salt. Conor quietly asks if it’s okay to chip in 20 reals (about AUD$10) for lunch, which is quite possibly the most ridiculous question he’s ever asked me, given the priceless nature of the experience. Two hundred reals would have been a bargain.

  The locals chatter nervously about what Chile can do and what Brazil might struggle with, then cheer impulsively when their heroes flash up on the screens, which are dotted throughout the favela, pointing out onto the street as this community embraces their chosen 11.

  The cheers become screams of unhinged joy when David Luiz bundles a corner home at the far post to give Brazil a 1-0 lead. The shot of him galloping like an unbroken colt with his wild mane of curls flying every which way is the perfect metaphor for how his country, and this underprivileged pocket of Rio, are feeling at this moment.