Russia: 2018 World Cup final (Moscow)

This is part 2 of my 2018 Russia World Cup story. Check out what happened in St Petersburg here.

I'd booked a cheap hostel for the Saturday and Sunday nights, just so I could make use of its showers and luggage locker before and after the match.

It was in the clubbing district of Red October, just across the river from the Kremlin, and we therefore experienced the strange sensation of driving past clubbers falling out of venues at 9am on our arrival.

Alan and I walked from there into the Kremlin and met Tim, Tyrone and Alan at a cafe next to Red Square.

I went to Moscow on the way back from Everton's match in Krasnodar in 2014 so was familiar with the main tourist attractions. It meant I wasn't desperate to tear around the city ticking off sights and could enjoy the day at a more leisurely pace.

After coffee I went to a pedestrianised street off Red Square where I met my old England-supporting friend Pete (aka, PJB). While waiting for him I got chatting to a Russian who was sitting next to me on a bench.

He worked for PepsiCo and spoke great English. He explained how positive the World Cup had been for the Russian people, in that it had 'put a smile on our faces and changed how other people look at Russia'.

He was particularly pleased that the hooligans, who had been warned against starting trouble by the authorities, had listened to their advice and downed tools.

As was becoming the norm, he went off to get a drink and came back with one for me: a local IPA. A good bloke with a good taste in alcohol.

It was obvious by lunchtime that the Croats had significantly outnumbered the French in the streets. Their checkaboard shirts were everywhere, and their songs filled the air.

The French fans were dotted about, more discreet and not obviously grouping together around a shared repertoire of songs.

PJB hadn't changed in the few years since we last met. Still deadpan funny and great company for a few hours in a foreign city.

We spent many a trip together in the mid-noughties following England abroad to places like Poland, Liechtenstein, Portugal and Sweden.

We took a walk down the 'bar street' where we'd met, and everyone wanted a picture with the replica World Cup trophy that I'd bought from eBay a few days before heading to Russia.

I got the idea in 2014 when in Brazil for the World Cup. At one of the games, a fan had a full-sized replica trophy and it made me smile. And lots of others too. My first instinct was to want to hold it (and then get a picture of me holding it).

In Russia it was causing the same reaction in fans from all over the world. Parents were tapping me on the shoulder and asking if their kids could have a pic with it, fully-grown men and women wanted a pic with it, everyone wanted a pic with it.

For some of the afternoon I had to put it back in my bag as we couldn't walk two metres without being stopped.

At least five people asked me how much I'd sell it for. Basically, next time you go to a World Cup take a batch of replica trophies and you'll pay for your whole trip in profits.

Kick-off was at 6pm and I wanted to sample the pre-match build-up near the stadium, so I left Pete in town (who unfortunately didn't have a ticket) and got the metro to the Sportivaya stop.

After all the positivity that my trophy had received in Red Square, it was a shame that the stewards on the turnstiles at the stadium told me I couldn't take it into the match.

Their reason was valid. It was too big and heavy and could be dangerous if used either as a weapon or dropped onto someone from a height.

I understood, but still tried my luck and attempted a couple of different turnstiles before accepting defeat and taking to the left luggage tent outside the perimeter of the ground.

The small festival outside the stadium was an ode to FIFA's corporate greed. Everything badged up and branded by one of their myriad sponsors.

I was half-expecting to see the great and good of the celebrity world, but made do with a passing Gordon Taylor (PFA chief) and a brief chat with comedian Rob Beckett in the queue for the FIFA merchandise shop.

There was a good spread of fans from around the world - the Willy Wonka Golden Ticket holders for this game of all games - including the ubiquitous Mexicans.

I'm always surprised that major football matches I go to - Premier League games, matches at Wembley, World Cups - don't have better pre-match and half-time entertainment for fans.

I've heard American sports, particularly American football and baseball, have more entertaining stuff laid on and do a better job of really engaging fans - particularly during breaks in play.

Anyway, after an hour or so hanging out near the sterile Coca-Cola DJ tent, including sinking a couple of tepid Budweisers, we headed into the ground.

Tim had bought seats in the FIFA resale period, using a clever technique of keeping multiple browser windows open and hitting FIFA.com as soon as the ticket portal opened. He got lucky, getting four Category 3 tickets at face value (£330...)

Our tickets were in the back row of the upper tier, but the way the ground was designed meant we had a great panoramic view of the whole spectacle - and an added bonus of no people behind us telling us to seat down, knocking drinks over us, etc.

The match itself has been credited as the best World Cup final since 1986. Croatia were clearly up for it from the first whistle, flying in to tackles and running around like rabid dogs on Red Bull.

We had the first use of VAR at a World Cup final, for a supposed handball claim against Perisic in the area. The ref made the bizarre decision that it was a deliberate handball, despite the Croat being about a foot away when the ball was deflected at speed on to his arm.

So, a penalty to France to make it 2-1, and from that point on it was difficult to see a way back for the underdogs.

We had the official French section directly below us, so when the final whistle blew we went and stood among them for the trophy presentation. They sang the Marseillaise, waved their flags and hugged.

I was happy for them but my heart on the day was with Croatia. So close to claiming the biggest prize in world sport.

Between the final whistle and the trophy presentation, the heavens opened. We were under cover, as was Vladimir Putin who had a lackey hold an umbrella over him, but the players and dignitaries were completely soaked.

There was an almighty firework display exploding from the roof of the stadium and gold ticker-tape was cannoned into the air.

A fitting end to what was probably the best tournament - for football - I can remember.

Luckily the rain had abated when we left the ground and I made my way back to town on the metro where I met Tim, Alan and Tyrone back in Red Square.

Fans were milling around, lying or sitting on the cobbles under the shadow of the Kremlin and the stunning Basil cathedral and soaking up the last of the special World Cup atmosphere.

We hung around for a bit, chatting to other tourists and soaking up the final hours of an incredible World Cup.

We had early flights out of Moscow in the morning and, following a tedious search to find a usable toilet in the streets surrounding Red Square, headed back over the river to my hostel.

I had a shower, booked another Uber, and Alan and I headed off to the airport.

Our journey home was via Riga in Latvia, where we were delayed for a few hours. Having had no sleep for over 30 hours and following the stinky, sleep-deprived train from St P to Moscow, I was exhausted.

But what a trip, and what a lucky man I am. Most people won't get to go to a World Cup final, and I've now been to two (2006 was the other).

Maybe a hat-trick before I'm gone?

Russia: 2018 World Cup (St Petersburg)

The World Cup Final. Up there with the Super Bowl, the Olympic 100m final and a handful of other sporting events that touch a global audience like no other.

I wasn't planning on making Russia 2018 my fourth World Cup as a visiting fan.

Like many others, the pre-tournament scare stories about hooliganism, a perceived cold welcome from locals and the sheer size and logistical headache of travelling round such a large country had wedged in my brain. Not many expected it to be a classic tournament for the visitor.

But in April I received a text out the blue from an Evertonian friend of mine. Using some technical wizardry that involved having multiple browsers hitting FIFA.com simultaneously during the first-come-first-served ticket sale, Aussie Tim had managed to buy four seats together at the World Cup Final.

What a guy.

Because I'd sorted him out a few times with Everton tickets, he asked if I wanted to come.

I took, ooh... at least half a second to say "yes" - of course I would come.

Scroll forward a couple of months to the night before my departure for Russia. It was England v Croatia in the World Cup semi-final. The whole country was at bursting point, the emotional ride of the previous three weeks culminating in one nervy night to reach our first ever final on foreign soil. And I would be there.

Except, of course, it went horribly south in the second half and during extra time, when England ran painfully out of steam. It wasn't us who would face France in Moscow, but Croatia.

So I made the trip to Gatwick on Thursday 14 July on a slight downer if I'm honest. I was 25 minutes away from watching England in a World Cup final for probably the only time in my lifetime and we let it slip.

But by the time we were in the air and on our way I'd pulled myself together and started to get excited about visiting a tournament that I'd enjoyed watching so much through my TV.

Tim had developed a very sensible plan of flying into St Petersburg, spending a couple of nights there, watching the 3rd v 4th play off game and then getting a sleeper train to Moscow - arriving on the morning of the final.

Ticking off St Petersburg AND taking in another stadium/match AND with the added bonus of that match now being England v Belgium all felt like a real bonus.

We arrived in St Petersburg late and got an Uber to our various hotels. I checked in to mine - the Dom Ramonyov - and had a quick nightcap at a local Paulaner pub before bed.

On the Friday morning I went for a run, taking in some of the residential streets near my hotel and then along a stretch of one of the many rivers that make St Petersburg known as 'the Venice of the north'.

Having showered and changed I went and met Tim and his mates from Australia, Tyrone and Alan. They were perfect travelling companions for the three days I was out in Russia. A good laugh, laid back and as excited as I was to be at the World Cup.

Tim, a master organiser, had scouted out a boat tour that set off at lunchtime. Beforehand we took a stroll along Nevsky Prospect, the main artery of St Petersburg, and stopped off for a photo of the Saviour on the Spilled Blood church.

It was a stunning building, unfortunately partly shrouded in tarpaulin, but worth seeing nevertheless.

Our boat tour was a pleasant little journey up and down several of St Petersburg's many waterways, finishing in the main Neva river with a view of the famous Peter and Paul fortress.

Afterwards, Tim had sorted out an Uber to take us to the Peter and Paul fortress island where he had reserved us a table for lunch.

The restaurant, Koryushka, was in a great setting overlooking the river. We took a table on the terrace and had a two-course meal with drinks. We had various versions of cooked sprat to start - fried, grilled, pickled - and I had more fish for my main with some green mashed potato on the side.

With stomachs full we took a slow walk back towards the heart of the city, crossing two bridges covered with colourful World Cup flags and stopping at the world famous Hermitage museum.

On the walk back to my hotel I spotted a small hubbub outside a department store, people craning their necks to see something - or someone - inside.

I got closer, squeezed through the small crowd and into the store where, in front of me, stood the greatest footballer of all time.

Unfortunately it wasn't the real Lionel Messi, obviously, but it raised many smiles and double-take glances from people browsing the shelves of the bookshop.

It was just one example of why I love World Cups and European Championships. You're never far away from random, unexpected events.

Like the time in Cologne during World Cup 2006 where I watched transfixed as a small dog wearing a police uniform seemingly drove himself round the city centre on a scooter.

Or the time when we bumped into a couple of mascots (who looked nothing like the official mascots) on a deserted Shevchenko avenue in Kyiv ahead of the Italy v England Euro 2012 quarter-final.

Anyway, back to St Petersburg and Friday night - which was to be our only 'out out' night of the trip. The Saturday night was on a sleeper train and the Sunday night of the final was going to end with a 4.30am flight from Moscow towards home.

We started the night at a ribs restaurant called Frank that was straight out of Shoreditch. Street art on the walls, heavily tattooed serving staff and house music pumping out of the speakers.

I had a fantastic meal of beef ribs and craft beer, and then we hit the town. Frank was perfectly positioned at the bottom end of the best bar street in St Petersburg - Rubinstein St - so we spent the next few hours bar-hopping our way slowly north back to Nevsky Prospect.

We started at a vodka and liquor distillery where we had cowberry (?) liquors with a beer chaser, and then moved on to various other watering holes. Rubinstein was a great find: literally bar after bar with the occasional residential block in between.

My final stop was towards the top end of Nevsky Prospect where we chatted to a Russian woman and an Indian chap she had befriended during the World Cup. He was a passionate football fan who had travelled all over the country during the tournament, and she was passionate about her country - including having strong views about how the World Cup had papered over many of the societal cracks in Russia.

In the same bar we met a Russian guy in an England shirt who had a Bristolian accent. He had lived in England for most of his life but came back regularly to visit family in St Petersburg.

Also there was ex-Swansea midfielder Leon Britton, who we briefly chatted to. He was at the tournament as an England fan and like us he had a ticket for the final.

I got home in the early hours, leaving Alan as the last man standing. The next day we found out he'd got home at 7.30am after being led astray to some far-away nightclub by our Bristolian Russian friend.

Saturday was the day of England v Belgium. Unlike my travelling companions I had a ticket for the match, secured for me by Tim a few weeks before, and was free to enjoy another day of sightseeing.

(They all managed to get tickets in the end, two of them during the afternoon and Tim just before kick-off outside the ground.)

I did so much walking on that Saturday. Up, down and around Nevsky Prospect I went, taking in the stunning St Petersburg architecture and enjoying the buzz of being in a World Cup city on match day.

My final route towards the ground took me past the vast St Isaac's cathedral, then onto a famous statue of St Peter on horseback, and up to the river.

I had an 'Argentine burger' on a boat moored on the quayside...

...and then walked over a bridge to Vasilyevsky island. It was nice to take a breather from the non-stop hustle and bustle of Nevsky Prospect in a more residential neighbourhood.

I stopped for a drink on the way to the metro, then joined the hordes of fans headed to the match.

The imaginatively-titled Saint Petersburg Stadium resembles a massive flying saucer that's decided to make an emergency landing on a spit of land outside a city in northern Russia.

As with many of the stadia used for Russia 2018, it was purpose-built for the tournament. The good news is that it is not destined to become a white elephant, as is the case with so many venues following major Olympic or World Cup events.

Zenit St Petersburg now call the stadium home and a good job too, seeing as it is reckoned to be one of the most expensive stadiums ever built and was delivered nine years behind schedule.

Following a slightly farcical schlep from one side of the stadium to the other in order to enter the perimeter of the ground via one of the official main gates, I stopped briefly to take in the sights and sounds of a World Cup pre-match in full swing.

If you've never been to a World Cup, you really must go. It's an amazing experience for the senses: the colour and sounds of the fans, the amount of different nationalities, ages, expectations. It's the world's biggest party and shows football - and its fans - and its very best.

At Russia 2018 there was huge representation from Central and South America. Colombia brought tens of thousands, as did Peru (playing in their first World Cup since 1978), and the Mexicans were their usual World Cup selves: an enormous green wave of sombreros, Mariachi bands and noise.

In St Petersburg I saw dozens of different countries' shirts represented, along with thousands of locals who were clearly revelling in hosting such a great party for the world.

Having eventually found my seat up in the gods I took sight of the stadium bowl for the first time:

I loved it. Steep stands in a continuous bowl. A real cauldron.

Not to put a dampener on things, but the 3rd v 4th play off match at a World Cup is fairly meaningless.

Do you remember who came third at the 2014 World Cup? 2010? No, nor me.

I was even at the 2006 World Cup 3rd v 4th play off and I couldn't tell you the score or who Germany were playing (they won, it was in Stuttgart and that's all I can tell you).

Here's a free idea from me to Gianni Infantino for the 2022 tournament: scrap the 3rd place play off. No-one wants it, no-one cares.

As for the match itself, Belgium were the better team; England were probably wishing they were already back home soaking up the adulation of unlucky beaten semi-finalists.

England had a couple of chances but Belgium always looked like they could put their foot on the gas and tear through our defence if they really had to. And towards the end that's what Eden Hazard did to wrap up the game. 2-0 Belgium.

I had a genial chap next to me - a Russian named Giorgy - who started each half with a four-pint carry case. Halfway through the second half he disappeared for a while and came back with another couple of pints, one for him and one for me, plus a packet of peanuts. Nice bloke.

I took a slow walk back to the metro afterwards, enjoying the atmosphere and sitting for a while on a fountain while thousands of fans walked past. I spoke to the 'King of Polish Fans' (it said so on his hat, so must be true), who was at his 11th World Cup where he had watched more than 140 games. Fair play that man.

Back in town I met the others for a bite to eat near the train station, then headed back to my hotel to get my bag.

It was a hot and humid day, and by this stage I was feeling pretty scuzzy. I hadn't showered since leaving the hotel at 11am that morning and 12 hours later I was beginning to whiff.

I asked the receptionist at the hotel if I could take a shower in a spare room, and offered to pay for the privilege, but he shook his head. His English was non-existent, and I wasn't sure he fully understood what I was asking.

In desperation, I asked a fellow guest who had just come in through the front door whether she could speak to him and ask on my behalf. Luckily she spoke a small bit of English and was fluent Russian. Unluckily, the answer was still no.

Amazingly she then stopped, turned round and said she thought I could shower in her bathroom. She had to go and check with her boyfriend.

Five minutes later she came out, said I could use her shower, and so that's what I did. Just another example of Russian generosity that I experienced throughout my short trip.

I headed to the station for my overnight sleeper to Moscow.

When I got in my 4-berth cabin a father and son occupied the two spots across the way from me. The bunk above me was vacant.

With a couple of minutes to spare before departure, the final occupant of our cabin entered.

Straight away my heart sank. In front of me was a gruff, drunk Russian man in a faded Manchester United shirt. The first thing I noticed was his smell. He stank of too much booze, too many fags and not enough soap. It was a grim sensory overload.

As our train trundled slowly south, out of St Petersburg and down towards Moscow, all I could smell was this guy. His trainers were underneath my bed, only adding to the fetid, almost vomit-inducing stench already in the cabin.

And then came the noises. He was lying on his back like a beached whale, mouth fully open and snoring like a foghorn. Every three or four minutes he had a coughing fit which made me jump.

At 3am and having had no sleep, I went and knocked on the guard's cabin. He was asleep, so I felt guilty for waking him but I was at the end of my rope.

He came with me to my cabin, recoiled at the smell when I opened the door and we both then attempted to shake the drunkard awake. He didn't move.

The guard then went and fetched me some earplugs, but I tried to explain I already had some and that the guy's snoring and coughing still got through, but to no avail.

My plea was to get use of a different bed, but the train was full and he was insistent that I couldn't sleep in the spare bed in his cabin. I had no option to crawl back into my smelly, noisy cave.

I managed to drop off to sleep at some point between 4-5am, not long before being woken by the guard at 7am with a breakfast of rubbery cheese pancakes.

Kill me now.

The guy above me woke up about 10 minutes before we pulled in to Moscow at 8am. He was completely oblivious to how he'd spoiled my night, the guard's night and the nights of the father and son in our cabin. I shot him a dead-eye look out of personal frustration, but he probably just thought I was slightly rude or unhinged.

Outside the station we crawled into an Uber that took us to my hostel (Tim and crew were in a different cabin on the same train). I was exhausted, but this was World Cup final day. Time to perk up and get lively.

Read the Moscow leg of my 2018 Russia World Cup trip here.