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?