Was that it, then? Was Sphephelo Sithole being caught in possession nine minutes into the opening game, Julián Quiñones running on to lash the ball through Ronwen Williams’s legs, was that when the football took over, the moment when concerns over the aggression of the major co-host faded away and the world got on with celebrating the great festival of humanity the World Cup ought to be?
It seems unlikely. Donald Trump’s war with Iran goes on, as do the outrages of his immigration police. But it’s not just that. Gianni Infantino has opted to run this tournament, uniquely in the modern age, without a local organising committee. That may not explain the shambolic organisation at the Azteca – the chaotic traffic, the non-existent signage, the absence of WiFi, the general lack of order – but it does make it harder to fix.
Not that Mexican fans cared much. This was an extremely comfortable victory and, while there will be few lower bars to clear in this tournament than this extremely disappointing South Africa, they can already start looking forward to the last 32.
“Football unites us all,” the voiceover at the start of the opening ceremony intoned, although not Somalian referees, Iranian backroom staff or indeed anybody who can’t afford to shell out thousands of dollars on a ticket. The football family these days is increasingly small and well-heeled.
At the 1986 World Cup, the stadium loudspeakers were suspended on cables over the centre-circle casting a spider-like shadow that became one of the signatures of the tournament. There was a similar shadow here, at least in the two hours before kick-off, but it was cast by a huge FIFA sign that hung dystopian over the pitch. For the game itself it was swung into a position high in one stand, from where, like a corporatist version of Sauron’s Eye, it glowered unblinking on the scene before it.
Yet for all the reservations, the multitude of problems in the buildup, the geopolitical anxieties, there was no denying the splendour of the setting, the sense of history that rolls down from the steep tiers of the stands. The stadium has been renovated, but it retains enough points of familiarity that it’s easy to conjure epiphanic moments from the stadiums past: it was there that Pelé paused before rolling the ball outside him for the overlapping Carlos Alberto, there that Manuel Negrete took off for his bicycle kick against Bulgaria, there that Diego Maradona picked up the ball before embarking on the dribble that culminated in his second goal against England.
There was no denying either, the colour or the noise. Outside the ground there had been mariachi bands, people in dog and pig heads and wrestling masks and a jazz sextet in matching lilac attire. Inside, it seemed everybody was wearing either a green, white or orange sombrero. The streets around the Azteca had been rammed since dawn, the atmosphere one of merry chaos.
The queue to buy beer at a 7-Eleven near the stadium stretched four thick, 50 yards from the door up the side of an unmoving traffic jam. Everywhere people were abandoning coaches and minibuses and joining the green swarm towards the stadium.
The emergence of the Mexico team to warm up was greeted with great roars and whistles. The mood in the buildup may have been of scepticism, but an hour before kick-off there was nothing but excitement and positivity, culminating in the great blizzard of sombreros as the countdown began – although there was a notable smattering of empty seats. Whether the decision to have the players line up around the centre-circle for the anthems was a success was debatable. The rationale had been that the traditional line meant the players’ backs were to half the stadium; this way, their backs were to the whole stadium.
There was soon another blizzard of sombreros, coupled with plumes of beer flying skywards. Raúl Jiménez had already had a shot shovelled wide by Williams when, with nine minutes gone, the South African keeper’s short pass put Sithole under pressure. He was disposed by Quinoñes, who cut inside and drilled his shot through Williams’ legs.
As if that weren’t bad enough for Sithole, the midfielder was sent off four minutes into the second half after bundling over Brian Gutiérrez – although he may point out that had Nkosinathi Sibisi not been dawdling behind the defensive line, the US-born midfielder would have been offside. Mexico had been well on top anyway, Quiñones sidefooting against the post six minutes before the break, but any vague hope South Africa may have had vanished in that moment.
The only question was the margin of victory. Raúl Jiménez arrived unmarked at the back post to head home Roberto Alvarado’s cross.
As South Africa lost hope and discipline, the substitute Themba Zwane was sent off with seven minutes remaining for reaching round from behind and clipping Alvarado in the face. There may be some frustration on the part of Mexico that they did not win more comfortably and rack up the sort of goal difference that would all but secure at worst a best third-place finish, and especially with César Montes’s needless late red card for a last-man foul on Khuliso Mudau.
But the tournament is underway and the hosts have a win; the broader problems, though, are nowhere near receding into the background.
