First published online by Ace Magazine online June 2014.

For a few brief minutes there was real hope in every Mexican heart that they would go and get at least a couple of more goals against Croatia and equal amount of dread that Brazil would somehow slice open the Cameroon defense simply at will in equal response. Such were the margins for error that the Gods of expectancy and the false idols of the disappointed held Damocles’ Sword of all four of the squads in this particular group.

If there was pressure on Brazil, and there was in abundance, then the pressure on Mexico and Croatia must have been immense. It might not have been as noticeable in the stands or on the streets of every Brazilian town, city or remote posting but it was there in every beating heart, every stretched sinew raising up in awaiting glory, or slacked and dejected as the inevitable loss meant leaving on a jet plane home.

Win and you were through to the last 16, it was that simple for both sides, the dangling sword pushed back to the minds of the starting 22 and perhaps a few with a different type of romance in their hearts, knew that a draw would be enough for both if Cameroon did the completely unexpected and gave Brazil a thrashing. That was never going to happen, not even for the mischievously dreamy.

Mexico may have started with the slight edge of favouritism attached to their distinctive green shirts; they after all have somehow managed to make the last 16 on many occasions but Croatia have in the past made the semi-finals of the competition. If that meant the game was going to explode in dramatic fashion, then for at least the first half alone, it was like watching two grandmasters playing Chess but with each player only being able to move a pawn each time. Not that it wasn’t a spectacle, but nothing seemed to want to bubble away, as if you had found yourself in the vicinity of Yellow Stone Park on the day it was rumoured that the big one was going to happen and then just hearing a small squelch and a blade of grass wondering why it had just got a little warm under foot.

Attack was cancelled out by defence, the weight of expectation grew and then Brazil and Cameroon both started to play their game their way, leaving those in the stands and the two managers, both experts in their way, wondering just how this was going to resolve itself. Nobody would have been surprised to see a Mexican Wave break out in frustration and perhaps the tiniest bit of boredom; you don’t normally see the Mexican’s start it though.

The incredibly passionate and somewhat charismatic Mexican Manager, Mr. ******* is perhaps one of the Cup’s most likeable men, the hunger and appetite he displays on the touch line is as great as watching the master technician, the late and much missed Brian Clough, swat away ludicrous stupidity in the television studio but hunger and desire only get you so far. If your manager is the summit of your team then you need a firm rock to which to place the expectation on and you don’t get much better in world football, save perhaps Belgium’s Vincent Kompany or Germany’s Klose, than Rafael Márquez. This old warhorse, a magnificent servant to his country over four different World Cups rose both in stature and in height to give the Mexican team a deserved one nil lead. From there, Croatia were not going to respond, the only question was could Mexico get just the right amount of goals in which to make it completely uncomfortable for the hosts and force them to play the much fancied Holland in the last 16.

Croatia had played well, of that there was no doubt but at times they seemed more sterile than a bottle of milk left on a doorstep in Birmingham, there was flair, anger and in players such as ex-Manchester City player Vedran Ćorluka, Ivan Perišić and Mario Mandžukić they had the spine of a great team but you need a good body, not just three or four players and once that first goal went it, hearts must have sank so quick that it made for grim viewing.

With goals in rapid succession by Andrés Guardado and Manchester United’s Javier Hernández, a clever well placed header as he run on to a sublime back header, Croatia’s only response was a very late consolation and a red card for substitute Ante Rebić.

Mexico fully deserve their place in the last 16 but you can’t see them outgunning Holland’s well drilled machine. Once more it will surely be a step to far to imagine that they will make the Quarter Finals and they can only kick themselves for wasted opportunities against Croatia and Cameroon, especially the latter who have come to this Wold Cup perhaps in the worst state that they have managed for a quarter of a century. No amount of gloss in their game against Brazil will undo the damage of a team that argues over bonus money before they have even got on a plane to cross the South Atlantic.

If tournaments were won on how well the manager is liked by player and fan alike, then arguably nobody would bat an eye-lid to see Mexico’s manager        being presented the trophy in a couple of weeks-time, a leader who inspires is a necessity, a leader who captivates the opposition is priceless. Mexico will go into the game against Holland in good heart, it is just a shame they didn’t win the group.

Croatia: Stipe Pletikosa, Darijo Srna, Vedran Ćorluka, Dejan Lovren, Šime Vrsaljko, Ivan Rakitić, Danijel Pranjić, Ivan Perišić, Luka Modrić, Ivica Olić, Mario Mandžukić.

Substitutes: Mateo Kovačić, Ante Rebić, Nikica Jelavić.

Mexico: Guillermo Ochoa, Francisco Rodríguez, Rafael Márquez, Héctor Moreno, Paul Aguilar, Miguel Layún,  José Juan Vázquez, Héctor Herrera, Andrés Guardado, Giovani dos Santos, Oribe Peralta.

Substitutes: Javier Hernández, Carlos Peña, Marco Fabián.

Referee: Ravshan Irmatov

Venue: Arena Pernambuco, Recife.

Scorers: Croatia, Ivan Perišić. Mexico: Rafael Márquez, Andrés Guardado, Javier Hernández.

Final Score: Croatia 1-3 Mexico.

Man of the Match: Rafael Márquez. 

Ian D. Hall