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World Cup Diary: Good to be back in the States as England vs Argentina looms large here in Atlanta

Twenty-four years on from being in Sapporo to see David Beckham’s penalty ensure England beat Argentina on the northern Japanese island of Hokkaido during the 2002 World Cup, I simply couldn’t keep away from the mouth-watering prospect of being in Atlanta for this week’s semi-final between the two fierce rivals.

Good to be back in the States, here in Atlanta. CREDIT: Layth (@laythy29)

A full forty years on from being allowed to stay up late to watch the worst and best of Maradona beamed in from Mexico - as the Little Genius’ two goals against Bobby Robson’s side, one stunningly good, one gut-wrenching awful was enough to knock the Three Lions out of the 1986 tournament - there was no way I could keep away from the tantalising action.

Regular readers will know I spent an incredible, never-to-be-forgotten, life-affirmingly enjoyable, rollickingly fun, month in North America during the opening stages of the 2026 version of the global jamboree. I reported on seven matches, including all three England group games, as I flitted from Toronto to Seattle, Dallas to San Francisco, Boston, Philly and New Jersey/New York, clocking up more than 15,000 miles in the process, as well as visiting places as varied as Niagara Falls, Kurt Cobain’s house, Southfork and JFK assassination-related Dealey Plaza, the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz, Cheers Bar, the Liberty Bell. Not to mention making a pilgrimage to Bruce Springsteen-related Asbury Park, even being at a music festival at the Stony Pony, while also searching out key Soprano’s scenes across New Jersey, and much, much more.

From late night tequila-fuelled karaoke sessions, to ‘winning’ a Cheers certificate for demolishing a triple decker ‘Norm Burger’, to attending Thomas Tuchel press conferences, and filing a raft of articles and features for my newspaper, from the homeless and those suffering from addictions at a Oakland homeless shelter I sought out, to a day at the rejuvenated New York Cosmos, to experiencing Juneteenth celebrations in San Francisco, to an exploration of America in its 250th year in the Philly building that the Declaration of Independence and the US constitution was signed in, to the vibrant markets of Toronto, Seattle, and Philly.

I also spoke with a large number of Americans who told me what they think of Trump, and their country, not to mention detailing scrapes including walking a mile along the freeway in Foxboro after refusing to pay $100 for a taxi journey of a mile, as well as driverless cars, delivery robots and cyber trucks. And that’s without mentioning a got another tattoo, this time in Haight-Ashbury.

Staying with old uni friends in Toronto and Seattle, as well as old pals in their family’s Dallas mansion, to a humble motel, I got the inside track on an endlessly fascinating country, including talking to locals everywhere from Jack Kerouac’s old haunts to New Jersey natives in Hoboken.

So, after all that, was it no surprise that I decided to make a last-gasp dash back to the States for what could be a defining clash in Thomas Tuchel’s reign as England boss.

After a gruelling month away, it was great catching up with my wonderful partner Faye back in Blighty at the start of July, along with a restoratively relaxing birthday week in Tunisia with the love of my life. Even if we were actually in the air during England’s 2-1 win over Norway while flying home, the pilot informing us that Tuchel’s side had beaten the Scandinavians the moment we landed at Luton, thankfully ending our airborne purgatory in not knowing how the quarter-final clash was going.

Indeed, it was thanks to Jude Bellingham’s crucial pair that saw the Three Lions triumph over Martin Odegaard’s side, Erling Haaland and all, that facilitated my trip back across the pond.

How so? Because Norse Air - in anticipation of jetting hundreds of Norwegian fans to an Atlanta semi-final - had chartered a plane.

Let’s let Norse Atlantic chief executive Eivind Roald explain: “We have spent the past weeks helping Norwegian fans follow their team across the United States.

“After England’s win, it felt completely natural to offer English supporters the same opportunity. Gatwick is one of our large airports and we want to help make the semi-final journey possible for as many fans as we can.

“These flights are not just about getting from one airport to another. They are about bringing supporters together. We have seen how powerful that can be for Norwegian fans, and we want England supporters to feel that the semi-final starts the moment they step on board.”

He added: “Of course we would have loved to see Norway continue. But if anyone was going to end the Norwegian dream, there is something special about it being England.

“The football ties between Norway and England run deep. Many Norwegians have grown up with English football as part of their lives and are eager to see ‘football coming home.’

“We learned from the Norwegian flights that something special happens when supporters travel together. Songs start, strangers become friends and the whole aircraft becomes part of the build-up. That is what we want to create for England fans on the way to Atlanta.”

Which is why I ended up on a Norse Air 338-passenger Boeing 787 Dreamliner packed full of England fans on Tuesday.

Because with the crazy prices quoted by established airlines - hang your head in shame BA - I simply wouldn’t have been able to fly back, not at those eye-watering prices.

Which is why I found myself in the glittery shopping mall that now passes for Gatwick Airport on Tuesday afternoon.

Including, it has to be said, the acres of plentiful duty free on sale under bright lights, complete with meek signs hidden away that extol the virtues of ‘responsible drinking’. Yes, well, that’s all well and good, but when passengers are faced with two for one deals on oversized Jägermeister bottles, amid a raft of other such tantalising offers for binge drinkers, it’s hard to see such temperance signs are anything other than lip service in the pursuit of a relentless cash grab.

Indeed, it was instructive that the only time the Norse crew got annoyed was when they archly noted over the tannoy that a few England fans had been seen pouring and drinking their own alcohol, rather than buying the booze on sale on the plane itself.

While the crew’s attempts to get perplexed Three Lions supporters to do the ‘Viking Row’ fell flat, the version of Wonderwall - thankfully now usurping the wretchedly cliched Sweet Caroline as the country’s unofficial national anthem - that an excitable flight attendant sang over the tannoy, managed to stir a number of fans into singing along with. All of which ensured the flight was amiable, even if, as befits a budget airline, the headrest on the back of my seat fell off.

I have to say thanks to the stewardess, who, after trying and failing, to find the in-flight engineer (”he’s on his break,” I was told, prompting the question, what was he on his break from?) handed me a big pillow, that allowed me to lean my head back enough to nod off as I clocked up another 4,286 miles during this tournament as we made it back to the United States of America.

It was also interesting to note the border guard that greeted me once we had decamped from our plane at the vast Hartsfield–Jackson Atlanta International Airport was more interested to know if I had brought any food into the USA from the UK: “In particular from Marks & Spencer, Tesco or Waitrose…” No, I replied, left to eternally ponder why Aldi & Lidl were not on the list…Although as someone pointed out, it was good that there were more “food sniffing beagles than drug dogs at ATL...”

The thing you realise when you enter America is that everything is so much bigger. Such was the journey on the shuttle bus between the international terminal and the domestic building, I genuinely thought I’d got on the wrong coach, with my vehicle busy heading into the city centre. I was mistaken. The journey simply took us around the airport itself.

As I disembarked, and inquired of the driver whether I was in the right place for the MART - the Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority train - the man said with a lyrical, laconic drawl, informing me his endeavours had taken me “to the door”. Even if his intoning of those three words felt almost as long as the drive itself.

On my first trip to America’s Deep South, I was gradually experiencing the beguiling vowel-flattening of the traditional southern drawl.

Locals’ lackadaisically leisurely cadence was real. I asked a gentleman on the platform if the MART was heading to midtown, where my hastily booked hotel was situated, only to be met by an elongated silence, prior to a lengthy affirmation that stretched the three letters in the word ‘yes’ into James Joyce-ian prolonged stream of consciousness. Or so it felt. Either way, I was extremely taken by the supine articulation.

Exiting in midtown, I enjoyed another late-night stroll in an unfamiliar American city, which also underlined I had returned. It’s always good to throw myself into such things, even if, although it’s the early hours here, and the mercury says it’s 73 degrees, the humidity levels are nudging 95 per cent.

On my way to my hotel, at a deserted set of lights, a homeless man waved his arms, more in frustration than anger, as his silhouette amplified his actions, while a sign on a red brick church opposite read: “God takes pride in you.”

I enter my hotel, only to see a clutch of people clad in Argentina shirts in the lobby, wearing the iconic La Albiceleste strip - the white and sky blue stripes - as live TV broadcast also takes place in the bar, the bright lights serving as a focal point for excitable conversation aimed at the monitor, as the folks here and back home presumably discuss the fitness of Declan Rice, Jude Bellingham’s relationship with Thomas Tuchel, and possibly how high big Dan Burn can head the ball.

It’s good to be back in the States, back in the maelstrom of this gripping tournament, as we gear up for a clash for the ages, as I think to myself: I’m glad I didn’t miss out on this titanic semi-final that awaits.

See you at Atlanta Stadium on Wednesday.

World Cup newspaper articles and Substack links

https://morningstaronline.co.uk/article/cosmos-njs-legendary-club-refuses-die

https://morningstaronline.co.uk/article/rising-once-again

https://morningstaronline.co.uk/article/team-thats-building-future

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