Another Final

[EvilDave]

“So it’s happening? We’re actually getting the game?”

The smile on the face of the questioner had to be seen to be believed – stretching from ear to ear, it came accompanied by wide eyes and a childish glow that could only be described as delight.

“Yes Jim, we’ve got a game. At least in theory. We’ve got two teams and a stadium at any rate. We’ve still got to get them into Russia.”

“I know, but that’s got to be the easy part, right? I mean, we’ve got two actual governing bodies to sanction the game, and a real ground to play it in. Sorting a few flights isn’t going to be hard is it?”

“Well we won’t be doing that, will we? It’ll be down to the FAs. But remember this is Russia after all – you can’t expect it all to be plain sailing.”

“You’ve always been the pragmatist, Ally. Sure there are a couple of hurdles in the way, but I think we can celebrate a little. Fancy a pint?”

“You know me Jim – these ones are on me.”

--

The idea was by no means their own – some 15 years before, college classmates Jim and Ally had stumbled across a film made by a Dutchman of a football match. This was, of course, no ordinary football match, but a report of The Other Final, a long-planned, FIFA-sanctioned match on the day of the 2002 World Cup Final in Yokohama between hosts Bhutan and the island of Montserrat – the two teams tied to the bottom of the FIFA world rankings. The home team recorded a thumping 4-0 win, helped by the game being played at an altitude of more than 7,000 feet above sea level.

The point of the match, and indeed the film, however, was not give the Bhutanese players a chance to celebrate their first ever win – and indeed clean sheet – nor to raise awareness of the plight of the Montserratians, their home island in the Caribbean having been devastated by volcanic eruptions which required the evacuation of two-thirds of the entire population. Instead, the man behind the project, frustrated by the failure of his native Netherlands to qualify for the World Cup, set out to highlight the unifying power of the game to cross cultural boundaries, overcome prejudices, and forge friendships between the most unlikely of peoples.

For Jim and Ally in Edinburgh, it was not this most noble of goals that caught their imagination, but simply the fact that anyone from outside of the footballing establishment could arrange an international match. As proud and therefore often-frustrated Scotsmen, they shared in the original filmmaker’s disappointment at seeing their nation miss out on yet another major tournament. As young men with degrees in creative media, they longed for a big break in their chosen field. As football-mad Hibees, they were keen to find a niche that allowed them to combine their passion with football with their fondness of film.

It had been Jim, always the more unpredictable of the two, who had first suggested repeating the trick in 2018. At first, Ally had been hesitant – after all, what did they know about arranging football matches? And what could they hope to achieve by simply copying someone else’s idea? However, over time, as the idea was tweaked, tempered, chopped and changed, a plan began to form. By the midpoint of the qualification campaign – which ultimately saw Scotland come much closer than either of them expected after a poor start – they were beginning to put flesh on the bones.

This moment, a full seven months out from the date of their proposed game, was one to celebrate. Securing the first team for their cause had been simple, but the second had proven more difficult. Their first choice opponents had refused, for understandable if not morally dubious reasons, leaving the whole project hanging by a thread. However, a re-publication of the rankings had given Jim and Ally the lifeline they needed – that same nation was now level on points with another, opening up another option in their bid to see the ‘worst two teams in the world’ face off. After many painstaking phonecalls and emails, they had their green light. All they had to do now was pull it off.
--

Welcome one and all to another EvilDave tale - this one with an obvious end point. Something a little different from me on this occasion, all the build-up to WC2018 had me thinking about how to work it into FM in a slightly less conventional way, and this is what we have. This will be short by my standards, and with a definite conclusion, but I hope that doesn't put you off - enjoy it while it lasts!

[CFuller]

Your international stories are always a joy to read, ED. This is a fantastic idea that I rather wish I'd thought of myself, so I look forward to seeing how this one pans out.

(And I'll try not to spill out any obvious jokes about Scotland... oh.)

[EvilDave]

Thanks Chris, glad to have you on board! And I won't promise this story will entirely void of jabs at the Scots...
---

In setting up their project, Jim and Ally needed something different – something that would set their film apart from their Dutch predecessor, and give them something to build upon. A firm foundation, if you will. The first conversation on the subject didn’t take long to hit on the ‘problem’ of the original. It was Ally would got the ball rolling.

“You know what the problem with The Other Final was, Jim?”

“Go on…”

“Montserrat.”

“That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it? I mean, they may have lost 4-0 but it’s hardly their fault they could barely breathe up there.”

“That’s not what I mean. Maybe I am being harsh, but it isn’t actually a country, is it?”

“How do you mean?”

“It’s a British territory. It isn’t independent. Their sprinters would compete for GB, their cricketers play for the West Indies, and all their footballers live and work in England. It doesn’t quite fit, do you know what I mean?”

“I do, but we’ve got to be careful. I mean, Scotland isn’t an independent nation either. Not yet, anyway.”

“Yeah, but most people understand Scotland as a country. Montserrat, not so much.”

“Alright, I’m with you. What are you getting at?”

“Independent countries only. The World Cup is supposed to be to crown the best country in the world, not the best overseas territory or imperial relic. Besides, it’s hardly fair to expect a team from somewhere like Montserrat, that doesn’t have it’s own national anthem…”

“Again with the Scotland thing.”

“You know what I mean. They aren’t in complete control of government, so can we expect them to put a decent, well-funded, fully-equipped team out? No, let’s go with sovereign states. Independent countries only.”

“OK, with we might shoot ourselves in the foot here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. If the bottom 20 in the rankings are all overseas territories or whatever we’re calling them, then we’re hardly putting the worst teams in the world against each other, are we? Get the list out – if there are options in the bottom handful, we’ll go with it.”

“Done, let’s pull the rankings up… Bingo.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. 210 sides in the rankings. Dead last, no points – Gibraltar and Anguilla. Neither make it. 209 is Montserrat, and I think we’ve established they’re a no-go. Coming in at 208 however, we have a winner. Any guesses?”

“San Marino?”

“Nope, right continent – Andorra.”

“Ah, good. Very good. Who comes next?”

“No good for 207, US Virgin Islands. Tied 206, Turks and Caicos Islands. These British islands aren’t much cop, are they?”

“Never mind that, where are our next guys?”

“I’m glad you asked. Proud joint-holders of position 206 in the FIFA World Rankings are none other than Eritrea. Africa’s finest.”

“Eritrea and Andorra. Reckon we can pull it off?”

“If that Dutch bloke did it, so can we.”

“Right you are. Let’s do this!”

[CFuller]

I'd have thought Djibouti would've been in with a decent shout. My own Tristan Egueh would be disappointed. 

Surprised to see San Marino above Andorra in the rankings as well.

[EvilDave]

Djibouti weren't much higher up to be honest - in the high 190s if memory serves me correctly. As for San Marino, my holidaying for a year seems to have helped them out - a couple of draws did just enough to boost them up a little!
--

As the lowest-ranked team eligible for the two friends’ grand plan, Andorra would naturally be their first port of call. The Pyrenean microstate had achieved precious little success in the sporting realm, despite being sandwiched between the two powerhouses of France and Spain, and retaining strong cultural links with the Iberian giants of Portugal. Nevertheless, with a population of less than 80,000 and a landscape far more suited to skiing holidays than football pitches, it is perhaps little surprise that they have consistently found themselves at the bottom of the European and indeed world football pile.

Initially however, that did not mean that they were keen to be recognised as such. An initial email to the Federacio Andorrana de Futbol went unanswered beyond a stock response, despite Ally laying out in some detail their plans for both the match and the film thereof. A second email, sent a week after the first, also passed without reply, and a phonecall to the head office was ended abruptly by the recipient, who had claimed in Catalan to not understand a word of English – not that Ally understood her native tongue either.

All of which left the two Scots at a bit of an impasse – they had identified their team, managed to make contact, and yet had very quickly found themselves as outsiders looking in. This made perfect sense to anyone looking on from a neutral perspective – why would the head of a national organisation pay attention to two undistinguished Scottish filmmakers looking to organise an event which had the potential for international embarrassment? – but neither Jim nor Ally were satisfied with coming up short. They would not fall at the first hurdle.

“You know what we need Jim?”

“What’s that pal?”

“We need a venue. We need to be able to go to Andorra and Eritrea and tell them that the match is arranged for this time on this date in this location, and if they’d be so kind as to show up with a football team each that’d be perfect, ta.”

“What did they do in The Other Final?”

“Played it in Bhutan, don’t you remember? Up in the clouds, I mean talk about home advantage.”

“Course they did, course they did. Reckon we make the deal sweeter if we mention that to Andorra?”

“What, offer them the chance to host it? I don’t reckon that’s right you know.”

“No, me neither. If we really want this to an alternative to the World Cup final, it’s got to be on neutral ground, hasn’t it?”

“It has mate. You know what else?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s got to be in Russia.”

“You’re not having me on are you?”

“Not at all. Think about it. It’s the day of the World Cup Final. I don’t know, Spain against Brazil or something. The whole world is watching. Apart from those that know, those that are sick of the FIFA gravy train, those that can’t deal with players sold for hundreds of millions and being paid just as much. Those that want to lead a grassroots revolution, get back to the love of the game. Those that follow football, not just the latest superstar to get his own emoji or corporate plaything. The people that should be given the tickets allocated to ‘friends of football’ but never do. You know, real people.”

“Bloody hell Jim, you running for Prime Minister or something? I think I’ve got something in my eye.”

“Come off it mate, you know what I mean. I’m dead serious. Those people get to go to a real football match, still as if it were the World Cup. Same excitement of travelling across the globe, same level playing field of neutral territory, but two proper teams. What do you think?”

“I think trying to find a stadium in Russia is going to be a bloody nightmare, that’s what I think.”

“But you think we should try, don’t you?”

“Well it’s either that or we see if Easter Road happens to be free.”

“OK, so Russia it is. Where’s the final being played?”

“Moscow. They’ve doing up the Luzhniki, aren’t they?”

“Sure. Now there are tonnes of teams in Moscow, they must all have a pitch going spare that day right?”

“Nah mate, I’ve got a better idea.”

“Go on.”

“Stay with me in Russia. Which one city has the biggest rivalry with Moscow?”

“I dunno mate, St Petersburg? I don’t know too many Russian cities.”

“Well, you know the right one. We set this up as a rival to the Moscow game in every sense of the word. Different teams, different ethos, different city.”

“Mate, let’s do it. I don’t know how, but let’s do it.”

[EvilDave]

After an understandable rejection from the virtual offices of Zenit St Petersburg – their new 65,000-seater Krestovsky Stadium was after all, after some 10 years in construction, due to host seven matches at the World Cup proper, including one of the semi-finals and third-place play-off – Jim and Ally wisely concluded that, in order to make their footballing dreams come true, they would need help. They were complete amateurs when it came to arranging fixtures, let alone international ones, and so they would need the wisdom of those that had gone before. Sensibly, given that at some point they intended to ask permission to ‘replicate’ their idea, they managed to contact Johan Kramer, the man behind The Other Final, to ask his advice on how to approach the matter.

An email exchange turned into a Skype conversation, with the Dutch master all too keen to share the lessons he had learned all those years ago. In many ways, his groundwork meant that the two eager Scots were already ahead of the game at the same stage – having already identified the teams, made initial contact, and given thought to a venue. However, perhaps in their amateur naivety and eagerness to get things moving, they had failed to address the one issue that would almost certainly open doors for them as they required pushing: money.

A somewhat vulgar topic at the best of times, Jim and Ally found themselves needing every bit of Johan’s wisdom on the matter which, while wide-ranging and far deeper than they had perhaps anticipated requiring, boiled down to a cold, hard truth which they would have to appreciate sooner rather than later – without a backer, sponsor or patron, they would simply be unable to go ahead.

The Dutchman’s technique had been to bring FIFA on board from the outset, selling the idea to them as one of celebrating the diversity and unique power of the beautiful game. With their approval, The Other Final become a sanctioned friendly fixture, meaning that Bhutan’s 4-0 win would go down in the history books as their first official win. With the support of the game’s governing body, money from elsewhere – to fund the air travel of the Montserratian squad and provide a coach for the Bhutan side, for example – was relatively easy to come by.

Jim in particular was not particularly thrilled by the prospect of getting into bed with the lords of the game – partly due to his own idealism, and partly because he knew that there was no way FIFA would agree to co-operate unless they were guaranteed something from the deal. Kramer’s game had been played a long way from the action in Yokohama, whereas their idea was to host the match right under the noses of Gianni Infantino and friends. Whereas the Dutchman had intended the celebrate the breadth of the beautiful game, the Scots’ desire was to stick two fingers up at the moneymen running the show. To go grovelling to them for their approval seemed too much like conceding defeat.

But the truth of the matter was there, and so even if the two friends could convince Andorra and Eritrea to take part in a non-sanctioned match, and convince someone in St Petersburg to let them use their stadium for the purpose, they would still need cash. They had the vision, they had figured out the important details – they just needed the money.

But where would it come from? If they were to truly reject the capitalist clutches of the modern game, then other conventional sources of income were also off-limits. Gambling firms, alcohol companies, fast food outfits, mobile phone providers and various other luxury brands. There was no doubt that having the backing of even one significant business ‘name’ would carry them a long way, but there was simply little appetite for going cap in hand to the very men they were hoping to stick two fingers up at.

With their meeting with Kramer over, Jim and Ally took a moment to reflect at how different their project actually was when compared to that of their inspiration. Yes, the premise was very much the same – although the parameters they had set varied slightly – but as their idea had formulated, the reasoning behind their match was heading in an altogether different direction. Whereas Kramer’s film could conceivably have been commissioned by the powers that be, the Scots’ variant was beginning to seem more and more like a protest against them.

And yet the question remained – who exactly was going to fund such a protest? Who were the nameless thousands, maybe even millions, who begrudged what their sport had become, and who were waiting for something to throw both their weight and their wallets behind? How could they possibly make contact?

[EvilDave]

The answer came like a lightning bolt – social media.

By this, Ally didn’t simply mean an unfollowed Facebook page pumping out vitriol every time Manchester United bought a player. No, it meant a calculated campaign – contacting influencers in the ‘Against Modern Football’ community, planting seeds in the minds of those behind Non-League Day, and ultimately going public with a project that was still very much a work in progress. The publicity would have to be careful enough to make sure that they couldn’t immediately be shut down by FIFA or the Russian authorities, but notorious enough to get people behind it.

The decision was made to use Kickstarter, and crowd-source the funds. It would, to Ally’s mind at least, provide the best chance of getting the money they needed. The only problem was, as Jim pointed out, they had no idea how much that was.

“How the hell do we know how much we’re going to ask for if we haven’t got a pricetag on anything yet? People aren’t just going to give us a blank sodding cheque!”

“Calm down mate, we won’t do anything until we’ve got a number on it.”

“Well we’d better start soon hadn’t we? How are we going to find out how much this sort of thing costs?”

“Trust me pal, I’m working on it. We’ve got Johan’s contact details – he can give us some idea about how much a refereeing team might want. We can figure out the costs of flights and visas to Russia…”

“Can you even fly from Eritrea to St Petersburg? Do you know that?”

“I don’t, but we can find out. There’s always a way. Anyway, I reckon the information is going to come to us anyway.”

“Oh yeah? How exactly is that going to happen?”

“Lose the aggro, will you? Listen, if we play this right – get somebody who knows what they’re doing to write us some PR, get the word out in the right circles, there’ll be people who want to help. Football is a massive community, and I reckon there might even be ex-pros who want to put their weight behind this.”

“Ex-pros? Who like?”

“I don’t know names, but just think about the amount of retired players you see in the media slagging off the FA, UEFA, FIFA, anybody really. There’s bound to be one of them that fancies sticking their name on this.”

“But it’s our deal, right?”

“Of course – but there’s no harm in having them be the face of things if that’s what it takes. Besides, it isn’t them that we’re after – it’s their contacts. The average pro must play for half a dozen clubs these days and who knows how many managers, each with their own relationships and connections. Once we get on the inside, we can start to pull strings, make things happen. They give us what we need in terms of information, we give a forgotten footballer a chance to get his name in the paper, and the game’s a good ‘un my friend.”

“You’re enjoying this now aren’t you?”

“Aren’t you Jim? This is exciting stuff – we can make history here!”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m behind you 100% of the way. I just don’t know why you think you’ve found a magic bullet that’ll get people to give us money.”

“We might just have to speculate to accumulate Jim, but this is going to work. Trust me on this.”

[EvilDave]

Over the next couple of weeks, Jim and Ally were plunged headlong into a world they had never experienced before – a world of covert meetings, newspaper interviews, Twitter exchanges, guest blog posts – the works. They had been careful to avoid the traditional mainstream media – that could wait until the match was just about to land – but otherwise every avenue was explored. They had been determined to find not only their way into the circles that mattered, but also to alert a much wider audience to their project. They succeeded on both fronts.

Amongst the ‘Against Modern Football’ crowd, the two Scots were the talk of the town. It was not a crowd that too many at the game’s top table paid much attention to, and so they considered themselves safe for the time being. Already, there were noises coming out of some quarters suggesting a crowd-sourcing project may well be a success, but there was still a clamour for that big-name backer, an old pro or major organisation, to throw their weight behind the project. To their surprise, Jim and Ally came across a surprising name – perhaps not the biggest out there, but certainly one of the most useful.

“Really? I know he’s a Hibee and all, but why does he want a piece of this?”

“Simple Jim – redemption.”

“You what?”

“First, he’s got a reputation a bad boy who blew it all on the bad stuff – and to be fair, he did. Second, he was managing in the diddy leagues, and that didn’t go all so well. Third, and I think most important, he’s got an axe to grind against the Russians.”

“Oh ****, of course – played for Spartak, didn’t he?”

“Lokomotiv, but close enough. Yeah, won them the cup final but couldn’t settle, reckons the experience pretty much broke him as a man. What that means for us though, is that we’ve got a bloke with contacts in the right country who has nothing to lose and is keen to get on board. What do you reckon?”

“I reckon we hear him out, see what he can offer us. Make it clear this isn’t the Garry O’Connor story, that he isn’t getting rich from it, that he isn’t going to launch a bleeding revolution, but that it’s a start. We can’t let him blow this as well.”

“Yeah, fair. I’ll give him a call.”

And so Ally did – a conversation which yielded plenty in the way of information. The former Scotland international had played under no fewer than three managers in his turbulent 18 months in Moscow, and was still in touch with two of them – Serbia boss Slavoljub Muslin and Anatoli Byshovets. The latter was an Olympic gold medallist with far-reaching connections within the Russian game, and O’Connor agreed enthusiastically to contact his old boss for more details, particularly surrounding a stadium in St Petersburg and how much something might cost.

The former striker was also happy to try and drum up support amongst his old clubs – not only at Hibs, but south of the border in Birmingham and Barnsley. Both were Championship clubs on the outside looking in, and would surely not take too much convincing to lend their support to an event. Furthermore, as a former pro he had access to the resources and networks of the Scottish PFA – containing, most notably, their advisors on all things media and publicity-related. The plan was very suddenly coming together.

[EvilDave]

December 1^st 2017 saw Russian soft power at its strongest, as the upper echelons of the world game converged on the Kremlin for the long-awaited World Cup draw. Hosts Russia were, perhaps unsurprisingly landed with one of the weaker groups alongside Peru, Sweden and Morocco, while British press attention was very much on England – the only one of the Home Nations to make it despite much promise elsewhere – who were handed an interesting trio of Argentina, Australia and debutants Panama in Group E. A second-round match-up with holders Germany, and yet another early exit, looked distinctly possible unless they could overcome Leo Messi’s 2014 runners-up.

However, for Jim and Ally, excitement was not to be found in Andrei Arshavin and Luis Figo pulling balls out of pots, but in an unexpected email from none other than the Andorran FA. It arrived just 20 minutes after the draw concluded – an indication that the Pyreneans had perhaps not been all too impressed with the glitz and glamour of FIFA’s pre-tournament showpiece – and gave them a hope that had not been as clear since the idea was formulated. For the first time, they had a willing participant.

The email, signed off personally by FA President Victor Lopez, was lengthy and overly formal in places, but the significant details were conveniently located together. Andorra

“are willing to participate in such a match, regardless of its international status, on the following conditions:

 a)    The match is held at either the Estadi Nacional, or on neutral territory. The Andorra National Team is not prepared to play an ‘away’ match to the benefit of a possible opponent.

b)    Travel, accommodation and all other reasonable expenses are provided for the Andorra National Team and associated support staff. If the match receives FIFA status, a match fee per player to be paid in addition – if not, the FAF is prepared to meet this expense.

c)     Match officials are provided of a neutral nationality.

d)    The opposition is found to meet the criteria of the original brief. A ‘mismatch’ will be unacceptable.

e)    Taking part in the match will result in no sanction or other disadvantage for the Andorran National Team in future campaigns.

We reserve the right to withdraw if any of these stipulations are not met, and …”

Needless to say, our two Scotsmen were ecstatic. The rest of the day disappeared in something of an alcohol-fuelled haze, with only the following evening providing an appropriate moment for Ally to return Mr Lopez’ message. Hearty thanks were, of course, the order of the day, along with clarification of the costs implied in the second point. If the Andorrans were able to put a price on their participation, it would put them in an excellent position to negotiate with the Eritreans – assuming they were ever willing to reply. The alternative was a personal trip to Asmara to visit the FA offices, and that was something that neither Jim nor Ally was particularly keen to try.

On that same day, there was further contact from O’Connor. The former Hibs frontman had been in touch with his old bosses in Russia and, after much digging and what sounded like some awfully-translated conversations, had come up with a venue for the match. Not only did the meet their basic requirements of being in Russia, but it also made sense. It was in St Petersburg, close enough to the new stadium to be a statement, but small enough that it would not raise eyebrows if it were rented out on the day of the World Cup Final – not least if it were rented out by a man who used to play in the country.

The Malaya Sportivnaya Arena at Zenit’s old Petrovsky Stadium seated just under 3,000 fans, which was probably about right for a potentially unsanctioned match between two unheralded minnows from different continents. Having hosted second tier football in the past, it was a suitable enough ground for the professional game, without looking too ostentatious. It would meet the criteria of the AMF brigade – a small arena rejected by the big boys in favour of a shiny, state-supported new stadium – and would not seem too outlandish a choice. It was also without a tenant, the only club regularly hosting matches at the MSA being Zenit-2 of the Russian second tier, who would understandably not be needing the ground during the duration of the World Cup.

All of which meant that for the ‘small’ sum of 1.5 million rubles, it could be theirs. Out came the calculators and currency convertors, and a figure was arrived at – roughly £20,000, give or take. It was a lot of money – certainly more than either Jim or Ally happened to have down the back of a sofa – but it was an achievable amount, particularly with the potential backing of a broad sweep of the footballing community. There was no rush to confirm whether or not they would take it, but mentally both Jim and Ally ticked the box – this would be what they took back to the Andorrans and put forward to the Eritreans, and this is where their dream game would take place. Just as soon as they could afford it.

[EvilDave]

“Jim, do you have any idea who James Montague is?”

“Sounds like a TV cop if you ask me.”

“That’s a no then?”

“Aye, it is.”

“Well, turns out he’s a football writer. A good one too, pays his way round the world writing stories on everyone from Botswana to Brazil. Written a couple of books, it turns out.”

“Ally mate, why do I need to know this?”

“Because he’s written to us.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and it isn’t good news.”

“Go on.”

“Eritrea. He wrote a chapter on them in one of his books, tracking some of the smaller teams from around the world in the build-up to Brazil. They were one of them. Point is, there’s no way we’re getting Eritrea to come and play.”

“Why not?”

“Several reasons, but the main one is they don’t really do playing away if they can help it. It’s a one-party government that doesn’t give a hoot for human rights – no religious freedom, no political opposition, no nothing. You don’t just leave Eritrea unless they want you to.”

“Surely they cut the footballers some slack though? Bit of positive PR must be good for a regime like that?”

“You’d think. Problem is, they have a big problem with defectors, as you might expect. Every time they play away, they lose a big chunk of the team to whichever country they go to. New squad needed every time. Part of the reason they’re so bad, I suppose.”

“So they aren’t in the habit of away friendlies then.”

“They aren’t really in the habit of friendlies at all, let alone away ones. No-one else is keen on a trip there, and they aren’t risking more men going AWOL for a friendly game. There’s more too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. If they accept our invitation, they’re in the spotlight. Get beaten by Andorra, watch players stay in Russia, people notice. Given they don’t do well with international relations, it’s no surprise they aren’t returning my messages.”

“That’s the second-worse team out of the running then?”

“Looks like it.”

“So what the hell do we do for a match now?”

“I don’t know Jim, not yet. For now, we keep going and keep fundraising. We’ll come up with something, don’t worry.”

[EvilDave]

Despite their failure to figure out a second team, the World Cup draw, combined with the news of a possible venue for their ‘Other Final,’ sparked further interest in Jim and Ally’s project. Before the year was out, the pair were increasingly well-known in the footballing blogosphere, appearing on a huge variety of websites and podcasts to plead their case. With Garry O’Connor providing a name and a network to drive the project forward, the cash was coming in, and fast. Certain details were, of course, held back, but the word was out there.

So fast, in fact, that before Christmas Day arrived, the pair had already received enough in pledges to pay for the hire of the pitch for the day. Not only that, but offers of help – from practical logistics to translation for the Andorrans – were flooding in from all angles. Had they not known it before, they certainly did now – this was an all-consuming project.

Indeed, into the new year the pledges were touching six-figures, most notably after a five-figure donation from O’Connor himself who, in a somewhat touching and thoroughly unnecessary statement on his personal website, thanked both Jim and Ally for ‘giving an old, washed-up dog a new bone to play with, and a disgraced former pro the chance to do something worthwhile with his time.’ It was a moving sentiment, and exactly the sort of thing that the two friends had hoped when landing on a retired footballer.

With the all the money coming in and no second team, Jim was beginning to get anxious. Ally, however, had other plans, and instead of feeding his friend’s worries, played an ace that he had been keeping up his sleeve from precisely this moment.

“Assuming we’re going to get a second team – and we will, don’t you worry – what do you reckon we do about a man in the middle?”

“You think we’ll struggle to find a ref?”

“Well it isn’t the easiest sell is it? ‘Come to Russia and take charge of a match between two useless countries so two Scottish blokes can make a film and stick one up at FIFA.’ Not quite the World Cup Final now.”

“Well, when you put it like that… Any ideas?”

“Ideas? Come on Jim, how long have we known each other? I’ve not got ideas mate, I’ve got answers.”

“Come on, who have we got?”

“So, with the actual World Cup going on, we’re not likely to get the cut of international referees, are we?”

“No.”

“Thankfully, those aren’t the sort of refs that Garry O’Connor happens to know. Turns out, the old footballing community is a bit tighter than you might think.”

“Hanging out with Russian referees now is he? That man is a bag of surprises.”

“Not Russian, Jim. Think about it for a minute, who’s the highest profile retired referee you can think of?”

“He doesn’t know sodding Collina, come off it!”

“No, he doesn’t, get real mate. Think – if you wanted a referee who could guarantee you a bit of controversy in O’Connor’s heyday, who would you take?”

“Bloody hell Ally, stop with the teasing already – give me a bloody name.”

“Alright mate, calm down. If I told you that Garry had persuaded none other than Hugh Dallas to stick back into the middle for one night only…”

“Hugh ****ing Dallas?! Bloody hell, how did he pull that one off?”

A grim stretched across Ally’s face.

“I don’t know mate, but he did. Expenses and he’s in. Imagine he’s sick of seeing his lad stealing the limelight, maybe he wants to prove something to himself, something like that. Either way, he’s in, I’ve got an email telling me as much and all his contact details. Jim mate, we’ve got ourselves a referee.”

“And the others?”

“Hugh says he’ll sort ‘em – we might even get his lad if he isn’t picked for the tournament. One more thing crossed off the list.”

“You can say that again mate. Just need another team now.”

“Patience, Jim, patience. We’ll get there.”

[EvilDave]

The last Thursday in January is, generally speaking, an unspectacular day in the footballing world. There are few leagues hosting matches on that particular midweek night, and even the distractions of Europe’s second-tier continental club competition is yet to return, the Europa League jolting back into life in February. However, for Jim and Ally, January 25^th 2018 marked the day their dream became that little bit more of a reality.

The reason behind this unexpected joy was a simple one – the monthly recalculation of the FIFA rankings, the most-maligned system by which a team who was yet to win a major international tournament (for example, Belgium) could be named as the best team in the world, while at the same team those obviously on the rise could be denied seedings at major competitions. Time after time the rankings system was brought in for review, only for the new methodology to be torn apart by fans and press alike.

Our two Scotsmen were similarly cynical of the system – not least because it had their beloved homeland floating around in the high 40s, behind some of the global games’ decidedly lesser lights – but on this occasion it was the tool that would enable their vision to become a little clearer. Whereas in the previous iteration, Andorra and Eritrea were undisputedly the two sovereign states lowest in the rankings, the points system allowed for nations to be tied. And that was exactly what had happened.

With the scoring system taking into account every match played over a four-year period, each month the rankings could change – by a point or two in most cases, or significantly if the new 48-month window happened to cut off a major tournament or qualification round. In this instance, Eritrea’s score of 21 points remained unchanged, as did Andorra’s pathetic eight. However, also dropped to 21, thereby giving them credibility as an alternative ‘worst country in the world’ contender, was the small South-East Asian sultanate of Brunei Darussalam.

One of the world’s wealthiest countries in terms of purchasing power, Brunei represented a completely different option to the isolationist Eritreans. Keen entrepreneurs who were keen to both market their vast natural resources to the wider world and eager to show their nation in a positive light, the venerated royal family of Brunei were known to be nation-builders, attempting to forged a Bruneian identity in the 30 or so years since independence from Britain. In terms of something to having something to work with, Brunei looked an infinitely better option.

It also appeared that the Asian side were simply more communicative – a functioning website an phone number, obvious offices, and a domestic side enjoying success overseas in the form of Steve Kean’s DPMM FC – were all promising signs that contact could be made and managed with much more success than the African state.

And so, with a sense of excitement flowing through their veins, Ally convinced Jim to hold the first celebratory pint of the day until after he had crafted an email to their governing body. Attaching a copy of the email from the Andorrans and, being sure to add in details of the proposed venue and the promise of an ‘international calibre’ referee, he was confident that he could at least open up a dialogue with the newly-eligible nation.

[EvilDave]

“Jim mate, get in here!”

Ally did not even attempt to hide his emotions – tears almost welling up in his eyes as he struggled to contain his excitement. He had struck gold, and needed to tell his co-conspirator quickly.

“What is it?”

“Brunei, it’s happening. Seriously, read this – these guys are real.”

It had taken a week for Bruneians to respond, and with good reason. Not only had the response been signed off by royalty – Prince Sufri Bolkiah in his role as FA chief – but had been returned with interest. Unbeknown to both Jim and Ally, the state of Brunei had a long-running grudge against world football’s governing body, and had been doing their research on the new Scottish proposal. Their response was beyond Ally’s wildest dreams.

In 2008 FIFA, in conjunction with Asian Football Confederation, took the rare step of banning the Football Association of Brunei Darassulam, citing government interference in the domestic game. It meant no international football for a full two years, and the forced withdrawal of flagship DPMM FC from the Singaporean S-League – a competition which, under the management of former Blackburn boss Kean, they now dominated.

The ban knocked the sport backwards in Brunei, beginning a feeling of animosity which lingered even seven years after the lifting of the ban. Results were still poor – they always had been – but now this nation of less than half a million had a scapegoat on which to cast their sub-par performances. Their problem until now had been the lack of a platform on which to protest. Inadvertently, Jim and Ally had offered them exactly that.

The Bruneian royalty were smart enough to realise that using the game in Russia to hoist banners from the Petrovsky roof and make a scene would be enough to land them in yet more hot water, and so participation was all they were asking. However, what had truly excited Ally – beyond their enthusiasm for taking part – was the fact that one of the richest nations in the world was offering to foot the bill. Jim and Ally’s campaign had raised enough to cover the costs of the stadium, the officials, and the Andorrans’ travel arrangements. However, a member of one of the richest families in the world was volunteering to repay that money, and effectively pay the tab in exchange for something they were being asked. Their only condition was that no attempts were made to sanction the match as an official FIFA friendly – something neither of our friends had any problem with.

Had it not been before them in black and white, they never would have believed their luck – the rankings could have dropped any team into joint-205^th place, but the magic formula had given them the one team both completely on board with their ideals and with the resources to make it happen. Over the course of the next few days, Ally thrashed out a few more of the details with His Royal Highness, and on the eve of Valentine’s Day, Andorra and Brunei was a match made in Scottish heaven. Petrovsky was paid for, the Andorran FA was paid in advance, Hugh Dallas and his team were given their instructions. Online backers were informed that their offers of financial help were much appreciated but no longer required, and instead offered free tickets to the match itself. All they had to do now was wait.

[EvilDave]

June 14^th. A month and a day from the big day, the party gets started in Moscow. The hosts were on the field at the refurbished Luzhniki in the opening match against Morocco, an early goal to the good courtesy of Fedor Smolov, and searching for a second. As our two friends watch on from the comfort of Jim’s front room, Ally’s phone rings. The caller ID shows it to be Alex Krestyanin, their ‘fixer’ in St Petersburg that Garry O’Connor had put them in touch with. As well as being an ‘innocent local’ to do their business on the ground, ‘Sasha’ was also their eyes and ears, trying to establish whether or not news of the match had reached those in charge of the Russian game.

“They’ve heard, Ally.”

“****. What do they know?”

“They don’t know who it is – probably because you took the Kickstarter page down in time, and they don’t know the venue, but they know something is going on. They don’t like it.”

“Who are ‘they, Sasha?”

“The Union. They don’t want their tournament messing up – the police will be working on it already.”

“Right. What can they do?”

“If they figure out the venue, they shut it down. If they figure out the teams, they deny visas. If they want to cause trouble, they send hooligans to the game and shed blood.”

“****.”

“Yes. But they don’t know yet. Just that there will be something.”

“What do we do Sasha?”

There was a pause – Ally heard cheering in the background. A glance to the screen, and he saw Oleg Shatov wheeling away to the corner flag, fists pumping after netting his country’s second goal.

“Two options. First is misinformation. I don’t know, advertise match between Gibraltar and Luxembourg in Sochi or something. Leave them a trail.”

“That sounds a bit too much like spying to me Sasha, we’re organising a football match.”

“OK. Your second choice is hope. Stay quiet, get your friends in Brunei to get visas sorted now, before they put a block on.”

“Sasha, I’ve had an idea.”

“Yes?”

“Have all the matches sold out?”

“All the matches? No. The big teams, yes. But Iran vs Poland. No. African teams, no.”

“How long does a World Cup visa last?”

“The whole tournament.”

“Good. Thanks Sasha, let me know if you hear anything else.”

[EvilDave]

Following Sasha’s revelations, Ally took every conceivable precaution to ‘hide’ the match. Every tweet, Facebook post and blog was carefully covered over, their social media presence disappearing over the course of a couple of days. Emails were archived offline and then deleted, and he set up a new account to liaise with Andorra, Brunei, Dallas and others. They could not be too careful.

What’s more, he had taken advantage of the Asians’ deep pockets to find a solution to the visa problem, asking that the Brunei FA purchase tickets for each team taking part in the match – along with the officials and, of course, he and Jim – to a different World Cup game. Andorra would have tickets to Iran vs Poland, Brunei to Egypt vs Mexico, and everyone else to Peru vs Sweden, all games to be held on the last two days of the group stage. With Russia relaxing its stringent visa regime for those attending the tournament, this would ensure that the key men would be allowed into the country, and give them a legitimate reason for being there.

Finally, as much as he felt ridiculous for doing so, he pointed a few flashing neon signs in the direction of Moscow – setting up a new Twitter account, using a VPN to give him an American IP address, an messaging the official accounts of the big Moscow clubs to ask if their stadium was free on World Cup Final day. It was almost farcical, but if it bought his teams enough time to make it into the country and out again, it was worth the hassle.

Sasha called three days after Ally’s clean-up operation – the same day Iceland stunned the world by holding heavily-favoured Brazil to a 1-1 draw in Kaliningrad – to let him know that suspicions were indeed moving in the direction of Moscow, a venue that made sense given that the actual final would be there. Everybody involved was due to arrive in St Petersburg in four days’ time, and all Ally needed to do was keep the Russians guessing long enough to get everybody out of the airport and into their hotels. From then on, it would be easy enough to blend in – even with a small film crew in tow.

Four days later, with a couple more helpful hints for the police posted from ‘America,’ Jim, Ally and the others Scots involved in the project – a couple of friends to film the match itself, Dallas and his two assistants – there would be no fourth official – and O’Connor – boarded their flight from Edinburgh to St Petersburg. Jim in particular was horrifically nervous upon landing at the city’s Pulkovo airport, but in very little time at all they were enjoying the sights and sounds of St Petersburg. They had made it. Later that evening, a short text from Sasha informed Ally that the two teams had also touched down safely.

In less than two weeks’ time, the footballing world would come to a standstill for the World Cup Final. Between now and then, Jim, Ally, plus the two travelling squads from Andorra and Brunei, would take in a game each in the actual tournament, and then prepare as best as they could for their own moment of history. It was nearly showtime.

[EvilDave]

For the hosts, it would not be the fairytale they had dreamed of. Russia succeeded in topping their gift of a group – on goal difference from the Swedes – and upset Uruguay in a bad-tempered opening to the first knockout round. However, their tournament would end at the last eight, Portugal winning their quarter-final clash 2-0 to move into the final four. Still, Stanislav Cherchesov’s men could hold their heads high – making it so far had at least some pride in a team which had threatened to disappoint on a huge scale.

Joining Portugal in the final four would be the free-scoring French, along with the two finalists from 2014, Germany and Argentina. The latter had seen off arch-rivals Brazil in the quarters 4-2, in what would go down as the match of the tournament – Neymar and Messi netting a brace each in an end-to-end game to delight the neutrals. Germany had been quiet but efficient, reaching the semis without conceding a goal or scoring more than twice in a match, while France had looked unstoppable at times and fragile at others, smashing eight past Saudi Arabia in the final match of the group stages with a rotated side and then needing penalties to edge past the Ivory Coast in the knockouts. Few were willing to make any of the remaining quartet overwhelming favourites.

And so, as the sporting world prepared itself for Portugal vs Argentina and Germany vs France, the unheralded players of Andorra and Brunei prepared for their own clash, a match to take place simultaneously alongside the ‘real’ World Cup Final, a rallying cry for grassroots sports fans across the globe, and a story which Jim and Ally hoped would translate into an award-winning documentary.

The camera crew was set, with specific instructions with regards to the actual filming of a 90-minute football match. Referee Hugh Dallas and his two linesmen were ready, familiarising themselves with the names and numbers given to them by the respective team managers. A security force, generously paid for by the bottomless pockets of the Bruneian royal family, had been given their directions as to how to deal with an attempted shutdown of the Petrovsky Arena by the Russian authorities. It was Jim and Ally’s prayer that they wouldn’t be required – word was that extra police were being drafted in to Moscow for the Luzhniki final, and so the St Petersburg force would be short-handed even if they did decide to make an unwelcome appearance.

On July 10^th, five days from the big day, the reign of the holders came to an abrupt end. Germany, stereotypically ruthless in their progress through the tournament, ran up against a France side which made the bold decision to forego their attacking abandon and go toe-to-toe with their European neighbours in a tactical battle. Goalless at the half and full-time whistles, a slip from full-back Joshua Kimmich in extra time allowed French substitute Alexandre Lacazette the opportunity to break free down the right wing, and after bursting into the box he cut the ball beyond the reach of club team-mate Shkodran Mustafi into the path of the onrushing Antoine Griezmann. The tournament’s top scorer made no mistake from 10 yards out to net his seventh goal of the campaign, and see his nation through to a first final since they hosted the tournament 20 years ago.

The following day, the spotlight fell on two of the greatest players ever to kicked a ball, as Cristiano Ronaldo’s Portugal took on Lionel Messi’s Argentina for the right to take on the French in Moscow. Whereas the first semi-final was a somewhat cagey affair, the second was nothing of the sort, both sides seeking to win the game rather than avoid losing it. First blood went to the Portuguese and their talisman, a stonewall penalty calmly converted by the Real Madrid forward for a first-half lead. In the second however, Ronaldo’s side struggled to keep up the tempo, and were duly punished with 20 minutes to play. Angel di Maria’s shot was blocked by the boot of Nelson Semedo, only for Paulo Dybala to pounce on the rebound and lash home. With extra time looking likely for a second day in a row, Messi made his mark, slaloming past no fewer than three defenders with the ball glued to his feet before squaring for Dybala to slot in from the edge of the area. Ronaldo’s tears were headline news across the globe, and Argentina were in a second successive final.

All eyes turned to Moscow, and that suited Jim and Ally just fine. Neither slept as the 14^th turned into the big day, and as the rest of Russia rose in preparation for the big game in Moscow, Ally was comforted by a text from Sasha which simply read ‘Clear.’ Their own moment of history was going ahead, the Petrovsky security in place ahead of the teams’ arrival, and it seemed as if they had made it all the way.

After months of planning, the moment had finally arrived.

[EvilDave]

An hour before kick-off, the atmosphere at the smaller Petrovsky arena was unusual to say the least. In the dressing rooms, Jim and Ally knew that there were two teams treating this game with the utmost importance. Their managers would be running through all that they had been drilling into them over the past couple of weeks in their hotel complexes, working over tactical plans and set-pieces routines. The players, simply by virtue of being around an occasion such as the World Cup, were in full tournament mode, fully focused on the task ahead.

In the stands, there were a couple of hundred hardcore football fans who had either stumbled across the game going about their daily lives, or who had followed the story since its inception the previous year. The glitz and glamour of the Luzhniki final held no appeal for these spectators – these were the men and women you could usually find at the home of their local non-league team, running the Twitter feed for their hometown club, holding fundraisers down their local. Given the origins of the match, it was little surprise to hear English as the dominant language among those waiting for kick-off, but the attendance was not purely British. Select handfuls of other fans – Swedes, Germans, Spaniards – had heard about the plans after their own teams had been dumped out of the tournament. One more game made their journey to Russia worthwhile.

Half an hour before kick-off – and with television build-ups across the world now well underway as France and Argentina prepared to go head-to-head – the crowd had swelled to around 1,000, a figure that neither of the game’s two organisers had dared to hope for. Admission was free – to go through any sort of ticketing process would have been an unnecessary risk for them to take – but even so, the level of interest was significantly higher than they had anticipated.

With 15 minutes to go, the two teams emerged from the tunnel. Andorra, led by their long-serving manager and legendary goalkeeper Koldo Alvarez, seemed a little surprised by their surroundings, their team being used to playing international matches against Europe’s superpowers in front of tens of thousands. The Bruneians on the other hand, managed by Korean boss Kwon Oh-son for the third spell of his career, took this in their stride – their own international clashes were, on the whole, less well attended by a significant amount.

With no fans of either nationality among the crowd, the national anthems – music Ally had hastily found online and which was played through a rudimentary speaker set-up rather than the Petrovsky PA – passed in an eerie near-silence. To their credit, both teams sang their respective anthems with some gusto – particularly the Asian side, although that may have been more to appease the watching royals than caused by any patriotic fervour – before the two captains shook hands.

The two men exchanging pennants could not have been more different. On the Andorran side, Ildefons Lima represented a legend of their game – a veteran centre-back with more than 100 caps, their all-time leading goalscorer, and a man with an international career stretching back two decades. Representing Brunei on the other hand was Faiq Bolkiah, a fresh-faced 20-year old winger on the books at Leicester City. While even reserve football with the Foxes meant he was playing at a higher level than his domestically-based team-mates, there was little doubt he had been awarded the captaincy due to his family ties – as nephew to the Sultan himself, he carried significant clout in the team.

Just under 500 miles away in Moscow, a huge roar erupted as referee Ravshan Irmatov completed his watch-checks and blew his whistle, allowing Messi and Dybala to kick off the 21^st World Cup Final. At the same time, the significantly larger figure of Hugh Dallas blew his whistle in St Petersburg, watching on as brothers Shahrazen and Adi Said kicked off for Brunei. The cameras focused on the kick-off zoomed back out, and the ‘Other Final’ was underway.

[EvilDave]

Ten minutes into the game, a small helicopter passed over the Malaya Sportivnaya Arena. Behind his camera Jim looked up anxiously for a split-second, but he needn’t have worried – this was a private aircraft, and nothing to do with the security forces who could still theoretically ruin his day. On the field, it was the European side who were in the early ascendancy, their two full-backs pushing higher up the wings, and the wide midfielders further still, to turn their usual conservative 5-4-1 into something resembling a 3-4-3. It was clear that attacking football was not their forte however, and the interplay of the new front three left something to be desired.

Meanwhile, Brunei looked settled in their 4-4-2 diamond, with captain Bolkiah on the right wing very much the focal point of the attack of the 11 men on the field. Both sides drew highly from a small number of squads – Santa Coloma and FC Andorra for the European outfit, DPMM and Indera for the Asians – but it was clear that the occasion, unofficial though it was, was affecting both teams as they felt their way into the game.

Over in Moscow, the first chance of the match had fallen to the man many were expecting to make himself a hero – and he had missed. Lionel Messi had done the hard work, stepping inside two French challenges to give himself a sight of goal, but his low curling effort and pushed beyond the post by the outstretched arm of a diving Hugo Lloris, and the subsequent corner came to nothing. Argentina were making the early running, and after their disappointment in Brazil four years ago, were desperate to make amends this time round.

Back in St Petersburg, the first purposeful attack of the game almost resulted in a goal for the underdogs of Brunei. Justifying his captaincy by demanding the ball at every opportunity, the Sultan’s nephew collected the ball some 30 yards from goal after a lay-off from Adi, the younger of the Said brothers leading the line. Cutting outside his man and darting towards the corner flag, his cross was hit long and beyond the two strikers, but not too long for opposite winger Shafie Effendy. Taking down the high ball, he then whipped in a dangerous cross towards the corner of the six-yard box – a cross which Said the Elder met with a header that flashed wide of Josep Gómes’ near post.

That seemed the be the wake-up call the Andorrans needed, and from the resultant goal kick they constructed a well-worked passing move which saw eight of their side touch the ball at least once beyond winding up on the edge of the opposing penalty area. Hugh Dallas struggled to keep up as the ball was moved forward, but even the ageing Scotsman could see that Azwan Saleh’s challenge was an unfair one. After having a brief word with the holding man, the referee watched as lone striker Juli Sánchez, a couple of weeks on from his 40^th birthday, curled the free-kick into the side netting from 25 yards.

Across the field, keeping one eye on the action and another on the small band of cameramen scurrying around behind the scenes, Ally checked his phone for the hundredth time since kick-off. Still no word from Sasha, which could only be a good thing. With the Moscow final underway and the eyes of both the football world and Russian police on the game at Luzhniki, his match was in the clear.

[EvilDave]

N’Golo Kanté had earned a reputation as one of world football’s most formidable defensive midfielders, the dimunitive Frenchman driving underdog heroes Leicester City to the most unlikely of Premier League titles, and then following the money to Chelsea where he gave their midfield the energy and impetus to lift the crown the following year. His presence in the France squad was disputed by no-one – he was arguably the finest enforcer in the world.

What he was not, however, was the most prolific goalscorer, and there would have been few punters who would placed their hard-earned cash on Kanté to open the scoring in a World Cup Final. And yet, 32 minutes into the 2018 showpiece he did just that, and in some style – robbing Enzo Perez of the ball in midfield, striding forward into space between the Argentine midfield and defence, and launching a howitzer of a strike into the top corner of Sergio Romero’s goal from the best part of 30 yards. Instantly he disappeared under a pile of blue shirts, and France had the lad. Argentina would have to do things the hard way.

As Kanté’s goal was replayed around the world from every conceivable angle, it was joined by a goal in St Petersburg. This goal was witnessed by around 1,000 hardy supporters, the overwhelming majority of whom had no idea who the scorer was. There would be no huge roar, no action replays, no dissecting of the goalkeeper’s positioning, no schoolboys attempting to replicate the strike in the weeks and months ahead. However, for the man and the team that scored it, it meant the world.

A misplaced pass from key man Bolkiah had given Andorra another goal kick, and Gómes dutifully launched it upfield in the home of finding the head of the veteran Sánchez. Instead, the forward found himself outmuscled by right-back Afi Aminuddin, and protesting in vain for a free-kick from the Scottish referee. When none was forthcoming, he sprinted in vain to try and help his team-mates out in defence, but simply lacked the pace to do so effectively.

Instead, he could only watch as holding man Saleh slipped a pass between two men to his central midfield partner Rahman, the more attacking of the pair drawing the attention of two defenders 30 yards from goal. He knocked a pass left to Effendy, and the fleet-footed wideman left Jordi Rubio for dead before shifting the ball onto his right foot and moving inside the penalty area. Shaping to shoot, he instead clipped a ball to the back post, where Shahrazen Said became the first man in Bruneian history to reach 10 goals for the national side – not that it would count due to the game’s unofficial status - his downward header across goal beating Gómes and nestling into the far corner.

For a split-second there was silence, and then the two reactions. From the Andorran players came a mixture of disbelief and blame, everyone in the penalty area searching to both absolve themselves of any responsibility, and pin down the guilty party. Their opponents, after bowing their heads to the turf in united prayer, transitioned into a jubilant dance around their goalscorer. The officials allowed their revelry to continue for quite some time – enough to allow the cameras so superb shots of joyous faces – before ordering them back for the restart. As they did, Said took his opportunity – instead of heading back to the centre circle, he instead jogged over to the nearest camera and, staring it down made a fist with his right hand and slapped his left on top of it while clearly mouthing the word ‘FIFA.’ At 32 he had lost two of his prime footballing years to Brunei’s ban, and this was his small way of exacting revenge.

Ten minutes later, the teams retreated to their dressing rooms with Brunei and France still a goal to the good. In Moscow, the 15-minute break would be occupied by television adverts, expert analysis from former players, and detailed tactical team-talks from the two managers involved. In St Petersburg, the two managers would also give further instructions to their players, but the similarities ended there. In a moment which was mercifully missed by Jim and Ally’s camera crew, referee Hugh Dallas spent the first three minutes of the break vomiting into a toilet. It was hard work for all concerned.

[EvilDave]

There would be a single change at the interval, and it would come from the Andorrans – Koldo replacing 40-year-old Juli Sanchez up front with Alex Martinez, a striker half the age of the man he replaced. Evidently it was hoped that his youth and pace would give the European side another weapon as they fought to level the match. For the Bruneians, a goal to the good having weathered an early Andorran storm, there was no reason for them to change anything.

Within seconds of the restart in Moscow, Argentina were on level terms. Again Messi was involved, dancing past a challenge and forcing a save from Lloris. However, the little magician had no involvement in the goal itself, di Maria’s corner from the left met by the head of Manchester City stalwart Nicolas Otamendi. Lloris got a foot to the effort, but could do nothing about the defender’s follow-up, Otamendi bundling the ball over the line from all of two yards to tie the match at 1-1. It could not have been more different from Kanté’s opener, but it counted all the same. Back to square one.

However, the first five minutes of the second half in St Petersburg saw little hope of Andorra levelling their match – despite the introduction of their new, quicker striker. Indeed, the only goalmouth action in the period saw Brunei go close to doubling their advantage, a quickly-worked free-kick – after a challenge which earned midfielder Márcio Vieira the first booking of the game from referee Dallas – saw Effendy find Bolkiah with a through-ball that deserved better than the scuffed cross-shot it received. The young captain placed his head in his hands – he knew he should have scored.

Nevertheless, Andorra continued to plug away, and as the clock ticked past the hour mark the Europeans began to demonstrate the superiority that most involved with the match had expected them to show. First the half-time substitute Martinez struck a sweet half-volley just past the far post, and then fellow replacement Sergi Moreno – on for the cautioned Vieira – headed a glorious opportunity from eight yards into the arms of Wardun Yussof in the Brunei goal. The equaliser was coming.

When it did, it came in a fashion perhaps appropriate to the low level of technical ability possessed by the players on show – not that the game had been at all error-strewn or embarrassing, just lacking in the quality you might expect to find in the match in Moscow. A Brunei break down the left was brought to an unexpected end when Effendy’s pass to Rahman instead found the heels of the referee, and Hugh Dallas’ best attempts to evade the ball instead saw his deflect it into the path Andorran captain Lima. Sensing an opportunity with the opposition pushing out, he knocked a ball 60 yards over the top for Martinez to chase, which the youngster did with glee – by the time he pushed the ball ahead of him, he was 10 yards clear of his opponents.

That left him one-on-one with Yussof, and the war of nerves between striker and goalkeeper began. At first Martinez continued at pace as the keeper advanced, before checking his run at the crucial moment. He then feinted left, instead pushed the ball to his favoured right, and made to round the last man – succeeding, only to trip as he did so. With Yussof stranded and the Brunei defenders still unable to make up the ground on the 20-year-old, a hugely relieved Martinez was able to stagger to his feet and roll the ball home, before again falling to the floor after failing to fully regain his balance. This time it would be a while before he stood, his team-mates quick to pile on in celebration.

Both finals were now locked at 1-1, and although there was infinitely more attention being lavished on the game in Luzhniki, both managers in St Petersburg were determined to do everything they could to secure the win. Brunei boss Kwon, having seen his side pegged back and second best for much of the second period, made two changes, both like-for-like replacements – in the centre of defence, Hanif Hamir replaced Yussof Yassin, while up front the young Said brother, Adi, came off to give Razimie Ramlli a chance to grab a goal. On the opposing side, Koldo made his third and final change, replacing one Rubio with another as Txus took the place of Jordi at right-back. With little over a quarter of an hour to play, the match remained firmly in the balance.

[EvilDave]

Jim panicked. Their final was into the last five minutes, with the score still Andorra 1-1 Brunei. He knew that there would be a plan if the game ended in a draw – but he himself did not know wat he was. Although he wasn’t particularly keen on the idea of ringing his partner with the game going on, he knew he needed an answer. He settled on a text: “Draw?”

When a question mark came back, the anxious sensation he had experienced when looking at the scoreboard skyrocketed. How could Ally not have a plan? He didn’t even know if they had booked the stadium for long enough to play extra time – although he consoled himself with the fact he was reasonably sure it was a day hire arrangement. Still, another message: “ET? PK?”

This time, the reply took a while to come back. The ball conveniently drifted out of play on Ally’s side of the ground, and as Marc Pujol stepped over the hoardings to retrieve it, Jim watched as his friend beckoned over a gasping Hugh Dallas for a quick word. There hadn’t been a plan. Nobody knew what was going to happen.

Whatever the conversation was, it was over quickly. The referee’s gesture was returned with a sharp nod from Ally, and from across the field of play Jim could see his phone emerge from his pocket. Sure enough the text arrived: “PK.” The game would go straight to penalties – the best spectacle for the film, and the best option for the health of the man in black. Not only that, but it also meant that there would be no risk of the security services abandoning their posts during extra time.

As Jim closed his eyes in relief, all his worrying came to naught. Opening them again, he saw goalscorer Said lose the ball to Jordi Aláez on the halfway line, only for the Andorran midfielder to give possession back almost immediately by picking out Saleh. A quick burst from the holding man saw him break between two opponents, and an instinctive flick of his right boot saw the ball end up at the feet of the man everybody in Brunei would have hoped it to – Faiq Bolkiah.

The Sultan’s nephew glanced upwards, saw the clock reading 87 minutes, saw left-back ‘Chiqui’ Garcia Renom closing him down, and pushed the ball past him. In a straight sprint, the Leicester man won comfortably, closing in on the ball with his marker three yards behind him and fading fast. This time he looked up, planted his left foot, and fizzed a cross at waist height across the penalty area.

Everybody in the box had expected a high, curling ball, and was caught out by the pace on the delivery. Gómes remained glued to his near post, unable to come out and claim the ball as he had expected to be able to. Lima, keeping a close eye on Shehrazen Said, was too far from the ball to make a meaningful connection, as was fellow centre-back Marc Rebés on the substitute Ramlli.

The third Andorran defender however, was not occupying a man. David Maneiro had been lured into the age-old trap of ball-watching, and on seeing the cross fly past him could only turn in horror to see his man coming in behind him. Shafie Effendy had come in on the left wing to provide another target in the area, and could not believe his luck as Bolkiah’s ball reached him at the perfect height for him to take down with the inside of his left thigh. As he did, it dropped in front of him, and his right-footed stab was enough to beat the keeper and give his side the advantage with just two minutes remaining. It would not be enough time for Andorra.

[EvilDave]

As an exhausted Hugh Dallas blew his whistle after approximately 92 minutes of play, the Andorran players slumped to the turf in despair. This had been an unofficial, unsanctioned match between the teams ranked 208 and 205 in the world, but nobody could tell these men that it meant nothing. Ildefons Lima, the captain and leader of the team, stoically shook the hand of the referee before dropping to his haunches, unable to fathom how his side had managed to lose. Somehow, this hurt more than he had expected.

On the other side of the field the Brunei players, many of whom were still wearing huge smiles after Effendy’s last-gasp winner, also dropped to their knees – in prayer of celebration rather than agony of defeat. After congratulating one another, the whole squad bounded over to the stand containing the majority of the fans in the stadium, linked arms and lifted them high in jubilation. Their manager rushed on to join them after a word of commiseration with the vanquished Koldo – this was a true team triumph for the Asian nation.

Owing to the security concerns which had played on the minds of Jim and Ally for several weeks, there would be no formal trophy presentation. A number of on-field interviews were undertaken with key players from both sides – captains, goalscorers, managers – but the story that the two Scots were telling did not need to focus heavily on aftermath. In holding the game at all, they had stuck two fingers up at the FIFA hierarchy. In giving Brunei a platform for their protest, they had done so once more. In telling the story of just how difficult it was to arrange a friendly football fixture, they would hopefully prove a point.

So instead of a presentation, the two teams headed back to the their dressing rooms, with the last member of the organising team leaving the ground just 40 minutes after the final whistle. On this occasion however, the destinations were not the hotels the two sides had been staying in, but a sports bar just a few hundred yards from the stadium. This was not to share a post-match vodka – the Muslims of Brunei would not have shared in the alcohol – but because 500 miles away in Moscow, the World Cup final was heading to penalties.

The sight of several dozen men rushing into the otherwise empty bar was something of a shock to the staff, but it quickly became apparent that they were there with a purpose. A small television in the corner of the room was flicked on in time for the newly-assembled crowd to see Antoine Griezmann crash his side’s second penalty past Sergio Romero to maintain the perfect record so far. As he strode back, forward came Argentina’s goalscorer Otamendi, looking to give his side the advantage. A long run-up meant only one thing – power – but the centre-back found too much of it. Lloris dived left, the ball went right, but the force behind the kick sent it rising over the goal, clipping the top of the crossbar on its way into the stands. Lloris pumped his fists – France had a chance to go ahead.

It was a chance which substitute Kylian Mbappe took with aplomb, leaving Argentina with just two rounds of penalties to avoid a second final defeat in a row. After Messi, Dybala and Otamendi, Angel di Maria found himself next in line, and struck his spot-kick confidently towards the bottom right corner. Unfortunately for him, Lloris guessed correctly, a strong left hand keeping the ball out and giving Blaise Matuidi the chance to win the World Cup for France.

The world held its breath as the combative Juventus man approached the spot. He positioned the ball once, then a second time, all the while refusing the look into the eyes of the man between the posts. Irmatov blew his whistle, the Frenchman strode up to the ball, and with a waft of his left foot, stroked home the penalty that won world football’s biggest prize.

[EvilDave]

The following day at Pulkovo Airport, Jim was anxious once more. Ally had suggested that the two of them check in and board separately – if the authorities knew that two Scots were behind the game, they may view a pair with suspicion. They had divided the equipment between those with cameras, but Jim was all too aware that the camera in his bag contained the memory card from the primary camera. Lose that, and they were as good as done for.

Inevitably, the search took place. Jim had watched as Ally sailed through security with barely a word, his own recording equipment failing to raise an eyebrow among the airport staff. However, as Jim drew closer to the front of the queue, his perspiration attracted the attention of a particularly burly security attendant, who first frisked him and the ordered him into a side room for further questions. Jim could feel his heart sink, his pulse quicken, and his sweat glands open. There was an awkward five minutes of silence as an interpreter was brought it, and then a short interrogation took place.

“You have camera in bag, yes?”

“Yes. One camera.”

“Why do you take camera on plane?”

“The camera is expensive – I don’t want it to break in the hold.”

“You do not trust Aeroflot crew?”

“It isn’t anything personal… I’ve had cameras broken before.”

“Ah, you are rich man, many cameras. You will not film plane, yes?”

“No, I have no interest in the plane.”

“It is very important for security, understand?”

“Of course. I promise, no filming of the airport or plane.”

“Good. May I ask, what is on camera?”

“Just some holiday videos, that’s all.”

“Can I see?”

Jim closed his eyes as he leant over and switched on the camera. If they saw anything that resembled a football match, he might not be going home. Instantly he heard the sound of a crowd cheering. It was over.

“You film football? This is not allowed, understand?”

“Why is…”

“FIFA have very strict rule. No recording, never. You cannot have this.”

“But…”

“No but. You may have camera, but we keep film. FIFA will destroy.”

“But…”

“Please, no argues. Take your camera please, and board your flight.”

Despite not recognising that the match was not in fact a FIFA World Cup game, the heavy-handed commercial by-laws that came with football’s travelling circus meant that Jim had no option but to hand over the memory card. And with that, he lost all hope.

[EvilDave]

On the plane back to Edinburgh, Jim sat silently. Ally had arranged for them to sit separately, again to avoid suspicion, and Jim simply could not pluck up the courage to tell his friend what had happened. Instead he sat, stony-faced and drained of colour, while the Russian businessman next to him munched his way through what seemed like a year’s supply of pickled cucumbers.

In Edinburgh, the small group of them returning to Scotland gathered after going through baggage reclaim. Jim, Ally, O’Connor, Dallas and the linesmen, their assistant film-makers. The mood was celebratory among everyone apart from Jim. It didn’t take long for Ally to notice.

“What’s up with you mate, you look like you’ve seen a ghost! One too many vodkas on the flight eh?”

“No Ally, it’s…”

“I don’t know, one little success and you drink yourself sick. Daft lad you are Jim.”

“Ally, I’m not…”

“You wait ‘til we start winning awards for this thing, I’ll tell all the papers…”

“ALLY!”

Jim’s cry caused more than a few passers-by to stop and stare before continuing on their journeys. But it was only his friend’s attention he wanted, and he succeeded in getting it.

“Look mate, the reason I’m so quiet is because there isn’t a ****ing film.”

“You what mate?”

“I got searched at security didn’t I? They told me FIFA didn’t allow recordings of World Cup games. The memory card is still in Russia, Ally.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as Jim’s revelation came to light. However, the tension was broken by an unlikely source.

“What are you on about?” asked Garry O’Connor. “I’ve got the match film on me here, I was watching it on my phone on the way over, Quality camerawork as well, if I say so.”

Jim was dumbstruck.

“Show me then, get it out.”

O’Connor did as was requested, and loaded up the primary film of the match on his smartphone. Closing it down, he withdraw the memory card and handed it to Jim.

“There you go, told you lad.”

“Then what the **** did I have taken off me?”

“Jim,” said Ally, “you never had our game on your camera. The game the security guard saw was Kramer’s film, The Other Final. They saw an ancient game.”

Smile started to rise among the group as they began to realise what had happened. Jim, however, was not impressed.

“So why did you tell me I had the main film? Why tell me that?”

Ally smirked, stepping back as he did so.

“Because mate, you were always getting searched. You sweat flying to London, let alone out of Russia. Your nerves meant the rest of us got through without a second look – I was never gonna give you the main film.”

Jim stood still – dumbfounded, surprised and angry all at once. Then, after a moment, he too began to see the funny side of the whole episode. Stepping forward and throwing his arms around his friend, he made sure he had the final say.

“You, Ally, are a world class ****. Let’s get out of here shall we.”

It was a sentiment shared by all in the group, and they finally dispersed – ex-footballers, officials and cameramen all getting into taxis and heading their separate ways.

Several months later, after days of editing, release and publicity, Jim was able to retell his story at the British Sports Journalism Awards, the pair of them picking up the gong for Best Television Sports Documentary – their film, eventually titled Another Final in a nod to Kramer’s work, being enthusiastically received by BBC Scotland and subsequently aired on BBC Two. Although the expletives were wisely avoided, the essence remained the same – and the two young Scots were given a rapturous reception from the nation’s sporting media. They had pulled it off, and it seemed as if the world was their oyster. All they needed now was another project to get their teeth into.

[EvilDave]

That concludes another EvilDave production - I hope you've enjoyed reading along. I'm not sure I'm 100% satisfied with how this turned out, as I suspect the idea was better than the execution, but thank you for reading nonetheless!

[CFuller]

This has been great stuff as always from you, ED. I'd even say that we now have a very strong contender for Best Short Story at the next FMS Awards.

Oh, and thanks for reminding me - I've got to get round to watching 'The Other Final' at some point!