Day Chile fans painted Rio red, then toasted to pain in Spain

The bus to the metro had just stopped at the stage on Timote da Costa in Leblon, a leafy suburb in Rio de Janeiro. 

As passengers alighted, at least 20 fans draped in colours of red, white and blue waited to board, almost impatiently. Standing there, their chants could be heard from seven flats away. Whatever fueled their vocal chords must have been strong. 

They had a sense of purpose and conviction in their chanting. Like an orchestra, they had a leader. He would shout Chi! Chi! Chi! to which they would respond Le! Le! Le! He would go over it one more time, and they would promptly respond.

And then boom, a much louder chant of Viva Chile.  

This was on Wednesday as we boarded the bus to the subway in Ipanema for the train to the Maracana to watch Spain take on Chile in Group B.

All through the journey, there was a premonition in the air for Spain. There was Chile everywhere. The Chi Chi Chi Le Le Le Viva Chile chants gained momentum as we approached the station at Gal Osorio.

Going down the elevators, there was only one colour in sight, the red, white and blue of Chile. There was no Spanish shirt in view. At the time, I thought the side of Rio we were boarding from perhaps had the largest concentration of Chileans. The train’s next stop at Contagalo saw more Chileans board. It was only at Siqueira Campos, the next stop, that a few Spanish jerseys came into view.

In the meantime the stadium atmosphere had already been generated in the train. Chilean fans hit decibel levels yet to be matched by even hosts Brazil and Argentina. Wearing a red shirt, the fans around me saw me as one of their own – the Chilean national jersey is red – and held my hands up and they sang their now famous Viva Chile chant.

STRONG BELIEF

Every once in a while, they would resort to chants in Spanish; at that point point I continued pumping my fist in the air with them without moving my lips. Through train stations at Cordeal Arcoverde to the next switch at Botafogo, the Chilean party engaged gears.

I wasn’t fancying them to beat Spain, but they had such belief that if it translated to the players, La Furia Roja were not going to survive.

From Botafogo to Maracana, we went through eleven stations – Flamengo, Largo da Machado, Catete, Gloria, Cinelandia, Carioca, Uruguaiana, Presidente Vargas, Central, Cidade Nova and Sao Cristovao – yet their strong wave of support never wavered.

Making our way to the stadium, it was Chileans all over. While there are many South American fans supporting their teams because of the proximity of the World Cup, it was incredible to see how Chileans so far outnumbered and supplanted fans of the reigning world and back-to-back European champions.

Always at every stadium, there is demand for tickets. Chileans again were most desperate for tickets, that is what prompted them to break into the media centre and they searched for a way into the Maracana.

In the stadium, no side in the games I have attended has produced the atmosphere the Chileans created. The sheer force of the 12th man contributed to the end of Spain’s glorious era.