Dave (@colemans_dream) had a moment recently … somehow surprised by FIFA’s antics.
Working Title: FIFA – F*** Incompetence Frustrates Author
With the World Cup rapidly approaching, I wanted to share a cautionary tale for those of you thinking of taking your time installing the FIFA Ticketing app, after what I’d call a heart-stopping moment this past weekend. To set the scene, I was on holiday with my lovely wife – sat in a small piazza in a town called Riva Del Garda, on the shores of Lake Garda. It was 26 degrees and pretty idyllic.
To fit my new Italian persona (why do they all look much cooler than any Welsh person would, when wearing some mad clothes?) I had just ordered my espresso with a small strawberry tartlet. After our waitress brought me my coffee, I waited for the molten hot drink to cool, and flicked open my phone in the absence of a cigarette to light. An email from FIFA appeared, followed by a moment of self-reflection that the tournament is now less than 3 weeks away, I wondered what the conscience-free chaps who head up football were sharing with me. I read my email. “You are no longer able to attend this match.”
My phone dropped onto the table, forcing the tiny birds waiting for crumbs to tumble to shit themselves and fly away. My head was in my hands. My wife turned, pistachio cream all over her chops and asked “What’s wrong?” I couldn’t respond. I was genuinely speechless. I couldn’t help but think that whilst this was likely my fault, FIFA could have given more explanation.
My wife was genuinely convinced someone had died, as she hurriedly finished her cake in case we had to fly back for a family members’ imminent funeral. I informed her that this was a much worse situation that an unfinished cake and a possible death. My ticket was cancelled and after spending not an insignificant sum of money to visit a place I wouldn’t traditionally fancy as a holiday destination, I was gutted.
In short, when my pal Lloyd, owner of the tickets, had emailed the tickets I was preparing for my lovely Italian holiday, which FIFA were in the process of ruining. There was no mention of a time limit you had to download your tickets, or any cursory warning of what would happen if you didn’t. So, I thought, I’ll do the download when I’m back home. No rush.
Clearly, I was wrong. Having reread the email a million times, and tried to listen to my wife’s attempts to calm me down (which didn’t work), I knew it was time to act and not just sit there and say “shit” over and over again.
I thought, ‘I’ll call my mate Lloyd who had bought our tickets and distributed them’. Had they bounced back to him, and this was all a fuss over nothing? The issue was that Lloyd, the selfish bastard, had chosen this exact moment to board a flight from Singapore to London to visit home for the first time since before the pandemic. Instantly, panic was setting in. Lloyd was unavailable for at least 12 hours and by the time he landed in London, I assumed he’d be consumed by meeting family members with his baby (less than a year old) and wife, for the first time in a long time. Whilst he was having emotional reunions, I was becoming fairly over-emotional myself. There’s no way he’s going to call me back when he lands. Again, selfish.
I began to think of Plan B if my ticket was lost. And C. And all the way to Z. Z was to grow my hair, lose loads of weight, become great at football, impersonate Gareth Bale personally and professionally, make my way onto the pitch come match day before getting into the stand where I could take my seat. My friends would have a cold 0.0% beer for me all lined up, and I’d get cheered up by the standby Welsh fans who were just happy that another fan had blagged their way in. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that if I’m honest. Anyway. I digress.
After hours of handwringing, posting pleas for help on twitter and emailing FIFA (what a waste of time that was) I finally had the return from Lloyd I was waiting for. He’d landed, and having shunned his family (probably) he’d torn through his phone and messages. He simply resent the ticket which had simply bounced back to him and was not in jeopardy in any way, and I was away. I loaded up the FIFA app and my ticket was safely stored. The trip was back on. I could stop crying. My wife rolled her eyes once again. Football eh. Bloody hell.
The point of this long-winded way of saying why the hell do FIFA send emails like that?, is to say, if someone sends you a ticket for the match, accept it. Whilst there is no immediate worry, it will save you hours of sweaty palms and constant phone checking or app refreshing. I also wondered in my “who can I blame” moments, why is it all so bloody complicated? I appreciate that paper tickets can be made counterfeit but surely there’s got to be a better or more simple way than this. What if someone wasn’t great with technology or had a phone that was not up to date? What if they couldn’t download the app? I suppose if I was capable of thinking of that better way, I would have been clever enough to just download the tickets in the first place.
I spent the rest of the evening checking my other World Cup plans were correctly in place, Hayya applications had been completed and, other than getting too pissed at the airport before flying, everything else was sorted. It is. Whilst the players have the stress of a cheering nation on their shoulders, being a fan isn’t half stressful. And as my forgiving wife reminds me from time to time, being a supporter’s supporter is even worse. All that’s left now, is to countdown until 18th November and my flight leaves for Qatar. Surely nothing else can go wrong eh…