Ацтекийн цэнгэлдэхэд өрнөсөн Англи болон Мексикийн гал гарсан тоглолт

It may turn out to be the best game at this World Cup.

England’s 3-2 win against Mexico at Estadio Azteca had it all. Unfortunately for those watching Thomas Tuchel’s side back home, it involved staying up late, setting an alarm for what had been set to be a 1am kick-off in the UK or trying to avoid spoilers until the morning — and that was before a weather delay pushed the match back to 2am.

From the queue for Wimbledon tickets to 30,000ft above sea level via a Portuguese tourist hotspot and a Mexican bar in London, this is where our writers (and readers) watched it.

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George Edwards and Amelie Claydon, the queue at Wimbledon

At 3.30am, instead of waiting for the stewards’ morning call, the Wimbledon queue was awake.

Many campers had set alarms for 1am, heard about the delay and returned to their sleeping bags. Those waiting for tickets watched from tents, phones and tablets.

Amelia, Hannah, Laura, Archie and Will, friends from Oxford University, had decided after 10pm to join the queue. One wore an England shirt, another an eye mask, and all five gathered around a laptop.

“We were panicking about missing the game,” Laura says. “We had to watch the match but wanted to be in the queue in good time, so we came with no camping equipment to lie here together.”

Jude Bellingham’s first goal brought a distant cry of “yes”, followed by applause that was quickly hushed. His second produced the same response, with delayed streams causing celebrations to move across the campsite.

May, Alice, Wilf, Erin and Daniel had been asleep before the goals woke them. Fearing they were missing out, they turned on the commentary and crowded around a phone. “We heard the celebrations and thought, ‘That sounds good’,” said Daniel.

There was no communal screen, so one group could be celebrating a goal while another was watching England build that attack.

“There are plenty of screens dotted around, but this is Wimbledon, so most people are being respectful and cheering on the inside,” said Oxford graduate Laura.

Just before 4am, polite applause spread around Wimbledon Park before attention quickly returned to the queue.

Tomas Hill Lopez-Menchero, Mexican restaurant in London

It is 2.42am at Mestizo, a Mexican restaurant in Camden, London, and beer is flying.

For the 500 Mexico fans packed in, it is as if the last 41 minutes have not happened. Julian Quiñones has just scored to take El Tri within a goal of England and, 5,500 miles away, their supporters have newfound hope. “Y si si?” rings out. What if it happened?

This north London restaurant was a mini-Azteca. A mariachi band keeps spirits high during the delay and tacos are washed down with Coronas and margaritas. England’s anthem is booed, before the Mexican equivalent is belted out. Then every English touch is whistled, every Mexico tackle applauded.

It is a special game for those with a foot in each country. Estefania Lozornio, from Guanajuato, central Mexico, has just moved to the UK capital on a spouse’s visa and wants to see “the euphoria of my people”. Itzel Canas, who is Mexican-English, says “there wasn’t really a discussion” when it came to where to watch the game with her England-supporting boyfriend Zac Kamarpour.

Melena Taylor and Jojo from Bradford met in the queue for the event (Tomas Hill Lopez-Menchero/The Athletic)

Bellingham’s double almost silences the bar, before the ecstasy of Quiñones’ goal. With fans having celebrated Jarell Quansah’s red card, Harry Kane punctures the air. Right on cue, a Mexico penalty check is accompanied by Cielito Lindo, with its famous chorus “sing, and don’t cry”.

Few feel like doing that at the final whistle, even if there is applause for their heroes.

“I’m Mexican in my heart, for all my life,” says 44-year-old Eduardo Gomez. “But this country, this city, has given me everything. So now I’ll put on the white shirt of England.”

Eduardo Gomez puts on a brave face after Mexico’s defeat (Tomas Hill Lopez-Menchero/The Athletic)

Gregg Evans, Albufeira (Portugal)

The final five minutes were fraught.

In the square of Albufeira’s old town, where Brits flock on holidays, the atmosphere had been building for hours, but the mood quickly turned.

The one remaining screen showing the game began to fail shortly before 4am. Bars nearby had closed an hour earlier due to Portuguese restrictions on opening times, so thousands of England supporters were squinting at a single TV.

It was edgy. The early singing was replaced by nervousness. Confusion over why such an important game was slowly disappearing had everyone feeling anxious.

Then, with 87 minutes on the clock, the square turned to darkness. Bottles smashed on the floor. Boos and jeers echoed but the forward-thinkers stepped up. Find a stream on their phone, turn the device sideways and host for those nearby.

What happened in those closing minutes are a blur, but the celebrations were wild. Grown men hugging. Teenagers experiencing their first memorable World Cup moment. Neutrals embracing all the chaos and learning the words of Wonderwall too.

Gregg Evans, right, with his friends in Albufeira (Gregg Evans/The Athletic)

Watching in Albufeira and getting the job done will stay in the memory bank.

Craig Chisnall was asleep (on the early shift) so Seth Chisnall, 11, and friends at Tom’s house, Sawbridgeworth, Hertfordshire

Our parents wouldn’t let us stay up to watch the game on a school night so the next best thing was a party before school.

I went to bed and turned my phone off so when I got up at 5.40am I could go to my friend’s house — thanks Tom’s mum and dad for letting us come round — without knowing the score.

My big brother Isaac is on work experience and working later in the day so he was allowed to stay up and watch the game. How he watched that without screaming, I don’t know. Mum and dad told me they heard people in the street celebrating after clearly being at the pub.

The match was amazing and it was special to watch it with my mates. Come on England.

Craig Chisnall/The Athletic

Nick Miller, 30,000ft over Nova Scotia…

That period when it looked like kick-off was going to be moved up six hours was bad news for people heading to Mexico City who had to contemplate whether to change plans at great expense, but good news for me.

I was due to be boarding a flight from Houston to London three hours before the scheduled kick-off, and would thus be somewhere over Nova Scotia during the game. But if it was moved, I’d be able to settle in at a soulless airport bar, pay $15 for a gassy lager and watch the game.

When it was announced that the game would go ahead at the original time, it was therefore a minor blow, but no problem: they have internet on planes now, so at worst I’d be able to follow via WhatsApp updates or a liveblog. At best, the WiFi might be good enough to actually watch it.

Then came the hammer blow, in an email from British Airways: “We wanted to let you know that your aircraft is not fitted with onboard Wi-Fi…” What sort of clapped-out, basic plane was this?

The nine hours or so of the flight thus carried a certain amount of tension, and instead of watching England I had to take in the Spinal Tap sequel (actually quite good) and finish my book about The Beatles, and await landing before discovering how it went.

But this being British Airways, shortly before landing the pilot announced the score — possibly as a shameless attempt to elicit a round of applause from the passengers. Which, I regret to inform, succeeded.

Oli Kay, on a flight to Atlanta

My flight to Atlanta was delayed. Was that good news or bad? I couldn’t be sure because kick-off was delayed too. Everything could fall perfectly… or I could end up flying for the duration.

We were stuck on the runway for another hour. While others got off to stretch their legs, I spent the whole time trying to get onto the in-flight WiFi. Finally — hallelujah — I got online as it was kicking off. I could only see one other guy on the flight watching it and his feed, to my relief, was about 10 seconds behind.

Did I order a beer or two to calm my nerves? I might have. Even watching it on a tiny rectangle at a height of 30,000ft, it was intense. After 30 years working in press boxes, I’m good at keeping emotions in check, but I let out a yelp after Bellingham’s second. The flight touched down just as the game was entering stoppage time. I let everyone disembark so I could watch the excruciating closing stages.

Oli Kay let out a yelp after Jude Bellingham’s second (Manuel Velasquez – FIFA/FIFA via Getty Images)

As I got up at the end, one of the cabin crew asked me if I was OK. I assured I was. “Nervous flyer, huh?” On this occasion, definitely.

Adam Hurrey, on his sofa in Camberley, Surrey

An unprecedented England-watching challenge. Not in my lifetime, to my recollection, have I had to put together a plan to secure a workable combination of consciousness and morale to consume a competitive England game.

Having started work at 6am, this was an uphill task for a kick-off scheduled 19 hours later. The concept of a “tactical nap” was mooted — a little twee for my tastes, but nonetheless a practical reality — but that was crucially undermined by my rampant screen addiction.

Refuelling considerations were made even more difficult by the draconian tradition of UK Sunday trading hours, resulting in a forlorn trip to the local BP garage (M&S Food outlet attached), where a decision was made to purchase “loaded potato skins”, very much the Quansah of not-quite-dinner options.

Despite a rigorous hydration regime, the excitement of Norway 2-1 Brazil took its toll and, as the evening humidity descended, a sluggishness set in. As a committed triple-screener (TV, social media, WhatsApp), I feared for my concentration levels.

As the news of the delayed kick-off emerged, an emergency plan was hatched and enacted: my first two cups of coffee in all my 43 years. Six naive, heaped teaspoons of Nescafe Gold Blend, split across three hours like an F1 pit-stop strategy, were the Dan Burn of my night.

Full credit to those conducting proper journalism from the Estadio Azteca, with its perilous WiFi, but the real struggle took place on a sweaty sofa in Surrey.

Estadio Azteca: no match for Adam Hurrey’s sofa (Eddie Keogh – The FA/The FA via Getty Images)

Beren Cross, 6.30am at home in Leeds

Around school and work, the family had resolved to record the match and get up early to watch.

Phones went off and alarms were set for 6.30am. Cereal was poured, tea brewed. There was the luxury of skipping through the two hours of preamble to get to kick-off.

The boy had the England flag he’d made at school. Then came the questions. “Is that an eagle killing a snake on their flag? Is this live? Why are you saying ‘good tackle’ to the Mexico player?”. This is his first tournament, but tribalism is taking root.

Bellingham’s goals were an early-morning shock but by the time Burn put his body on the line, I was navigating school uniform and toothbrushing.

There were groans as the 11 minutes of added time went up at the end of the second half. Not just for my anxiety, but for how tight it would be cutting the rush for school and nursery. We grabbed bags, keys and the door handle as Bellingham sank to his knees.

Cerys Jones, taking advantage of UK pubs staying open late, in London

At 9pm, when I arrived at my local pub for the start of Brazil v Norway refreshed by a 90-minute nap, a stint through to the early hours felt a great idea.

At about 1.15am, after kick-off had been delayed and my flatmate and I had wrung as much entertainment as we could out of a pack of Top Trumps, it felt like a deeply stupid decision. There were a lot of eyes glazing over around the place, but it felt like everyone had committed and we could only hope we’d be rewarded with an entertaining game.

But there was nothing to snap us out of tiredness like the disbelieving joy of 200 strangers when England went ahead. The celebrations had not calmed down by the time Bellingham scored again.

Pubs were allowed to stay open later for the game (Scott Heppell/AFP via Getty Images)

The atmosphere was mercifully free of forced, performative pint-chucking. The middle-of-the-night element ended up adding to the experience, not taking away — it felt like we were all kids who’d been allowed to stay up late.

By the second half, everyone was wide awake. Each clearance, header, and block was cheered almost as loudly as Kane’s penalty. It felt surreal to be emerging at full-time, around 4am, as the sky was turning light. It was giddy, stupid and brilliant.

Greg O’Keeffe at home in Liverpool, watching it on playback

Lethargic by Sunday night after a busy weekend, I set my alarm for 1am with a plan to watch the game.

The alarm came and went. I came to with a jolt at around 8am, having slept through the live experience of one of the greatest England games. Gah.

I ignored my failings and headed for the sofa to press play on the BBC’s no-spoiler replay.

Watching with a cup of tea was not how I planned it. There was drama though. It’s not every Monday morning my heart rate climbs above 120bpm while sat in the living room.

There was a sheen of surreality about it. A nagging feeling that I was in some weird liminal space while most of the world knew something I didn’t. And, come on — England were never going to hold onto it. So why not spare myself the suspense and pick up that phone?

I clung on. I congratulated myself for at least managing to maintain the illusion the game was live.

Tut all you like, but resilience comes in different shapes and sizes.

The best of our readers’ locations…

I watched it in Portland, OR — was completely in Mexican territory. We walked in the bar to face all green — but they welcomed us in, commenting that the rain delay was England weather. The entire bar chanted “Telemundo, Telemundo” early to get the bar to switch the feed we watched. Pictures were taken as only two of us stood up to sing God Save the King. The game itself was brutal to watch — and one Mexico fan cried at the end. I saw first-person what it meant to them as a nation. The victory was great, but I plan to watch the rest of the games with England fans or to stay at home (and it is coming home).

Anonymous

I live in the most picturesque village in middle England and watched at the cricket club. It was an epic match and the sight of England fans wandering home through the beautiful dawn light at 4am like zombies was one for the ages.

Langers

I watched it at home — my housemate was sleeping, so my celebrations for the goals were the loudest silence you could imagine.

Nathan D.

I was driving back through misty Inverness — the one in Northern California, not Scotland. I’d spent the day hiking through the elk reserve. I knew I wouldn’t make it home on time so pulled into a roadside Mexican restaurant — Mi Casita in Point Reyes Station. I knew I would find the game there, but was surprised to be welcomed with laughs, kindness, amazing fish tacos and hibiscus, and a prime seat in front of the only TV. We celebrated the joy and magic of football together. Truly a night for the ages in the beautiful game.

Anonymous