Getting To The Vicente Calderon
For once the Madrid Metro was crowded and could be at least honorably compared with the bursting Mumbai Locals as I made my way from Sol to Piramides on Saturday evening. It took me two attempts and a compromise on personal safety before I could finally squeeze myself into a packed, brightly lit and almost festive coach as the gates successfully closed behind me. Surrounding me and covering every speck of that confined space were people dressed in national colors of both Spain and Argentina. Those rare ones who like me wore a rather staid black made sure they carried some visible sign displaying their loyalties (unlike me I may add). Clearly the home crowd outnumbered the visitors, yet there were enough of the blue and whites around to have made any possible argument or maybe something worse an even contest. In any case, trouble and aggression seemed far away from anyone's mind and there was general good cheer and sharing of pleasantries between supporters of both sides even as a few more colorful souls packed into the train with each passing halt.

And as we reached our intended destination the crowds flooded out carrying me with them like a purposeful river making its way through plains and valleys to an intended ocean. Overground we were joined by tributaries flowing in from all sides till all that was visible was a sea of humanity, bathed in yellow and red with significant patches of light blue and white. And in the distance stood the Vicente Calderon, where once before I had made a similar journey on a matchday to watch Atletico Madrid take on Racing Santander. That evening the pre-match hum had been about grim looking young people all burdened with the same loyalties protesting against the mismanagement of their club by the men in suits and ties. This evening though, supporters from both camps were in good cheer all around, creating music, showing off their wacky face paints and getting pictures taken with each other. Such was the general bonhomie all around that one was lulled into a sense of belief that after all this was just a friendly and we were all there to have a bit of fun.

The Anticipation Builds
Not being one who is too high on planning and being prepared in advance, I approached the ticket window with serious concerns of witnessing a large queue or "Sold Out" boards and was stunned to find myself with a ticket in hand before I could say Ola to the friendly chap behind the window. Perhaps everyone else had purchased their tickets online or at least well in advance because when after taking in more sights outside I finally did enter the noisy and expectant arena, there were not more than a handful of empty seats visible.

As I took a seat that was not my designated spot but was vacant and uncontested anyway, high up behind the substitute benches, the players lined up for the National Anthems. This was followed by a brief and not perfectly solemnly observed silence paying tribute the unfortunately departed Robert Encke and then we were ready for kick-off.

The Argentine supporters were packed together behind the goal to my left waving large flags and displaying banners proclaiming their greatness. Everywhere else were Spanish supporters with an odd sprinkling or two of their rivals in between, colourful and bright in the magnificent floodlit stadium. The beats of a drum boomed on and the local equivalent of vuvuzelas blasted through the night air as I finally got to see in flesh and blood the likes of Lionel Messi, Xavi, Casillas, Iniesta and all the rest prepare for action. An even bigger prize for me was the sight of Diego Maradona, stocky and little and as close to the touchline as he was permitted to be, bursting with nervous energy. There he remained for the entire length of the game, never once returning to his seat. By contrast the calm senior figure of Vicente del Bosque appeared on just a couple of occasions before disappearing into the benches with his star studded line-up of substitutes.

The Game
While the players kicked off and Spain settled down to the task soon enough, the crowd continued to make it a special international night. In between all the noise and the chanting and the music we managed to do a lengthy Mexican wave which was only halted by a tackle on a Spanish player. So engrossed was I in soaking up the atmosphere that by the time I wiped the stupid grin off my face and started noticing the events on the pitch, Xavi Alonso had given the hosts the lead. Spain had lined up in a 4-3-3 with Silva and Iniesta flanking David Villa up front. Argentina were in a 4-4-1-1 with Messi lined up behind Higuain and Gago partnering Mascerhano in central midfield.

True to form and reputation Spain controlled the play. Busquets, a new entrant into the starting eleven for his country was commanding and fed Xavi and Xavi Alonso with a frequency that was remarkable to watch. The central three displayed an understanding that would put successful marriages to shame and moved the ball around in little passes that gave the impression that they were Harlem Globetrotters playing five-a-side football. The front three were causing panic in the Argentine defence and every time the ball reached their defensive third, the Albicelestes look disorganized and clueless.

The first half was all Spain and their opponents hardly saw the ball. It wasn't so much that the South Americans lacked creativity in midfield as much as they lacked ownership of the ball. Spain danced around and though they didn't score a second, their superiority frustrated their opponents enough to draw nasty tackles on more than a rare occasion and soon the only people who were still treating this as a friendly were the fans. Perhaps even the referee had more touches of the ball than Messi and when he did get possession he was soon crowded out by the very efficient Spanish side. He did manage to beat a player or two but would never have the option to make a pass as his teammates struggled to make themselves available against an opposition that is as well organized off the ball as it is beautiful on it. Only twice did the Argentines threaten to score in the first half, once when de Maria crossed for Higuain who shot over and the other when a Gago pass lobbed over the Spanish defence found a de Maria run leaving the winger one-on-one against Casillas. De Maria tamely chipped over.

At half-time, the good natured crowd continued their celebrations with the Argentines hardly subdued by their team's performance. On the pitch, the Spanish substitutes did not even bother to attend the half-time talk and instead stayed back to play a game which back home we like to call "Beech ka Bichchoo" where one man in the centre of the circle tries to snatch the ball as others pass it all around him. It was fascinating to see the likes of Fabregas, Pepe Reina and Alvaro Negredo monkey around and pull each other's legs in this fun contest in much the same way as we do while warming up for our bi-weekly games.

Raul Albiol came on for Puyol as the second half kicked off and though Argentina showed more determination, Spain continued to dominate. Iniesta could have won a penalty but the referee waved play on and instead a few seconds later it was the Argentines who were awarded a penalty in their first foray into the opposition box in the second half. The crowd now not feeling so friendly and generous anymore, abused the man with the whistle to their hearts content but it was to no avail as Messi stepped up and scored from the spot.

If the goal was supposed to revitalize the visitors it did not. Instead Spain continued to pass around and toy with them without really showing too much urgency to regain their lead. It was as if they were happy doing their thing and treating this as a friendly even while Argentina were desperately looking to get something out of the game that would give their unhappy media and fans back home some belief about their prospects next year.

Fabregas came on for Xavi and Silva gave way to Negredo for the home side but their dominance continued unabated. Maradona made some changes of his own and his players used the opportunities to waste as much time as they possibly could. Cambiasso came on for Gago and though Argentina did benefit from him being better positioned than his predecessor to create chances for his forwards, he failed every time the question was asked of him. On four or five occasions he could have played a pass to set his striker (by now Tevez had replaced Higuain) free but each time he lobbed it to an opposition defender instead of playing it on the ground in the manner of his more illustrious rivals.

As Argentina grew more physical and hard tackling in their approach the crowd got more boisterous in demanding payback though the local players themselves hardly displayed much of the same ferocity or intentions. It was almost like they had accepted their superiority and did not feel like they had to prove anything to anybody. Their dominance was complete and it always seemed that a goal was just around the corner till somehow Argentina survived on each occasion, more owing to good fortune and the absence of a killer instinct in their opposition than their own defensive capabilities.

As the match wound down towards an undeserved draw and Pepe Reina prepared to come on for the last three minutes or so for Iker Casillas so that the captain could get a celebratory applause on the occasion of his 100th cap, there was still time for some justice to happen. Yet another spell of sustained pressure saw panic in the visitors' box and a handball that led to a late penalty for Spain which Alonso converted for his and his country's second goal of the game.

What We Learned About The Teams
There was nothing spectacularly eye opening to be drawn from the encounter. Spain are the prettiest team on the planet but can be hit on the counter and may face off days when they are not going to score. Those are the only times when they will get beaten. Argentina do not have the players to match the best in the world and every area of the pitch needs improvements. Unfortunately for Maradona, he now has a game lesser to unearth diamonds before the big event arrives upon us. What is evident is that with the current goalkeeper, the back four that started against Spain and a midfield lacking a playmaker in the Veron/Riquelme mode, they will have to depend on kicking their opponents a lot more than kicking the ball if they are going to make any serious progress next year.

I also saw proof that while the entire Spanish team is great and attractive, Xavi is perhaps the greatest amongst equals. Everything about his game was perfect and he never made a mistake in decision making or execution. And I also learnt all over again that even the best player in the world can look ordinary and lonely when the supporting cast is weak as the football pitch is a very large place to conquer all by yourself.

El Diego
As the final whistle blew, Diego Maradona rushed to the centre, finally allowed to break free from the regulations that prevent a manager from kicking every ball. He hugged his players and congratulated the Spanish ones showing that he manages by emotion and connection. Sadly hardly anything about his teams display seems to suggest that it is the only tonic they need to click. Perhaps what he needs is quite a different set of players to hug and embrace. Barring de Maria there was no one who could claim to have acquitted themselves well though a large number like the ageing and rather pointless Heinze may have been at their abilities' limits anyway.

The Last Word
It was close to midnight and eager to get back home people made way to the exits in haste. All except the strong Argentine contingent who continued beating their drums and chanting and singing even after the defeat. Perhaps they were just happy to be amongst friends in a foreign land for surely they were not celebrating their team's performance. Perhaps they also know that when they face similar nights in South Africa, the drum will indeed fall silent after the final whistle blows.