The moment it became obvious this would not be a regulation evening of association football came around 50 minutes before kick off. The stadium was barely 10 per cent full, the pitch deserted, and on jogged the French goalkeeping contingent to begin their warm-up. The reaction was deafening, a cacophony of whistles which rang out from the far end where a few thousand Moroccans had packed into the bottom tier. Then came the rest of the French players, and the whistles grew into a murderous screech. There was fury in the air, and things were about to get messy.
When they weren’t taunting the French they were drumming and singing and revelling in their first World Cup semi-final. Their chants were loud, constant and diverse, as translated at half-time by one fan with several Moroccan flags flapping around his body. “Always Morocco!” was a regular; “Boys, bring it home!” was an impassioned plea; and “Goal! Goal! Goal!” was their way of sucking the ball into the net when it came close. Later they embarked on a rousing Thunderclap and one woman pointed accusingly at people around her, demanding they stand and join in as if each and every ticket was a conscription to battle.
