THE plan was simple enough.

We would fuel up on a hearty Russian breakfast of Coco Bombs and Oreos, hail an Uber into the heart of Moscow to retrieve the laminated version of my FIFA Fan ID, then utilise Moscow’s famous Metro to get to the train station.

From there we’d take the free 12-hour ride to Kazan that was made available to World Cup fans, settle into a pre-game brew and prepare ourselves for Australia’s tilt against France.

Easy.

Or so we thought.

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My World Cup buddy, a man that goes only by George, and I had hitherto overcome a few obstacles; some major passport dramas that I’d only managed to resolved on the day I left Sydney; visa issues with the Russian authorities (and at The Airport That Progress Forgot in Belarus) and scrambling to get my FIFA Fan ID. But with that all behind us, we appeared to be on the home stretch.

We made it to the train station, waited patiently in queue for almost an hour and finally reached the front of the line just to be told that all the free fares had already been “shotgunned”.

All the tickets were shotgunned. Source: News Corp Australia

This was disheartening, but if we had to pay the 100 Euros for a patron’s train ticket to get to Kazan then so be it. We hopped on the end of another line and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Eventually the throng of Peruvians and Frenchmen ahead of us had dissipated and George and I asked the Russian ticket lady to supply us with two tickets to Kazan.

No go.

“Sold out” is what I presume she told us.

This wasn’t confirmed until we spoke to one of the volunteers on hand. Said volunteer could see that our despair was real, so he went above and beyond by letting us use his phone to book flights from Moscow to Kazan.

By this time it was 1pm and we now had to make it to Moscow’s main airport (they have four) by 5pm for a 6.40pm flight.

No worries, right?

Wrong.

Moscow: So. Many. Airports. Source: AFP

We did indeed get to the airport with a lot of time to spare but we had a spot of trouble getting our boarding passes. Turns out, we’d picked the wrong airport.

Yep, we were on the wrong side of Moscow.

We then paid through the nose for a cab to scramble across town from one airport to another, but our efforts were in vain.

We missed our flight.

We then tried to book a spot on another plane, but all tickets to Kazan were sold out.

That’s when George and I knew we were done for.

We weren’t going to make Australia’s opening World Cup match.

A match that we had looked forward to since we started making plans back in early January, and travelled nearly 14,000 kilometres for.

It was over.

Our hearts were broken.

Just as we began to marinate in self-pity, I heard something; it cut through the air like a canon on a deserted farm.

“Nah-yeah-nah mate. We’re pretty much f***ed”.

I looked over to see three of my fellow countrymen at the airport ticket box dealing with their own bout of missed-plane-blues.

They were clearly just now discovering that flying to Kazan was impossible before kick-off.

“Boys!” I yelled. “Did you just miss the 6.40pm to Kazan?”

Luke, Yoss and Frankie, three likely lads from Melbourne, had been sinking a few at an airport bar watching the World Cup’s finest action (Iran vs Morocco), and had subsequently missed the last call to board the plane.

We quickly traded war stories and indulged in mutual commiseration until one of us, I can’t recall who, had a moment of divine inspiration.

“We could drive it, boys.”

It was 7.30pm. The drive from Moscow to Kazan is 13 hours.

This. Was. Feasible.

How long until we're in Mockba? Source: FOX SPORTS

After a few interminable conversations with Europcar, the new plan was underway. Within half an hour of meeting these lads there we were, together, on the road from Moscow to Kazan, battling our way through the capital’s significant traffic problem and onwards through the rolling hills of the lush-green Russian countryside.

We watched the sun set at 11.30pm and drove through the dark for only an hour or two: the sun started rising again at 1.30am, because in this industrious country even the sun works overtime for its people.

It was beautiful.

Kazan... what a sight for sore eyes. Source: AFP

We remarked that Russian tourism and a few Bond villains had really given the place an unfairly bad wrap.

We drove and we drove and we drove some more.

We kept on driving.

And we did it man. We got there.

We hadn’t slept for over a day; I hadn’t eaten since the Coco Bombs. But we got there. A journalist from Newcastle, a foreman from Canberra and three professional strangers from Melbourne had bandied together on a trip none of us will ever forget.

Finally. We’re in Kazan. Source: FOX SPORTS

And my god, it was worth it.

Walking the last mile to the stadium with big George next to me along with my new mates was emotional, each man bewildered and amped and perplexed and dazed and completely euphoric.

By now you know how the game went. Sadly, like me and my country-crossing crew, Australia had a bit of bad luck. But goddamn, we showed the world that we deserve to be there.

And we’re still there days later, sharing beers and a story I’ll remember for many World Cups to come.