In that time, I also spent five days in Rio de Janeiro, being caught up in the splendour and majesty of one of the most beautiful and iconic places in the world. One of those days was spent on a drip due to an unlimited Caipirinha induced bout of kidney stones, but if anything, being holed up in a mud hut hospital to the east of a privately owned island for a couple of hours, enhanced my own experience of the trip of a lifetime.
While not there on football business then (or indeed now, hashtag sad face) I am extremely jealous of those that are. Most of them anyway. Not even Rio and all it's wonders would ever make me want to swop personas, Judge Reinhold/Fred Savage style, with Adrian Chiles. The charisma vacuum at the forefront of relaying last night's story of the Selecao and their opening day victory over Croatia, put in a performance arguably as poor as the Japanese referee, who has dictated the aftermath of the game.
The whole ITV set up seemed bland and uninterested in drawing back the curtain on the "greatest show on earth". Dixon, Cannavaro and Vieira, dressed identically (looking like the over the top salesmen from Still Game, minus the exuberance) in pale blue shirts, with Chiles dark blue effort, made them look like fed up businessmen waiting on a delayed flight out of RDJ, the marvellous backdrop of Copacabana beach failing to bring out a glimmer of interest or enthusiasm from the wardrobe department.
You're getting paid to be in Brazil, lads. Lighten it up a bit.
At least Gordon Strachan looked like he was having a good time ( or as good a time as anyone can have when sat between Ian "Wrighty" Wright and Glen Hoddle), bedecked in a T-shirt with a dog doing keepy-uppies on it.
After Clyde Tyldesley unenthusiastically led the viewers through the script for the opening ceremony, bemused and uninterested in Jenny from the block and Mr Worldwide struggling to hear themselves amidst the living rainforest of dancers, the football finally began.
I'd have rather watched the Brazil squad belt out there national anthem for two hours than the preamble we all got. In the tunnel, Thiago Silva was teary eyed as he led his team out against Niko Kovac's Croatia, who at first glance, must have been shiting themselves. Hands on shoulders, Silva headed up to the pitch, his brothers attached behind him, as São Paolo rose as one to shout their heroes on to the field.
A muted rendition of the Croat anthem gave way to the most fervent, boisterous and passionate singing of an anthem I've ever seen. To a man, Scolari's charges helped to swell their home cauldron with their voices, even throwing in an an acapella second verse for good measure, like a 62,000 strong Hakka, resonating across the watching world.
Within eleven minutes though, the home crowd were, almost, silenced as Croatia took a stunning lead.
The Brazilians had controlled much of the opening tempo of the game, but Olic had looked lovely on the counter attack, shooting narrowly wide in the game's first real opportunity. The hosts didn't heed that warning though, as the Wolfsburg forward's break down the left ended with a low ball in to the box. Nikica Jelavic sclaffed his shot, but it fortuitously ended up at the feet of the on-rushing Marcelo, who had the ignominy of scoring the opening goal of the tournament at the wrong end.
Having been the game changer in the Champions League final just weeks ago, the left back became the first ever own goal scorer at a World Cup finals for the Selecao, but there was not much he could do to get out of the way, with Julio Cesar committed to the initial ball in. It didn't faze him though, as every opportunity to make amends in the aftermath was duly taken, showing a resolve that others might not have had in that situation.
Going behind sprung the hosts in to action, Oscar tormenting the Croat wing backs, while Neymar had the crowd lifted with every touch and jink. Not so much with the elbow he landed on Modric though, that earned him the tournament's first booking.
On first look, he leads with the arm, so a booking is justified, but with replays, it did look more than a little deliberate. Had he been the victim rather than the victor, it may have resulted in a red. The Croatians vehemently protested that it should have been an ordering off, but the ref was having none of it, stoking the fire for the rest of his display.
Moments later, Neymar was celebrating rather than showering, as he levelled. Oscar won the ball in the centre circle, releasing the mercurial focal point of Brazil's squad, who advanced through a challenge or two before driving a low shot from the edge of the box, past the longest of long arms of Stipe Pletikosa and in off the post. Cue delirium.
As much as Tyldesley and Townsend tried to belittle the goal for not being picture perfect, it was the shot in the arm that the home fans needed to get their house party officially started. As well as Croatia had played up until this point, the home goal was always coming, albeit from a man who in other circumstances may not have been on the pitch.
It remained level in to the second period, a half which turned out to be full of controversy. The ineffectual Fred, who along with Hulk had contributed very little to the game, took the opportunity to go down in the box after a tap on the shoulder from Lovren. The referee couldn't have pointed to the spot any quicker to award the hosts the penalty kick, much to the the Croatian chagrin.
If the penalty award was soft, Pletikosa's wrists were even softer, as Neymar's unconvincing penalty breached both a hands after guessing the right direction and height. As the fancy haired number 10 looked to the sky's in celebration, the Croats looked to the referee, knowing that his decision had been their undoing.
To rub salt in to the wounds, they had a leveller disallowed for a foul on Julio Cesar, which again, wasn't a particularly great call. Granted the whistle had gone long before the ball was put in the net, with the hosts' defence playing the whistle, but it was still a rather shady decision to deny Olic a goal.At 2-1 the headlines threatened to lay the home win on the referee's performance, but thankfully a worthy goal sealed the victory for Scolari's side, when deep in injury time, Oscar strode forward and toe punted the ball early enough to catch Pletikosa off guard from 20 yards, to crown an opening day victory.
Perhaps not the performance that the host nation wanted, but the scoreline and the first three points of the campaign would have had them samba-ing well on in to the night. For Niko Kovac, he can take heart from his side's performance and if they can keep that level of play in the South American heat, they should do well enough in their remaining group games.
As opening games go. It may not have been a classic, but with goals, drama and the passion on display, it bodes colourfully and vibrantly well for the rest of the games. If only someone would tell ITV.
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