World Cup, Spain, 1982
Camera: Nikon FM2 with MD-11 winder.
Lens: Nikkor 24mm f2
Film: Kodak Tri-X 400 asa, push to 1600 asa.
Brazil 2-1 Soviet Union.
Image shows Brazil's Junior leaping onto the shoulders of Eder who had just scored the winning goal in the second half of their opening group game in Sevilla.
I only got onto the pitch for the second half as complications with my press credentials delayed me past kickoff. Could only access the pitch at half time. crossing the moat on two 2x10 boards with an Alsatian snapping at my heels as its handler laughed as I scrambled over. I was lucky enough to get a coloured bib for the end Brazil was attacking. This shot was on one of two rolls I handed in to the Associated Press editor, who had no idea that some unknown Canadian university student was working for them.
Cropped into a vertical image, it made the front page of Brazil's O Globo newspaper the next day. The entire front page. I did alright freelancing, making about US$2,000 in game shooting fees and at least that again selling file photos back in Canada.
Still in university, I got my credentials by working as overnight picture editor for a wire service that let me chat often with staff at the London bureau as morning was breaking in Britain. Good relationships formed over a year and they wangled an extra photo pass for me.
Took my girlfriend - now my wife - and we stayed on the south coast of Spain, about 60 miles from Malaga, in the little town of Salobrena, where we had free use of a villa owned by my wife's relations in a condo complex. I covered the Brazil, USSR, Scotland and New Zealand group in the first round, then into Madrid for the remainder. She'd get a ticket to stand at one end but had her backside constantly pinched. Went home after the group stage.
But Salobrena was a treat. Great view of the ocean, courtyard pool had topless French women lounging about, fabulous seafood, paella and wines. Terrifying little commute along the cliff-side coastal road to Malaga, crazy drivers passing us all the time on bends.
Hilarious sight of Scots fans in Malaga chucking frisbees about on the beach in their kilts, snorting at any suggestion they rub on some sun screen: "Tha's fer girls" they'd scoff. Turned into absolute lobsters the next day or two, shivering under wet towels to sooth their scorched skin.
Northern Ireland camp was great to cover. One big laugh the entire time, local kids running about the pitch taking on the WC team. Gerry Armstrong was always very nice to speak with.
The Bernabeu was something else. I still remember vividly walking through an access gate onto the pitchside area and smelling the sharp aroma of freshly cut grass, everything around shimmering in the afternoon heat. The stands just looked so intimidating.
Had a great time, a successful trip and got to cover the '86 World Cup in Mexico because of that.
