Drugging Lionel Messi

Strolling through the streets of São Paulo, being asked to pose for numerous photographs with smiling, high-fiving, hugging locals, I've never been happier to be Dutch.

Let me clarify one important thing - I'm not actually Dutch. Not even a little bit.

But that day, my nationality didn't matter to the people of Brazil. For that was the day that Holland was facing off against Brazil's long-time nemesis, Argentina, in the semi-final of the 2014 World Cup.

It is no secret that, when it comes to football (soccer), Brazil and Argentina are two of the fiercest rivals on the planet. At the 2014 World Cup, the Argies came into their neighbor's backyard chanting:

Brasil, decime qué se siente

tener en casa tu papá

Te juro que aunque pasen los años

nunca nos vamos a olvidar

Que el Diego te gambeteó

que Cani te vacunó

estás llorando desde Italia hasta hoy

A Messi lo vas a ver

la Copa nos va a traer

Maradona es más grande que Pelé

Translation:

Brazil, tell me how it feels

To have your daddy there at home

I swear that even as years pass

We will never forget

That Diego [Maradona] slipped it by

That Cani [Claudio Caniggia] surprised you

You've been crying since Italy [World Cup 1990] until today

You will see Messi

Will bring us the Cup

Maradona is greater than Pelé

OH NO THEY DIDN'T.

As such, the Brazilians were only cheering for two teams during their World Cup: Brazil, and anyone playing Argentina.

Given that this particular day Holland faced Argentina in the World Cup semi-finals, there was nothing to do but don my orange outfit, literally topped off with a bright orange fedora, and make my way to São Paulo’s Arena Corinthians stadium.

The Brazilians loved it. Well, correction, their hatred for the Argentinians was so great that they were forced to embrace anyone remotely resembling someone from Holland. Namely, me.

En route to the match I was stopped every few yards and asked to pose for pictures with local Brazilians - begging, nay, PLEADING with me to let Holland absolutely demolish Argentina. Because clearly, being Dutch, that was something that was within my realm of control.

With one of my many Brazilian fans

All the attention I was receiving from locals on the streets could in no way prepare me for what was awaiting my arrival to the stadium. As those of us with tickets made our way down the road, throngs of Brazilians were crammed up against barricades cheering for all us "Dutch" people. The way they were screaming, waving and taking photos of us, you could have easily mistaken us for orange-clad celebrities. But nope, we were just not Argentinian. That's all it took.

We could tell when a dreaded Argentinian enemy was approaching, as the Brazilians would start chanting:

Mil gols, mil gols Mil gols, mil gols, mil gols Só Pelé, só Pelé Maradona cheirador

Translation:

A thousand goals, a thousand goals A thousand goals, a thousand goals, a thousand goals Only Pelé, Only Pelé Maradona is a cokehead

Yes, you read that last line correctly. It was also accompanied by men, women and children mockingly holding one nostril and snorting an invisible line of coke with the other.

The day before, Brazil had just suffered one of the worst defeats in World Cup history, losing to Germany 7-1, and being kicked out of the tournament they were hosting. So the Argies had a new, more insulting chant added to their repertoire, simply shouting back, "siete!" ("seven!").

As we arrived at the stadium, I was approached by several television crews, each one from a different country looking to interview a geniune Dutch person on tonight's match. Unfortunately for me, the two crews who originally approached me were actually Dutch television stations. My knowledge of Dutch extends only so far as, "Een bier, dankjewel" ("a beer, thank you"). So that was really a non-starter.

Eventually I was approached by an excitable young guy and his small television crew. He introduced himself as from MTV Asia and asked if I was Dutch. Assuming that, being MTV Asia, chances are he wouldn't know Dutch if he heard it, so I took the gamble and nodded. Clearly psyched he found a geniune Dutch person to interview, he motioned for his camera crew to start filming and shoved a microphone in my face.

"So, who do you think will win tonight?" he asked.

"HOLLAND of COURSH!" I responded, much to my inner horror.

Without realising it, I had started to put on a stereotypical Dutch accent, à la Goldfinger from Austin Powers. You know the one, "ssshmoke and a pancake". WHAT HAVE I DONE?!

"And how will Holland be victorious tonight?" MTV Asia asked.

"Between Robben, Van Persshie and Sneijder, we have a sshtronger team. They jussht have Messhi".

This accent was getting out of control, but I couldn't help myself. It was too late to stop the accent now - what if he noticed!?

At this moment, the interviewer asked me probably the strangest, yet most amazing, question that has ever been asked in an interview:

"Why don't you guys use all those drugs you have in Amsterdam to drug Messi?".

Say what now?

"Ya know, those cakes that you guys make with drugs in them.... what are they called?"

"Sssshpace cakessh?"

"Yeah! Space cakes! Why don't you guys drug him with some space cakes? You can deliver some to the locker room and then he eats them and BOOM! He can't play!"

Was this little lad a reporter or an an evil genius? Why hadn't anyone run into him sooner?!

"What makessh you think we haven't?" I said with my best straight face.

At this point, it was clear the interview was spiralling out of control. MTV Asia quickly thanked me for my time, signed off and stopped filming.

And with that, my 15 minutes of Asian fame were over.