The Russians wore red, the Saudis wore green, and Robbie Williams wore magenta leopard print.
But it was Vladimir Putin’s impassive, contented smile that drew the biggest cheers from the overwhelmingly Russian crowd at Luzhniki stadium’s World Cup opening ceremony on Thursday evening.
“I congratulate all of you at the start of the most important championship in the world,” Mr Putin declared in the precise, mechanical imitation of warm feeling he reserves for sporting events and his New Year address.
“Love for football unites the entire world in one team, regardless of people’s language or ideology.
“Good luck to all the teams. Welcome to Russia!”
As an opening speech, it was political boiler plate, but the 80,000 strong crowd – and it was clearly Mr Putin’s crowd – loved it.
World Cup 2018 opening ceremony, in pictures
Eight years and £10 billion in the making, the World Cup was always been meant as yet another showcase for the Russian president’s ongoing obsession: his nation’s renewed political and economic power on the world stage.
There was a time when Mr Putin would have sensed the eyes of the world on him and switched to English to drive that message home.
But on Thursday, he stuck to Russian.
It was a decision that seemed to say, as if there were any doubt, that the Putin who felt the need to woo the world in the language of the global West is long gone.
Even before the Russian team hammered Saudi Arabia 5-nil, things were going about as well as the Russian leader could have hoped.
The presence of Mohammad bin Salman, Saudi Arabia’s crown prince, in the box along side Mr Putin confirmed Russia’s new place as a power broker in the war-ravaged Middle east.
The silky smooth organisation – not a hooligan in sight, a gleaming Luhniki stadium unrecognisable from the draughty concrete hulk of a decade ago, and international crowds having a blatantly good time – defied fears of fan violence.
The home team’s humiliation of the Saudi side will have sent a surge of pride through a nation long starved of sporting success.
Boisterous fans would pour out of the Sportivnaya metro station to be filtered and funnelled through massed phalanxes of blue-camouflaged paramilitary riot police until they entered stadium short on modern comforts and heavy on frosty draughts and cracked concrete.
The scenes in this sprawling Olympic park in the crook of the Moscow river last night could not have been more different.
A mild-mannered army of fans poured out of Sportivnaya where it was met not by riot police – who, while present, kept an extremely low profile – but students perched on high chairs shouting “welcome to Russia” into loud hailers.
Exuberance was confined to silly hats, draping one another in national flags, and very occasional, brief chants.
A handful of Saudi supporters in dish-dashes held aloft portraits of Saudi Arabia’s king Salman and his son, the crown prince.
“I’m quite optimistic. I mean, it’s Russia. We should be able to do something,” said Muath, a a 24 year old student from Damman in Saudi Arabia’s Eastern province, before kickoff.
That optimism will have lasted little longer than the opening ceremony.
The 15-minute opening ceremony was somewhat pared down and functional.
Runners in green spangled suits pulled what might have been Russia’s biggest sheet across the pitch. Others in white and gold outfits trotted out around the sides.
Meanwhile, what appeared to be a cardboard Chinese Dragon cantered out of one of the players’ tunnels and began to parade around the pitch accompanied by extras carrying shiny red and yellow surfboards.
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This was apparently meant to be a Slavic firebird – a kind of ancient Russian phoenix whom avaricious kings tend to send plucky young heroes to catch.
Suddenly, Robbie Williams appeared and began to belt his way through a series of turn of the millennium hits.
He was lively, energetic, and knew how to deliver.
But he, too, knew whose party he was singing at, and didn’t sing ‘Party like a Russian’, the ruthless skewing of the corruption at the top of Moscow’s political and economic elite rumoured to have been inspired by a private gig where he sang for Mr Putin’s inner circle. (It was, inevitably, a hit in Russia).
And if that wasn’t enough, he raised a middle finger to the TV camera. Was it a response to the criticism he faced for appearing at the event, or a rebuke to the hosts? No one knew for sure, leaving viewers to express a mix of outrage and bewilderment.
World Cup opening ceremonies through the years
The crowd finally woke up as the teams appeared on the pitch and Luzhniki echoed to cries of Ros-i-ya.
The next 90 minutes were a Russian triumph – marred only by the awkward sense of humiliating one’s guests.
When Russia put in its first neat goal in the 12th minute, Mr Putin shrugged impassively and leaned in for a handshake with Prince bin Salman.
After a fifth goal hammered home seconds before full time, the politeness had turned to awkwardness.
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Mr Putin shook the prince’s hand, but appeared not to know where to look. Mr bin Salman made a quick exit.