Olé! Olé olé olé! Chile! Chile! The Maracanã rang so loudly with snarky singing by the end that it felt as if it would take off and fly to Valparaíso, powered merely by voice. Spain has not been so cruelly humiliated since El Dorado was cancelled from British TV, its name so mocked since Manuel worked in Fawlty Towers, and the Chilean fans, who made up the overwhelming majority in the stadium, made sure they felt it.

Yet despite the boom of the chants, winning the game seemed almost to calm them, soften down their earlier near hysterical excitement to simply delighted contentment.

Chile’s fans? Excited? If any member of the press was somehow unsure of the answer to this when arriving to watch the match, despite having walked through what felt like several miles of Chile fans and Chile flags to reach the stadium, the answer soon landed in their lap – literally so, in some cases. It was not quite another Chilean coup d’état but it was certainly a storming of the barricades when a few dozen Chile fans rushed past an overwhelmed security, knocking over gates, and ran into the press room, breaking a glass door and tearing down a partition on their way.

What were they protesting against? Fifa? Football? General injustice? None of these, it seemed. They just wanted to get into the stadium without a ticket. Truly, the revolutionary spirit lives in the Chilean breast. Security guards eventually pulled themselves together and, after a bit of kerfuffle, marched them out – but not before the entire scene had been eagerly vined, tweeted and instagrammed to bejesus by the world’s sports press.

It was almost enough to make one feel a little sorry for Fifa: the first real breach in security in this World Cup happened in the press room. Almost.

On the other hand, while the fans may not have been making any particular protest, they did leave behind one instructive lesson. Among the destruction they left in their wake in the press area there was a small pile of Crocs. Lesson: if you are going to go on a rampage, opt for footwear that stays on your feet.

In truth, the excitement had been building for some time. Three hours before kick-off it already felt like a Chilean street party outside the Maracanã. Fans sporting the Chilean flag, or at least images of it, around their shoulders, on their face, in their hair and – feel the pride, Salvador Allende, democracy lives! – on beer cups affixed to their heads, clustered in rowdy packs in the street and caused traffic pile-ups.