You may know that Spain’s soccer team is called “La Furia Roja,” which obviously translates to “The Overrated Red.” Chile calls themselves “La Marea Roja.”

La Marea Roja translates literally to “the red tide.” It also refers to neurotoxic shellfish poisoning and served as the spanish translation of the 1995 Jerry Bruckheimer blockbuster Crimson Tide starring Denzel Washington, Gene Hackencrack, and Viggo Mortensen. Suffice it to say, La Marea Roja ain’t to be trifled with, lest you should desire “an intoxication syndrome nearly identical to that of ciguatera in which gastrointestinal and neurological symptoms predominate.”

We entered the historic Maracanã Stadium over an hour early for the match, but the Chilean fans were already present in full force. They were chanting, yelling, and singing at the top of their lungs. As much as I enjoyed my experience in Natal, Chile brought it on a whole ‘nother level.

The Spanish lineup was announced. If any Spanish fans were present, their cheers were completely drowned out by the passionate Chileans. Each player’s introduction was met with a ferocious, but well-coordinated, “Concha tu madre!” Literally, this means “shell of your mother.” Maybe you see where this is going.

The Spanish players having been properly introduced to the rabid Chilean fans, the national anthems would now be played. Per FIFA regulations, no more than ninety seconds of a nation’s anthem will be played through the stadium loudspeakers. Chile’s national anthem lasts more than two minutes. The music may have only played for ninety seconds, but the anthem was heard in its entirety.

The match began. Chile quickly moved towards the Spanish box. I assumed they would score within the first thirty two seconds, but apparently not every team possesses the quick strike prowess of the United States. No early goal in hand, I grew nervous. Spain sucks, but they have really good players. Even from the bench, Fernando Torres’s incredible luck might somehow be able to swing the match.

A swift counterattacking move by the Chileans saw Iker Casillas sprawled on the ground (lol what’s new?) as Eduardo Vargas swiped the ball into the back of the net! The reaction in the stands was incredible. Spain stubbornly kept playing, as if they believed they might be able to win. Chile indulged the Spanish fantasies for another twenty three minutes before Iker Casillas punched an Alexis Sanchez free kick right into the middle of his own box. “Fine,” sighed Charles Aranguiz, “I will put you out of your misery.”

With Netherlands’s earlier victory over Australia (a travesty by the way), the 2-0 scoreline would put Chile safely out of the group stage. The fans were more than aware. The intensity and sheer volume of Chilean support was breathtaking. Neutrals quickly joined the Chilean cause; it was clear which team’s support was having more fun in the Maracanã.

Despite a few nervy moments, the second half breezed by. Spanish manager Vicente Del Bosque openly mocked his own players by bringing on Fernando Torres, Barcelona-bound Chilean netminder Claudio Bravo yawned in mid-air as he turned away a few decent efforts from my favorite Spanish player Thanti Cathorla, and Arturo Vidal wasted a chance from really close just to have a laugh. The referee announced six minutes of stoppage time simply to prolong the party.

The final whistle blew. Chile had advanced to the knockout round, and mighty Spain had been knocked out of the World Cup. Never before had the reigning World Cup champion been eliminated with a game still to play in the opening round. From three matches, my beloved hybrid nation of Chinited States of Le have gleaned nine points. Let’s get three more against Portugal!