I never thought I would feel so close to Kolo Muani. "I hate it," said the French footballer, graphing his feelings, some time later, for the handball save of Dibu Martínez that was key to snatch the world final from a France that seemed in an unstoppable comeback.
Poor Muani. On December 18 I celebrated and shouted, today I understand you in the deepest feeling. "White people problems", a colleague always says and he is very right. It's just a ticket for a recital. But those of us who know what music represents and what an artist represents for those of us who love music, it's more than a wish. It's a dream.
And whether or not to realize it depends on luck, almost as in penalties. No matter the effort or what is worth to you, what is on the other side: the chance that assigned you the place in the random row is what determined the result. So the second-year boys of a Buenos Aires school entered quickly and all got their cell phones in class and managed to buy in a couple of hours locations in the middle Sívori that at night they were offering to other children at almost double their value.
With Tan Bionica the tickets were sold out after three hours: to cry and to continue. But the wear and tear this time lasted almost 12. They will tell me that there were two million people, that in the United States the ticket offices collapsed, that this is the only and best possible system: everything is understood but, as always, empty-handed in front of something you feel that the explanations are not enough.
The plan had been saving for more than a year, since speculation began with Taylor Swift's 2023 South American tour. The final coordination started on Friday, the exact minute after the announcement. We got with some guys the precious presale card, but he did not want the luck that touched us on Monday. On Tuesday, the screen was placed on the ticket page an hour before the sale opened on computers and cell phones at home and in that of friends who were part of the operation. There were school absences and parents juggling. Lunch almost passed by.
It was a day of frantic calls and messages. First, photos of where in the row the doll is ("Pass it to gasoline," shouted a soccer friend in front of the players of his team who did not run, and I shouted it to the monitor too). Then, they were exhausted. Then, the third date. Then, as the sun went down and closer in line, negotiating quasi-stock market prices that instead of talking about stocks and bonds talked about seats in the Monumental.
At 19.45 we were also finishing the supplementary as in the magical night of Lusail. But this time it could not be. Ten hours and 45 minutes after we turned on the screens, the only one of all the dolls we had walking managed to reach the arch. We had it there. Before we had decided in family conclave to make the enormous effort to pay what the entrance was worth, and at that exact moment the Dibu put his leg: we clicked to reserve the location and the last tickets for Taylor Swift were literally sold out in front of our noses.
Parents know that it is like this: that life is made of blows. When your children have dreams, strive to achieve them and luck eludes them, we have the enormous challenge of continuing to motivate them to understand that, yes, that is life. That sometimes it's fair, and sometimes it's no. And that they too will sometime be the Dibu who put the leg and not Muani who kicked the ball.
ACE
See also
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