I land in Argentina and the first thing I do is go see a Copa Libertadores match: Vélez-River.
When I arrive, the local fans are already boiling.
The melody is on point;
the lyrics, sharp: "We have to beat these whores," says the chorus.
Dedicated only to rival players, because visiting fans are prohibited from attending the field.
More than anything so they don't kill each other.
Later I turn on the TV and, faced with the possibility that Luis Suárez will arrive at River, a woman speaks to the camera: “
Come
to River, Luis.
I invite you to my house.
I'll cook for you, wash you and iron your clothes, whatever you
want
, but
come
to River”.
What a serious thing football is in Argentina, what an unmissable passion.
It should be mandatory to watch a game in Argentina for those who love football.
But… is it love of football?
Football is everything: a game at recess and the final of a World Cup, a friend who gives you back a wall and an unforgettable idol, a chat over coffee and these chronicles... But it is one thing to love a team and another to love football.
The supporter of a team narrows his mental enclosure by letting only his shield enter;
the football fan opens it to enjoy it all.
The customer who loves a team will buy a jersey;
who loves football, a ball.
If you love a team, emotions take over.
Like any passion, it involves feelings and is usually tied to a tradition that marks a sequence: I receive it from my father and I pass it on to my children.
The feeling extends to the attachment to a place: I am from the team of my neighborhood, from my city, I am from the national team of my country.
The "I am" and the "me" are a sign of the personal commitment that we assume when we make the choice.
This makes football a dramatic spectacle in which suffering is only compensated by a good result.
Until the next game, where all the telluric forces that identify us with our club are put into combustion again.
When we choose a team, football becomes divisive: mine are on this side and the others are on the opposite side.
How is an Argentine going to accept that Pelé is better than Maradona?
Faced with this emotional energy that takes refuge in fanaticism and superstition, reason retreats.
The love of football does not need so much energy.
It allows us to relax our gaze, analyze without prejudice and enlarge the focus without emotional interference.
The one who loves football finds artistic solace whenever he stands before excellence, no matter what jersey he wears.
There is a specimen that reconciles the love of a team with the love of football.
They are those guys who defy the cold, fatigue, age and even ailments to play a game with friends, a psychological discharge session through the pleasure of playing.
And then, turned into 12-year-old boys or perfect Kaffirs, they go to cheer on their team.
In this struggle between the emotional and the rational dwells the power of football.
The emotional part feels;
the rational thinks.
In its passionate aspect, football pleases the animal back room that exists in every human being;
but when it finds mental rest it is a worthy part of popular culture.
In Argentina, more than in any other place, I feel that the rational ones are misfits within the thick soccer broth that boils in the stadiums.
And against the misfits must weigh the right of admission.
What is that to think where there are people suffering?
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