"¿De cual equipo sos en Argentina? ¿Sos de Boca? ¿Sos de River?"
As a football fan myself, I understand the essentiality of this question, which makes it all the more embarrassing when I'm forced to become the person I hate.
"Erm, I don't really have one..."
Oh no, I'm part of that brigade now. The type of person that would say they support England if asked what team they support back at home. As football is such a religion over here, it's even less acceptable to be a fence-sitter, and your credentials as a football fan are limited without pledging your allegiance. At camps I have half-heartedly claimed to be a fan of Boca Juniors, Independiente or Estudiantes de La Plata, yet without feeling a true sense of belonging or dedication to either. The situation was getting desperate and something had to be done.
Fortunately a Saving Grace came into my life in the form of an 11 year old boy called Facundo. He was a boy that came to a camp I worked on with his school a few weeks ago. He was a huge football fan, like myself, and we spent a huge amount of time discussing everything related to the Beautiful Game, picking eachothers' brains about our respective teams Chelsea and San Lorenzo. He was a great kid and it was refreshing to have such in-depth conversation with a camp kid that stretched further than my favourite colour and how many siblings I have.
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| The Ultras making a spectacle behind the goal. |
It was a shame to see him go at the end of the three days, but little did I know it was far from the end. He found me on Instagram, and immediately messaged to invite me to a game at his beloved San Lorenzo. I was unfortunately unable to attend on that occasion (a 2-0 loss to Estudiantes) yet another invitation quickly came for their local derby against Huracán - and I was never passing this one up.
I was conveniently already in Buenos Aires to celebrate my friend's 21st birthday - which consisted of a fantastically heavy Saturday night/Sunday morning of Fernet and (finally) decent electronic music. This meant that the morning of the game was not welcomed with a bouncing out of bed but more of a tragic, confused staggering out of my foetal state. I was still pretty smashed, so I headed out to a shopping centre and bought a San Lorenzo shirt for a mere £45 without really thinking. Seems like 'dutch courage' spreads to the wallet too...
Anyway, I was ready and as the hangover really started to kick in it was time for me to go. I was picked up by Facundo, his brother Manuel and his dad Sergio. They greeted me - technically a complete stranger to the latter two - with beaming smiles and they'd even brought along a Chelsea shirt they had to make me feel at home.
The beauty of football really came into itself in this journey as we immediately dived head-first into discussion and cultural sharing about the game. There wasn't a moment of silence as we swapped various footballing anecdotes and shared our passion for the sport with vibrant enthusiasm. My favourite story was that in 2012, Sergio promised his sons that if San Lorenzo won the Copa Libertadores for the first time, he would take them both to Morocco to support the team in the World Club Championship. They did win and the three of them went all the way to Northern Africa with a homemade banner in their suitcase and watched their team play Real Madrid. This was definitely my kind of family.
Sergio insisted on buying my ticket which was touchingly generous, and we entered the Estadio Pedro Bidegaini in a sea of red and navy San Lorenzo shirts. Was feeling quite thankful to my prior drunk self for the shirt purchase now, as about 90% people seemed to be wearing them. With no away fans allowed in Argentina (safety) the noise and support was all fuelling a growling San Lorenzo engine. We climbed up to our seats and took our places in the 34 degree heat that beat down on the glistening grass and roaring home supporters. The volcano was ready to erupt.
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| A beautiful day to watch football at the Estadio Pedro Bidegaini |
The arrivals of the home team was met with a roar and eruption of song, banners and confetti that made for a true spectacle both aesthetically and acoustically. On the entrance of the visiting players to the pitch, the energy of the fans' euphoria was transferred to intense hissing hatred as the home crowd spat a wide variety of insults and 'malas palabras'. I assumed this was as close to a crowd at a Roman execution event that you would find in 2016. We like to keep it relatively PG on this blog so I'll save the insults for your imaginations, but all I can say is a felt a great deal of sympathy for the mothers of the Hurucán players...
The start of the game didn't induce a reduction of atmospheric temperature and we stayed at a consistently high gas mark 7 throughout the opening encounters, cooking the players of every ounce of energy they had. The songs kept coming, my favourite being an adaptation of Enrique Iglesias' absolute anthem DUELE EL CORAZON (see video below), and the ultras behind the goal were moshing and wildly jumping around in a constant state of frenzy. It was a refreshing parallelism to hot and cold nature of the Premier League atmospheres, where tourism is bringing as many iPads and half-and-half scarves to the stadiums as it is true football fans. This carnival atmosphere is what football's all about and I absolutely loved it.
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| Me and Facundo in a moment of rejoice after the first goal. |
With the stadium already at boiling point, you can only imagine the furore when San Lorenzo winger Martín Cauteruccio carried the ball from his own box and lashed it under the (terrible) keeper to put the home side 1-0 up. The goal acted as a detonation, igniting an explosion of roars, jumping and group hugs around me. At that moment, as I found myself engulfed in true delight, that I realised San Lorenzo was the team for me. To truly associate yourself to a team, you need that moment to trigger a sense of pride and belonging that attaches you to the fanbase - and Cauteruccio's goal was that moment.
The place was buzzing and, despite a distinct lack of actual footballing quality, the atmosphere was joyous. As half-time arrived, I was introduced to another unique aspect of Argentinean football. With the heat intensifying from the beating sun, the local fire brigade unravelled huge hoses and sprayed water into the stands. The water was greeted with more singing and even more dancing as we euphorically revelled in our new state of soaked refreshment. (See video below)
The second half rapidly brought a very contentious penalty for the home team. More devilish delight in the stands. And for me, as any football fan knows that a penalty is the best chance to record a goal and get a true memory of the eruption (blah blah such a tourist I know). Anyway I was ready. Click record. He runs up. 3.2.1. Missed. Great. Absolutely no consideration at all for my Snapchat. And we move on...
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| What a tourist. |
As a local 'Clasico' it only seemed inevitable that there would be a red card and there was no disappointment as the fiesty battle on the pitch climaxed in what appeared to be a stamping by a Hurucán player on one of our boys. Lots of pushing, lots of shoving, lots of moaning. Eventually the player left the pitch to a huge wave of hissing, laughing and ultimately humiliation. The poor sod.
It's worth saying again that the quality of the football was pretty abysmal. The Hurucán defence was one of the worst I've ever seen live. They seemed to thinking closing down was unnecessary and left copious space for the San Lorenzo attack to exploit. If any of the home players could've produced a half decent cross or final ball then I would've been witnessing a beating. That's my Alan Hansen rant over, as the lack of defensive discipline actually made for a very open game and all the more enjoyable for me.
The quality wasn't totally absent, as Sebastián Blanco lit up the field with a stunning individual effort. A real 'golazo' as the locals would call it. The nerves at only being 1-0 up were evaporated and the party really kicked off after Blanco's goal. Joyous, nonchalant cries of 'Olé' met every successful home pass, and the frenzy amongst the ultras only intensified as the tsunami of jumping reached maximum height.
The final whistle brought more partying, as the players headed straight for the ultras behind the goal and jumped around as if they'd just won the league. There was a real relationship between players and fans, which is so often absent in football these days, and it was great to see both parties celebrating a big win together in such a manner. Facundo and his family were buzzing and it was a pleasure to be a part of their happiness and celebrations. I was quickly named a good luck charm and was offered the chance to come and see another game whenever I wanted. Life was very, very good.
So that was my first game in Argentina and it's safe to say it did not disappoint. A local derby in blazing heat with a penalty, a red card and, most importantly, a home win. I'd even seen Fabrizio Coloccini play. What dreams are made of ey. I couldn't thank Facundo and his family enough for offering me this opportunity and being so welcoming and intent on showing me the best example of Argentinean football. Such is their passion for their club, I think this next sentence may be all the thanks they would ever want.
I am officially a fan of San Lorenzo de Almagro* (replacing the Pope (?!)... yep the Pope, as their most famous fan?). ¡Vamos El Ciclón!
*This does not replace Chelsea in any way shape or form, just for anyone who may even have the slightest doubt about that. Our recent form has been a complete joy to watch...
#AntonioContesBlueArmy #JoseWhourinho
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