During the second half of my life have I felt so guilty that I liked football. I refused three times before the arrival of each dawn . Since the Mexico World Cup in 1986 deeply know and enjoy a game, but I began to hide when I attended school. The reasons that led me to this sleight of hand are not uncommon, the most important intellectual disqualification to football fans: "ignorant", "insane", "nacos." I know what you need the aberrant nicknames, any activity or human creation obtains achieving prominence, is misunderstood in its apparent simplicity lies the charm hated by many of its universality. So is the "man's game", so is the spectator sport that gets beyond the Olympics.
I sense that much of this is just example of the frustration and low tolerance for communal happiness. In the case of football and a World Cup more strongly, I think it's because not allow ourselves to enjoy something when we invade the misfortune, how to celebrate and enjoy the football World Cup if the country is that it takes a bitch? , how to smile if we drag the economic backwardness?. I think that is precisely why we taste more. Moralizing that I hear during these days I corrodes the soul, why do not we can abstract a month of the concerns? Why feel guilty about enjoying a magnificent spectacle as a sporting event?. In all likelihood, people who are interested in the news it will continue and those who always give a damn what happens in Mexico will continue being worth mothers. The ignorance of a country is not due to his love of soccer are words that fascinate me tattooed on the foreheads of those who accuse him for the stupidity of millions.
football is a catharsis, but let me recall an anecdote to explain better. Soccer, the palliative we all need:
was 1998, just finished the World Cup Soccer in France, one of my most enjoyable. He had all the summer vacation and saw all the parties, that national team had raised many expectations, if not-and I remember even with some appreciation, the tie in the last agonizing minutes against Holland, with Cuauhtemiña that goal against South Korea the sad and somewhat unfair loss to Germany (is that "we played as lost as ever and forever.") But it was November and was in fifth high school. We had a class that was killing us was once fear and enjoy the most: History of Mexico, our teacher was so strict as great. The first test was the most dreaded part of our young lives, it was not multiple choice or short and explicit, the idea was to develop and present as many possible factors and circumstances around the points on the exam required colonial Mexico. It was the first time I read many different books for a partial and the first time that I needed three leaves on each side to respond. It was a Thursday when the teacher gave us the test results, my sense of relief and joy was supreme because he had taken a nine and my other friends also had excellent grades, thinking it was not so surprising, after all we were disgustingly sappy.
Such was our enthusiasm that although it was the last class of the day we stayed in the patio planters fifth anchor. Tarugueo suddenly the game became the idiot running around with a plastic bottle and soak, prompting us to stay with an empty bottle and crushed. Suddenly someone kicked it. Then another. Then me. Moments later we were in full peel, and Shanti Erandi of porters, I think defense, Ciro and Alejandro front Mario of something that could not be sure, defense, center, front, whatever. Surely we celebrate goals were scored as being the final moment of happiness of our lives.
But the fun would end soon. A bitter prefect suddenly appeared and asked for credentials. I have to be incisive on this point: it was two in the afternoon and had any class, the school was almost empty and the afternoon shift had not arrived. Agrees to surrender and then told us the most feared words for any student of the world "join me in the direction"-chingadamadreyavalimos. No doubt a disproportionate share for our innocent game.
Arriving at his office, the director was also rougher than they should, we were not thugs, we still face consumed by pubescent the nerdez, until we were in the group of academic excellence ... the worst came when we asked for the ball (the punishment for those who play around the halls was the confiscation of the ball) and Mario, in an act of courage, stubbornness and fun, hand-delivered with a mischievous smile and the dirty bottle and squashed "it is this, have you." I still remember the eyes of the Fuster almost wild with the boldness of my friend. What were shouting and scolding continued the director, exaggerated threats, an appointment with our parents the first thing Monday morning, an anguish that I had not experienced life yet consolidation would be my great group of friends fifth of high school. The stupid Unfortunately us together at the undeserved punishment for our celebration.
Now the World Cup without inhibition I display my hobby. Not only soccer but also the national clichés and sport as a substitute for war. Although this event seems more disappointing to have so many ties with few golizas majestic, and is beginning to show quite pleasant surprises as the party of Spain - Switzerland. I was happy and felt like own revenge the defeat of the English team, but why that is the subject of another post. Jordy said that a soccer team does not necessarily reflect the idiosyncrasies of a people and I disagree with everything and 43657 examples he gave me. I just look at who are the players Sacaton Mexicans before the big teams, the strange mixture of pessimism and hope for their fans, the "yameritismo" that characterizes us as a nation is there on a football pitch every four years. It is inherited, comes from Spain. My enthusiasm returned thanks to three great guys who I met through this blog: Emilio, Jorge and Carlo s. Big heads, big fans, it is a pity that the first two can not and share the excitement of a game.
As you said the other day Renato, how wonderful to see a world is watching the look of a man who lets out an error to the glory of paradise. Something that caught the buenérrimo Nike commercial. What the hell to witness the first victory of the Japanese, and remember this evening with my children playing in the Atom Oliver Niupi and the ever meetings with the Franco-Canadian, Chilean people to think and bit of joy that gives them a victory After months of pain from the February earthquake, check the opening of the presumption that both Germany and does not cease to be formidable, the elegant conchudez with playing the Italians who were already returned to practice tying a a South American country in the first phase, the physical impossibility of the Brazilian annotations (and the puns in their names do not let me stop laughing).
My nationalism is not supported by eleven men in a stadium , but never see in a negative sense of union, and even pride, that gives me to hear the anthem at the start of a meeting, a favorable marker, joy shared with millions.
Therefore, Mexican national team, I cheer, I cry "Goooool!" until my vocal cords feel broken, but if you lose, you suffer through and through and then it will be the mop and authentic catharsis, the masochist. But mostly because I very much want to have those two hours I are like an oasis where I can forget all the really important things that haunt me. So tomorrow the Mexico - France I plunge into emotions optimistic and beautiful memories, "Gol, gol, gol, Allez, allez, allez".
PD-Women of the world who complain about the world: a genuine passion consíganse than spin like satellites around their partners. Thanks. (Also, what are blind to miss the parade of men athletic and quite tasty.)
PD2 .- Oh, and speaking of passion, great moment in the movie "The Secret of Their Eyes":
