Showing posts with label futbol. Show all posts
Showing posts with label futbol. Show all posts

Monday, April 23, 2007

Argentine Futbol: Boca Juniors v. River Plate


On my last full day in Buenos Aires, I was able to go to the Argentine version of Duke v. UNC, Michigan v. Ohio State, and the Red Sox v. the Yankees all rolled up into one. Boca Juniors and River Plate are the two most popular futbol teams in Buenos Aires (and probably the country). Diego Maradona (who in spite of endless drug problems and irresponsible behavior is still a god here) played for Boca for many years and has a private box in the stadium.

As I was recently told, the three things you don´t talk about in polite conversation in Argentina are politics, religion, and futbol. The only games that incite more passion than this one are national World Cup games (and possibly America´s Cup, which is the Latin American championship).

This game was in Boca´s stadium which seats about 55,000 (compared to River´s 70+). The tickets cost 260 pesos (about $87), marked up from a face value of 14 pesos in the ¨popular¨section (the rowdy area with no seats)...and the whole day was an adventure.

We were picked up at a hostel and loaded onto a bus which then went and picked up several other groups (including some who got on and then off again--typical Argentine chaos). On the bus we were given our tickets and told to stick close to the group (of about 40). Before the game, we had all been regaled with tales about how dangerous the game and the Boca neighborhood can be. ¨Don´t take anything with you.¨ ¨Don´t lose the group.¨ ¨There will be fights, stabbings, witches, etc...¨

We got into the stadium without incident (not insignificant given that another group from my hostel never got in--it seems their ¨tickets¨didn´t exist) a little after 1pm. The game started at 4:30. We had more than three hours to sit in cramped quarters and defend our seats (well, there aren´t any seats in the popular section, it´s just a place to stand) as the stadium filled up.

There was no drinking allowed, which was surely a smart policy but made for a boring wait. There was, however, plenty of singing during the hours-long build up.

Then, the teams were introduced...and this was the best part. When River came out, you can´t imagine the depth of invective hurled at the players. Every Argentine curse word was brought out in a barrage of pure hatred.

When Boca came out, the stadium was transformed. Blue and yellow smoke went off in the stands and everyone in the stadium hurled paper and toilet paper at the field creating an amazing spectacle of graffiti. Interestingly, they never bothered to clean much of the graffiti off the field, even at halftime. The entire game was played with white paper covering the corners of the field.

The River fans were separated into a small section at the top of the stadium. Throughout the game, streams of clear liquid would pour down from this section down onto the Boca fans below. I was confused. Were people actually buying bottles of water and throwing them down, or making return trips to the bathroom? Actually, I later found out, that clear liquid was piss.

The River fans weren´t just pissing off the side. In a manner that seems somehow worse because premeditated, they were filling up water bottles with piss and dumping them off the side. Apparently this is expected and the same thing happens to River fans at their stadium. We´re not in Kansas anymore...

The game was a 1-1 tie. Boca scored within 30 seconds and clearly outplayed River in the first half. River´s goalie made several spectacular saves to keep the score at 1. But River came on strong in the second half and evened it up.

The result was a big disappointment for the home crowd because Boca was much higher in the standings and heavily favored on their home turf. But, despite the result and the intensity of invective at the beginning, at the end of the match the crowd applauded in a gesture that I interpreted as being intended for both teams.

The other interesting part of the game was the end. After the final whistle blew no one moved. I was confused. I was pretty sure there was no overtime, and there definitely wasn´t another game. So, why wasn´t everyone heading for the door? In the U.S. there would be a mad stampede. I turned to the Argentine father and son I´d been talking to and asked ¨Porque nadie salen?¨

They explained that the police block the exits while the River fans leave first so there are no fights. After all the River fans are gone, the rest of the stadium can leave. I´ve heard that some opposition fans are known to lock themselves to the seats so that all of the home fans have to wait while they´re extricated.

The fascinating part was that, even after a disappointing loss, everyone just sat there perfectly patiently and waited--for about half an hour. I can´t imagine this happening at home. It was a telling example of the patience of the Argentine people. Nothing happens quickly here, so no one expects it to.

By the way, the game/atmosphere never felt dangerous for one second. Because of the no alcohol rule, even if people where shitcanned when they showed up at 1pm to claim their seats, no one could possibly have been very drunk by 7pm when the game ended. So, the scene outside the stadium wasn´t rowdy at all. But, since I listed to the warnings, and didn´t bring my camera, these are the only pics I have--taken with a friend´s cell phone.

Friday, March 9, 2007

Stage "Dos"...and some Futbol


Mi primero dia solo...

Today was my first day on my own (stage "dos" of my trip)...and it started out a bit shaky. Since I got to Buenos Aires, my law school friend Jeremy and his wife Betsy have been gracious enough to put me up and take me around. But, they had old friends coming into town (and also have a seemingly endless string of random houseguests--which I guess is what you get for being laid back and living in an exotic part of the world), so I moved to a hostel this morning...in the pouring rain.

I checked into my room and had my first sinking feeling of the trip. It was a room for four and there was someone sleeping (at about 11:45am) in there. He popped up, spoke basically no English, and didn't seem happy to see me, especially once he gathered that my Spanish is, well, limited. I'd been lucky enough to have my own room up until now, and for the first time, I thought, "I'm 30 years old; maybe this staying in hostels thing isn't going to be so sweet after all."

BUT, life steadily improved from there. First, I realized that I was pretty tired (I've already become a genuine BA resident by getting myself into a pattern of going to sleep at 3am) and my biggest concern was that I wouldn't be able to take a nap in a multi-person dorm room. That issue swept aside, I layed down and promptly took a beautiful three hour nap.

When I woke up, I got some lunch and then ended up having a 25 minute conversation entirely in Spanish with a Peruvian archeologist named Hector who laid out all the must-see spots in his home country (pais). Feeling pretty good about myself, I actually figured out how to use the phone card system here.



Are you ready for some...futbol

My luck continued when I returned to my room to find my formerly sleeping and groggy roommate Joel (not pronounced how you think) up and ready to go to his favorite team's futbol match (we had discussed this briefly earlier, but I wasn't sure if he was actually going to wait for me). He's Argentinian, but not from BA.

So, instead of watching my beloved Blue Devils get sent home from the ACC tourney by unranked NC State, I got to see River Plate (Joel's team) lose 1-0 to Caracas F.C. Despite the low score, the game was fun and even getting into the stadium was a bit of an adventure (none of the cops or door people could seem to tell us where we were supposed to enter). The "estadio" holds about 80,000 and was about 3/5 full (many of the sections were closed off, but Joel seemed to think there would have been more people if it hadn't rained all day). There was lots of singing--a tradition that we wholly lack in the good old Estados Unidos.

I forgot to take my camera to the game, so all I can offer is a couple pictures of my ticket and the team's jersey, which Joel owns. Y'all have seen a big soccer stadium on TV anyway, so you pretty much know what it looked like.













As a bonus, here are some pictures of the futbol match I saw in Antigua at a MUCH smaller "stadium." This was the second level league, so almost all of these players have other jobs.













An interesting sidenote: both my current roommate and my host father in Antigua were going to go watch the futbol matches by themselves had I not joined them. It seemed as though Edgar (host father) goes to every game and many by himself. Just seems a bit different from the U.S. where most people won't even go to a movie by themselves (although I enjoy it from time to time--and I never understood the idea of going to a movie as a way of hanging out with a friend, i.e. sitting in the dark near each other for 2 hrs and not talking, but...).


And the Spanish...


Lots of folks have been asking me how the Spanish is coming, and it's a bit complicated. I'm feeling a bit bipolar about it--susceptible to huge swings in confidence. My first day in Buenos Aires was a perfect example. Jeremy was able to get me in to his weekly turf futbol game. So, in a span of 1.5 hours, I got to meet and play futbol with 8 real Argentines. The experience left me depressed. I could barely communicate with them. In a big group setting everyone was talking so fast and I felt pressured and I was basically silent.

After the game, I went out for dinner with Jeremy, his wife Betsy, and their friends Lara (who is a JSD student at Yale) and Pablo (her longtime "novio"). The conversation was 80% in Spanish and I understood 70% of it. Of course, they were terrifically patient with me, spoke slowely, and made sure I understood (and spoke perfect English when it was clear I didn't). But, still, I was following.

Today was similar. I was depressed that I couldn't communicate with my groggy roommate; then heartened when I was able to mostly communicate with Hector the Peruvian archeologist. It turns out my roommate has a thick Argentine accent (which is why Che Guevara was called "che"), so even words I know are sometimes hard to make out...but by the end of the futbol match we were talking about our favorite music and where "las mujeres mas bonitas" are from in Argentina--according to Joel, it's Rosario, not Buenos Aires.

The moral of the story so far seems to be: a) I can basically express myself fairly effectively; b) I can follow a conversation if people are speaking very slowly and mindful of me; c) I'm not ready for prime time, i.e. normal discourse; d) I just need to stick with it and stop speaking English!


One down...


I definitely wanted to see an Argentinian futbol match. In addition, the night before I flew to BA, my friend Tess (see "Mi Vida en Antigua") told me to: Eat the perfect steak; drink the perfect glass of wine; and kiss a beautiful woman.


Got the futbol covered; now I'll get to work on those other three...