I guess by virtue of my articles on Italy for Football Weekends, a lot of my Calcio tales of partite e citta (games and cities) have already been published, squeezed to within an inch of their lives in some cases as I try to find new stories to tide us over until I can head back to bella Italia. However, the recent amazing story concerning my Chacarita shirt photo and the incredible journey that took me on, culminating in a front page shot in the Zona Norte version of Clarin newspaper, has me recalling some of the great days at the canchas in Argentina, and it’s time to jot those memories down here. Not for publication in Football Weekends, just on my blog for anyone who reads to enjoy, I hope. So I am going to compose ten tales of futbol Argentino (in two parts with five games each, well 11 in total in the end. A football team has 11 players, so it seems appropriate), in near date order rather than any other kind of listing preference.
It all began in 1999, a mere three days in Argentina from a lengthy trip through Peru, Bolivia and Chile ended up stealing the show. My first city of the Republic was Mendoza, a city with fond memories for a Scotland fan, and we went to the Estadio Islas Malvinas to pay homage to Archie Gemmel’s great goal. Alas in mid-winter the league was in recess and so we didn’t catch a game, but the open, friendly, welcoming attitude of the locals really got to me, I had to come back, and oh boy how many times I have since . Less than 8 months on from that inaugural trip I was back, along with my great friend Martin as we headed to Buenos Aires as part of a three country trip, this time including Brazil (staying with Andrew) and a first visit to Uruguay. Having met a wonderful girl on the aeroplane back from Argentina to Europe in 1999, we quickly became friends, and she had invited us to stay in Villa Gesell for a few days on our trip. It was the perfect antidote to the bustling Buenos Aires, but what an incredible city it is, still my favourite anywhere in the world to this day. This notion of fabulous Argentine friendship continued to grow, and none of these stories diminish it, the pride swells as I recollect these amazing days.
You never forget your first game no matter where, but when it was at the hallowed turf of Estadio Juan Peron or El Cilindro, the home of Racing, my memories of Argentine football have to start here.
1/ RACING CLUB V BOCA JUNIORS 20th February 2000
If you are going to introduce yourself to football in Argentina, they don’t come much bigger than an encounter like this one. Racing had long been my team of choice when perusing the league tables in World Soccer every month (there wasn’t any Internet access to immediate information back in the day), and the only occasional information drip fed monthly about their progress made the whole thing more mystical.
Nothing could prepare me for the assault on the senses of a three quarters full Cilindro, especially with the far end of the stadium full of visiting fans from nearby Boca. Hostility was in the air, and the atmosphere was electric. That ticker tape welcome for the teams (a legacy of Evita) was on hand to welcome the start of the game, and make a mess of the pitch. This was something we’d only seen previously on TV during the 1978 World Cup, it was mesmeric.
Racing weren’t having the clubs best passage of time at the turn of century, but here in the second game of the new season, this was the first home match of the Clausura, and they were in a determined mood. After all, in the first game they had won the Avellaneda derby across the ludicrously short distance between the clubs stadia, where a 3-1 success at Rojo No Existe (Independiente), a very rare away win for Racing in this fixture, but it gave added credence to the level of hysteria on view in this encounter with Boca. La Academia were maybe about to turn a corner and get serious again.
The upper level of the magnificent cylindrical stadium rarely stopped bouncing. The level of support was phenomenal, it was absolutely captivating and I was sold. I was glad I had pinned my tail on Racing. It may well be true that to support Racing is to suffer, but they are the biggest club in the world I have ever associated with, and success on my CV from cheering for “my teams” has always been limited, and I prefer it that way. No one can ever accuse me of being a glory hunter, and for me it makes enjoying the glory days even more. I never get this need to associate with success and constant silverware, dull, dull, dull.
Dull isn’t the word you would use to describe this pulsating clash. Maxi Estevez scored just after the half hour mark to put Racing in front, and the three home sides of the stadium went into meltdown, it was absolutely incredible. The half-time chat from the coach seemed to tell Racing to surrender territory to Boca and hold onto what they had. It was a dangerous game, especially with such a slender lead, but they seemed comfortable, with the volumes rising every time they counter-attacked. Alas the referee played a part in getting Boca back into this one, with what could only be deemed a “soft” penalty award allegedly for a tug on a Boca jersey. To a cacophony of whistles Guilermo Barros Schelotto remained cool to equalise and send the far end of the stadium into a frenzy.
The teams hardly shook on a 1-1 draw, but that was how it ended. We hailed a cab and sped our way back to the Microcentro amid the most biblical of rain showers slowing our passage on the dual carriageway back into the city. The following weekend Racing were away to Chacarita, but such was our lack of knowledge, we naively thought it to be a venue somewhere near the enormous cemetery of the same name. Little did we know that Chacarita were essentially homeless at the time. However two years later, at my next memory game, that all became a lot clearer.
One footnote to the Racing/Boca game, in 2000 the Peso was pegged one to one with the US dollar making it an extraordinarily expensive country. I can’t be sure but the ticket and taxi trips to and from Avellaneda cost us both about $60, which in 2000 was quite a lot of money. We wouldn’t have been able to go to Chacarita v Racing the following week anyway as we were saddled up on one of those comfortable buses that scoot from city to city in Argentina, headed to the coast to spend time with Laura at Villa Gesell.
2/ CHACARITA JUNIORS V BOCA JUNIORS 3rd March 2002
I had been back in Argentina in 2001, but that was entirely taken up with a two week odyssey travelling from Esquel northwards to Villa La Angostura in the northern half of Patagonia with Laura. It was a legendary trip that added further weight to the friendly ways of Argentines and brought me a number of new lifetime friends, most especially Juan Manuel. However, prior to heading south, Laura had introduced me to a family friend Juan Pablo, and on my 4th visit in consecutive years to Argentina, we finally shared our first of many games together at Chacarita v Boca.
Days earlier, with Laura living in Liniers, I had taken advantage of the proximity of the Velez cancha, the Amalfitani, to go and see my first ever Copa Libertadores match versus Peruvians Sporting Cristal, a team that bizarrely I have now seen play three times in this competition in the Argentine capital. This game ended 1-0 for Velez, a scoreline that suggests a tighter game than it really was. The Amalfitani will feature later, a venue I have been to five times in total.
The following week I was invited to Flores by Juan Pablo to have lunch with his parents, with a view to an afternoon trip to El Gasometro, as San Lorenzo’s cancha is known, which was a relatively short walk from his parents apartment. This was to be “home” for Chacarita as they entertained Boca.
I alluded to this game in my interview for Clarin, where some sort of “arranged ” violent clash between police and Chacarita fans gave the present BBC documentary crew exactly what they wanted, pictures of violent behaviour in Argentina. The whole thing was so easily set up too, with the Chacarita fans being denied access to the stadium with their drums, meanwhile at the other end, Boca had a full complement of musical accompaniment, drums et all, sufficient to light the fuse amongst the hardcore Los Funebreros (the gravediggeers, nickname of Chacarita) hinchas (fans). First they endeavoured to take on the police at the entrance to the curva, and as the situation started to get out of hand, or merely for dramatic effect for the cameras, tear gas was fired into the heaving throng. It started to blow in our direction in the main stand, and the journalists/photographers all down in the area near the troubles spilled onto the pitch to get away from the fumes with some visibly caught in the gas. The match was significantly held up until the cloud passed. It was all rather unsavoury at the time, but seeing the documentary the following year just made me angry that Chacarita had been “set up” to be the fall guy. They did have a reputation at the time for being on the violent edge of the game, and that was exploited for the sake of television in a far off land.
Perhaps unsurprisingly the first half was a disjointed affair, with more focus on the fans than the game, but one character was already standing out, mainly Roman Riquelme, wearing the highly prized number 10 jersey of Boca, who was pulling the strings in midfield as Boca were slightly the better team. Just after the break Gimenez gave Boca the lead, and as Riquelme’s swagger grew, it seemed increasingly unlikely that Chacarita would get back into the game, but with fifteen minutes to go they scored a goal, a strike that just might be the best I have ever seen in Argentina to this day! Sloppy Boca defending saw the ball break to Leandro Mas just outside the box, but with a cluster of bodies between him and the goal, he dribbled along the edge of the D just outside the box and then hooked an exquisite, powerful lob, come shot into the top left hand corner of the goal. It was right in front of the Chacarita faithful, it was a truly thrilling moment, and as I applauded, it cemented an interest in the club that has risen even higher in recents weeks!
The post match run to avoid the undesirables lurking from the shanty town right across from the main stand was a sharp reminder of the potential dangers of this venue, and I took note never to go to a night game here, indeed I have never been back.
3/ ARGENTINOS JUNIORS V RIVER PLATE 27th February 2005
Two years later, having been back at Racing and seen them win v Talleres Cordoba, as well as another game at Velez for their second successive win for me, this time versus Huracan (a club that will feature in part two), not forgetting countless games in Uruguay and Brazil for the first time, Juan Pablo and I were off on our football adventures again. La Paternal is the home barrio of Argentinos Juniors, the club that discovered Diego Maradona. This particular weekend match wasn’t just my first sighting of Argentinos, but also River Plate. A big crowd was expected for such an illustrious visitor and we headed to the cancha without any tickets. None seemed to be on sale, they were all gone, but we hung around to enjoy the atmosphere in the build up to the game at the back of the stand, but always on the lookout for any spare tickets that might happen to be going. We managed to get one for the Argentinos curva behind the only goal at the stadium with any terracing, and while Juan Pablo was encouraging me to go into the stadium, I was reluctant as we had both come with a view to watching. What happened next is still bewildering as someone stuffed a ticket for the main stand into Juan’s or my hand, which I can’t remember, I guess it doesn’t matter, but they didn’t even want any payment! Whether it was a complimentary ticket that the players hand out I have no idea, it certainly had no monetary value on it. With just minutes until kick off we were both going to see the game, albeit in different parts of the stadium. Once in position in my stand seat, from my lofty vantage point I could see Juan in amongst the Argentinos hinchas. They were about to have a memorable afternoon, just like us!
The Estadio Diego Maradona, home of Argentinos always reminds me of the ground I have only seen on TV, Estadio de Vallecas, home to Rayo Vallecano in Madrid. Both clubs play in stadiums with the two steep sides of terracing and seats running the length of the pitch, with one closed end and the other with relatively shallow terrace behind the goal. The comparisons don’t end there as Argentinos and Rayo both play with a sash shirt, albeit the inverse of each other, and indeed Rayo’s red sash is borne of River Plate, the opposition for this game, and to this day River and Rayo have a connection.
Argentinos had lost the sash for the kit on display for this match as River played in their traditional classic kit. Early home pressure paid off, and from a corner they soon found themselves in front when the ball broke from a header and was stroked into the corner of the net, and oh boy how the Argentinos fans enjoy it! Shortly after Marcello Salas showed his quality breaking free and blasting the visitors level. If his first goal was well taken, El Matador scored a second, and it was another absolute cracker too, giving Los Millionarios the lead sending the away fans into a wild frenzy this time. What was already an extraordinary first half wasn’t done, as Argentinos levelled things up with a well taken goal from an unmarked header in the centre of the box, making it 2-2 at the break. The River boss would have been giving his defence a half-time dressing down for the shabby defending.
Los Bichos (annoying fly) as Argentinos are known started the second half strongly and pressed onward for a third, but you could never right off a highly talented River team and a beautifully threaded pass through to Farias was cleverly lifted over the advancing keeper into the net to give the visitors the lead once more. Argentinos weren’t taking this lying down though and a cross which could have been met by a Bichos head actually connected with Gandolfi of River, who guided a header perfectly into his own net for 3-3.
If the atmosphere at Racing and San Lorenzo had been special in the two previous games mentioned, a 3-3 thriller at a packed La Paternal cancha, you can imagine the scene, bedlam as David Francey would have said.
4/ ROSARIO CENTRAL V CERRO PORTENO 23rd February 2006
Juan Manuel and I met in 2001 in El Bolson and we had become great friends. Every year I was in the city we would meet up and in one of those years when I was only in Uruguay, he came across the Rio de la Plata for a visit, as well as taking the opportunity to watch a memorable football occasion when Racing played in the Centenario for the first time since beating Celtic in 1967. In beating Nacional 2-1 when we were there amongst the La Academia hinchas, dodging masonry amid the celebrations, was a wonderful evening. As the rest of the happy La Academia fans headed back towards the port or buses to return to Argentina, we merely drifted into the Bolso fans with no visible colours, sharing a chori-pan outside the stadium with some locals. If I ever get round to a similar article of my Uruguayan days, then this encounter will for sure be included.
We’d also headed out to Quilmes, a venue acting as “home” to Estudiantes La Plata to watch Racing lose 2-1 (I have seen more than my fair share of losses in the 15 games I have watched them!). This particular game was the very last Diego Simeone played, as he was about to become the Racing boss. Less than a week earlier, having seen Racing lose again (at home to Velez this time. The key to my bad luck is that when Jorge (a Racing legend and great family friend) and I are both in the cancha together Racing invariably lose, and when we are not, things go better!). A great number of us were collectively gathered in El Museo de Jamon for a late night meal after this particular game. The waiter suggested Diego Simeone was upstairs, and eventually through the power of some form of Racing persuasion, I was taken up to meet him. It was a bizarre encounter, he wasn’t exactly friendly, only his wife was curious and welcoming. A photo or two (that never made it home as that film was somehow the only ever lost roll of film) were taken, but when I produced Matias’s shirt to ask for a signature, he threw a wobbly as we would say, and I was quickly escorted away by a nervous waiter. It took me a long time to forgive him for the first and potentially only morsel of unfriendliness I have encountered in Argentina, ever! Some might say typical footballer, and given salaries now I suspect such a potential encounter would be shunned at the outset now. Money does nothing for the humility of man, sadly.
Anyway, back to the story, and a trip to Rosario with Juan Manuel. It was a rare chance to see both the Rosarinos clubs playing Copa Libertadores football within 48 hours of each other. First up was a relatively routine 2-0 win for Newell’s Old Boys at what is now known as the Estadio Marcelo Bielsa versus Union Espanola from Chile. Bielsa is one of the great tactical football brains and coaches of our time, and although I knew Juan Pablo was a fan of Marcelo even then, it took me a number of years to grasp the quirky inspiration and awe he still seems to command.
Two nights later, having merely “survived” the stifling heat of a hotel room that had no working air conditioning, and was just a hot sticky, stuffy air hell, where we couldn’t even open the window, we were off to the other great Rosario club, Central. There Estadio Gigante de Arroyito was the venue of that infamous night Argentina put six past Peru amid all sorts of rumours of Junta/FIFA presence in the Peruvian dressing room and endless sacks of rice delivered to the vanquished in payment for the mauling. Brazil were less than happy, but whether skullduggery had taken place mattered not a jot 28 years later, but it became immediately apparent what an intimidating venue this one is for visiting teams.
Paraguayans, along with Bolivians I guess have long been the butt of Argentine jokes, like we used to tell them against the Irish, and there was no love lost in the hurling of abuse towards the visiting fans in this game, most of whom probably lived nearby. Las Canallas (the rabble) is the nickname of Central, and they were immediately letting us know that name isn’t for nothing. A Paraguayan player was seriously injured early on, and the local fans as well as the golf trolley driver that carried him off the field were at it right from the start. This was a serious injury, but things were hurled at the cart as the driver made sure his exit from the field went via the baying crowd, which seemed to extend to the whole stadium. I was appalled and any chance of having sympathy with Central walked out the door. I have never liked them since! I could see how a Peru side who had nothing to play for could easily have capitulated in this cauldron back in 1978.
Cerro Porteno however seemed to take inspiration from this sad and shocking display, and ran out 2-0 winners amid a poisonous atmosphere that never relented. Remarkably no one was sent off amid the hostility, and a Central own goal on the hour mark seemed poetic justice. Central would exact revenge winning the return fixture in Asuncion 3-1.
The following day Juan Manuel and I were up early and on the bus speeding back to Buenos Aires as I was meant to be crossing with Laura to Montevideo that afternoon, but a “tormento” (storm) had turned the usually calm waters of the River Plate in a treacherous high sea and even before I got off the bus it seemed the trip wasn’t going to happen, which was a great pity, but nothing to do but stay in BsAs and enjoy, which is what we did!
5/ Banfield v El Nacional 27th February 2007
My family of friends was growing year by year in Argentina, and through Juan Pablo and his workplace I got to know Emanuele, (which grew to become his whole family and sundry friends eventually), as well as Osvaldo, a work colleague of the two lads from the legal department. Osvaldo lived the closest to the city centre in San Telmo, and was an avid Banfield fan. He was determined to introduce me to his team and Estadio Florencio Sola. So one night after his work was finished for the day, I met him and we headed south out of the capital into Greater Buenos Aires to meet his family before heading to the cancha. Like all the encounters I have had with friends anywhere in the world, this is a great privilege, and I have always considered myself blessed and so lucky to not just meet these wonderful friends but share a meal in their family home and meet so many great characters along the way. It is people who make places. Osvaldo’s family were Taladro (Banfield’s nickname, meaning the Drill) through and through, from his father, sister and niece (and now his young nephew too I am sure), they were all there to welcome me.
It was a particularly balmy, warm Argentine summer’s night for this game, and as the sun gave a spectacular sunset over the stadium, Banfield were never under any great threat from the Ecuadorian visitors for this Copa Libertadores clash. It was a highly eventful first half with Cvitanich putting Banfield ahead early on, but in a rare attack El Nacional briefly signalled a false intent equalising from a penalty. This merely poked the bear, and within the next six minutes, Taladro hadn’t just regained the lead, they were 3-1 up with a brace from Andrizzi. A solitary spot kick, tucked away unusually by goalkeeper Lucchetti (maybe the only time I have seen a goalkeeper score a penalty in an actual game) put the seal on a nice 4-1 win.
If there were any Ecuadorian fans in the stadium they were extremely limited in number, and this was the most relaxed atmosphere of the five games recollected here in my first part of my Argentine recollections. The very next day my great Scottish friend Andrew, down visiting from Brazil, and I had been having a lengthy and wonderful lunch with Jorge and Andrea in Tigre, when on the way back down the rail tracks toward the city, I suggested going to Liniers to see the Copa Libertadores action. We decided to jump off the train at one of its stops, holler a taxi which whisked us round the General Paz motorway to join the Bolso fans at the Amalfitani, the opening tale for part two, Velez v Nacional, coming soon!
Three years later I was delighted to be the Montevideo tourist guide (I had been countless times by then) for Osvaldo and his sister Susana as they’d decided to head across to the Uruguayan capital for the Copa Libertadores game with Nacional in the Centenario. It was a fabulous 2-2 draw with an electric atmosphere in the most historic stadium in the world. A week later we were all back at the Florencio Sola cancha in Banfield for the return fixture, where I was mildly delighted to see Bolso bag a win 2-0, but as the years have rolled by I have distanced myself from any great attachment to one of the two Uruguayan giants as part of my preferred growing appreciation of the extraordinary colourful array of the others sides, and the effort needed to compete from the dedicated crop of smaller clubs in Uruguay. Racing on both sides of the Rio de la Plata are my principal passions, but I always like to see the clubs of my friends do well (Well not Rojo No Existe, or Boca or River!) and I always keep an eye on the Banfield score amongst others.
Football Adventures with James Rendall 