A view from Argentina. Posted in Page 12
spent, for the Argentines, the World Cup is over for now, the illusion of redemption Maradona. Lasted, the dream, until the fateful Saturday thanks to a few touches left to run the games and the electricity that ran the football passion of a country that has known colossal triumphs of unforgettable goals and frustrations memorable left their mark deep in the memory and sensitivity . Shared dreams, always intertwined with the traces of lived experience, are the manifestation of a strange alchemy of dreams and realities. Its power has to do with these sources and those strokes left in the collective memory for other reasons. So also the fading produced a devastating effect leaves us with the soul of the feet and the frustration on his back, knowing that revenge is a consolation is too far away. But, that's also something we know, usually when we least expect it back and brings back the lost joy in the midst of defeat today. Our football, like our history, is crossed by those moments that happiness and pain have left indelible marks.
A passion that touches the daily lives, which alters the mood and shapes, often, the national character can not be the expression of the routine or take the form of bureaucracy who do not feel up to the bottom of their souls significance of a sport that is more than a game, much more than entertainment or the rhetoric of fair play, which highlights the visceral and emotional, the rational and imaginative and are interwoven with memories and biographies of each of us. Because, despite some journalists that are offered as brainy analysts defeat, which is always employed, many of us 4 to 0 against Germany we go through the body and feelings, makes us go back to the recesses of our memory football and present us with a wonderful story there, even where the frustration, the slap of tune, the knockout punch, the humiliation of dire results, combines with unique dribbling, tacos for history and splendid victories of those very few in the world can offer as their own. The losses also leave their marks and take the form of myth, are there to remind us what we often forget ourselves. They are part of who we are and what we can be if we forget or stop learning from his teachings. Wide eyed with pain tend to look more intensely than those who never knew him. And so the victories, the joys, enjoyed more. The technician, unique and irreplaceable, our selection knows anything about this. I know because I lived it firsthand. And all that bears the name of Maradona. He, like no other, represents the most glorious heights of football-poetry, has been the most beloved name that lives in the saga of our football because he was not only the creator of the eternal goal, the kid from the onions that as a magician out of a universal circus marveled at the endless little game that allowed him to do anything with their highest object of devotion was and is a ball football. Villa Fiorito, Maradona, the pitted the poor multitude, the word area, that has made us unique sentences, the one who broke into the old field of La Paternal, which became, for all the people of Naples, a demigod, one who redeemed the poor of southern Italy against northerners always winners, was the tears of anger at the end of the '90s, popped the ankle on his last effort, beloved by the poor and hated by business owners. He was also the fall, the private life of a sacked by the brutality of the tabloid media, that of an addiction that stole his word and offered the hideous face of desolation. It was that and much more. The victory in store for the Olympics, the chosen of the gods and the terrible price paid to be who he was and who he is. Maradona is carrying the burden of being Maradona, I think, does so with a dignity that few have, it does the integrity of those who have experienced heaven and hell, the highest peaks of success and praise glittering and its counterpart, the fall in the abyss, loneliness, revenge of the mediocre who have never failed to abuse Maradona disturbing moments of weakness or in circumstances marked by the defeat, soccer and even worse, that of life. Maradona has been the miracle that allowed him to rebuild, the same that rejected the naysayers who liked to collapse. In it, in its extreme and extraordinary journey of a football field and the maze of life, metabolized unthought of who has managed to reverse their own absences. There is something all of us in the weaving Maradona, some of that game with the ends that has marked life in Argentina ever since. A grammar of excess, a fervor that paid a very high price when it comes time to defeat, but allows us to enjoy a unique intensity when they arrived the day of joy. Deep regret that we plot is something I find it empty, pointless and undesirable. We are, no doubt, hope and frustration, the effort to take care of the best of a story sometimes pigmented unattainable dreams and the urgent need to take care of our impossibilities.
Something
end, that always accompanied Diego, appears to account for our fortunes, as if we agree the balance and consensus. All or nothing. Maradona's itinerary is intertwined with that of the country, plays mirror and shows us images of ourselves. Their successes and defeats do not seem very different from those who accompanied us throughout history. We learned of splendid moments, popular worlds at their highest levels of fairness, which left their footprints in the depths of the collective memory (and the Maradona of the popular suburbs, kneading in the pastures of the poor multitude, the language of the defendant, who always Garrincha was closer than Pelé represents a not less than the memory of a past better) knew, too, falls to hell, dictatorial horrors and mass destruction of our dreams in different circumstances of our journey as a nation. Met hope and the disappointment we knew we touch the deepest springs of illusion and found ourselves in the midst of the nightmare. As a country we had, and we have, something Maradona, impossible, crazy, charming, unexpected that knows no intermediate ports, on machines that always work the same way. We met great improvisation and improvisation disaster. We played together and we charmed by the appearance of genius, he alone solved games. Perhaps our problem lies in not making that more and better crossing both ways. Maybe that was the error in this World Cup Maradona: Messi was like to imagine him repeating the myths and epics are just around the corner. A Messi, as Argentina's history, he weighs the shadow of the myth, the memory of lost wonder, however, continues to insist. All, knowing that we carry a delusion, dreaming on Saturday in the middle of what looked like a disaster, with the move made by Messi Maradona, with that incredible dribbling reproduced 24 years later. Sure, we found that are unique and unforgettable events are not repeated or at least not when expected.
end, that always accompanied Diego, appears to account for our fortunes, as if we agree the balance and consensus. All or nothing. Maradona's itinerary is intertwined with that of the country, plays mirror and shows us images of ourselves. Their successes and defeats do not seem very different from those who accompanied us throughout history. We learned of splendid moments, popular worlds at their highest levels of fairness, which left their footprints in the depths of the collective memory (and the Maradona of the popular suburbs, kneading in the pastures of the poor multitude, the language of the defendant, who always Garrincha was closer than Pelé represents a not less than the memory of a past better) knew, too, falls to hell, dictatorial horrors and mass destruction of our dreams in different circumstances of our journey as a nation. Met hope and the disappointment we knew we touch the deepest springs of illusion and found ourselves in the midst of the nightmare. As a country we had, and we have, something Maradona, impossible, crazy, charming, unexpected that knows no intermediate ports, on machines that always work the same way. We met great improvisation and improvisation disaster. We played together and we charmed by the appearance of genius, he alone solved games. Perhaps our problem lies in not making that more and better crossing both ways. Maybe that was the error in this World Cup Maradona: Messi was like to imagine him repeating the myths and epics are just around the corner. A Messi, as Argentina's history, he weighs the shadow of the myth, the memory of lost wonder, however, continues to insist. All, knowing that we carry a delusion, dreaming on Saturday in the middle of what looked like a disaster, with the move made by Messi Maradona, with that incredible dribbling reproduced 24 years later. Sure, we found that are unique and unforgettable events are not repeated or at least not when expected.
Messi is Maradona, can not. His life, the journey that took him as a boy, from his native Rosario to Barcelona has nothing to do with the steps taken by Diego. In Maradona there still a remnant of another country, the saga of old folktales mutilated, the path from poverty to the summit, fidelity to the sources that always complaint in its moments of rapture, where usually sharp chisel and memorable phrases like that which forever reminded us "that the ball did not stain." Messi, who is a good guy, humble despite who he is, has more to do with football show, with Europe, with the harmonic fields and neat, the kind that seem to billiards and that have nothing to do with our (often unpresentable and punctuated by violence and delinquency, but also carry the memory of the pasture). Yet Messi in a remarkable manner, keeps in its genes very thing that made a Maradona. Perhaps, like an ancient Greek tragedy, its time can only come when the shadow of another god let him take his own place in the sun. Is it within four years?
Ricardo's Foster Ph.D., professor at the UBA
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