There are photos that are atrociously beautiful. This was reproduced by many newspapers around the world, because some things that are not said, that are not talked about, are more important than what happens. The number of mouths that could be fed with this bouquet of turbans and “Mauricios” sitting on mountains of skinny corpses with their ribs drawn on their skin. We don’t know when they lost sensation. It is noticeable that the former president feels comfortable with the environment, and with himself. A cyclopean Nero who set the country on fire, and decided to sit down and watch it from the sofa, now transformed into a box. The exterior cleanliness of the image suggests to the observer a neatness of a moral character. A well-cared aesthetic. His body posture works, the position of his head, his gaze on the horizon, that feeling of firmness in his ideas, of existential honesty. That posture of having slept well, of being freshly showered, freshly dressed, and that air of conformity for a job well done: that ideological cardio about race, superiority, and meritocracy. That meritocracy of yours, so aseptic, exuded drop by drop.
Surrounded by so much color Mauricio Macri is drawn in the photo almost in black and white. Are there people in black and white? They abound. You see them every day on the subway, in the bus, at the coffee tables, in the governments. Bursts of life in black and white, like silent movie scenes of those that take place in the depths of the soul.
The race. “Germany can never be ruled out, it is a superior race,” the former president declared in black and white, in a definition of “fascistoid” football full of colors. In the end the yellows prevailed over the pale Teutons. Reality is always more complex than the papers that explain it.
The defeat. There is a football that identifies us, that interpretation of offensive football, without makeup, without complexes. That exquisiteness sustained in the art of the sublime, of simple, concrete beauty. Getting together, mixing, recognizing each other through the ball, having it, hiding it, until spaces open up, gaps are made, and creativity is aired. Old tricks of our football that today is practiced by a large part of international football. That historical legacy is present in this selection. There is room for hope.
The photo, the race and the defeat. A kind of abstraction, a place without space, a time without time, a sustained hyperbole of a cartography as imaginary as it is effective of the human condition of this postmodern neoliberal, oblivious to social imperatives, anchored in the self-satisfaction of his self and his desires. . Mauricio Macri, a faithful reflection of this World Cup. An empty tournament, kneeling on the ground, with a stuffy nose, inhuman, without color: in black and white.