Seven p.m. There is an hour and a half until Argentina’s game against Peru begins. The River court is the host and the neighborhood of Núñez slowly begins to flood with light blue and white shirts. The wind blows strong, the business signs fall, they fly away, the branches of the trees break and they end up on the street. Supermarkets, kiosks, are filled with fans who take the opportunity to seek shelter from the strong wind gusts and to quench the thirst of a long-block walk. Beer, soda, wine with juice. Anything goes to do the preview. “There is a hat, a flag,” shouts one and exposes the albiceleste merchandising.
Others follow his march steadily and with enthusiasm. They want to get to the Monumental in time and settle in the gallery. Entry in hand and wearing the chinstrap is the condition that they ask for at the entrances to the stadium. Those who arrive with Argentine soccer club jerseys are told to turn them over or put on the jacket. Those in charge of security warn of this new provision: when the National Team plays, you can only go with Argentina jerseys. A boy wearing a River T-shirt complains: “This is ridiculous. We are on the River court and I can’t come with my club’s jersey ”. “Yes, but your club is not playing today,” a nearby policeman just answered.
The common code of the majority to refer to the Argentine team is summarized in one word: Scaloneta. The name of the Argentine coach – Lionel Scaloni – no longer generates uncertainty in the fans. Most of them venture to think with the world cup in Qatar 2022 and the song, the leitmotiv, that accompanies the illusion in unison is the one that says “that from the hand of Leo Messi, we are all going to turn around”. And following that classic, with more force, it sounds “give him champion, give him champion”.
The flags flutter and more and more people arrive. Faces painted in light blue and white. Some made several kilometers to get to the River court. “I came from Bahía Blanca with the family,” says Jorge, wearing a national team sports outfit, while his son, on his shoulders, asks him to buy him something to eat. “Hopefully we will see a game similar to last Sunday,” says one, who takes place on the side of the entrance fence to finish drinking a can of beer, referring to the game that Argentina beat Uruguay 3-0. “Forget it – responds the one who accompanies him – Today we bloom again.”
They all want to enter. Also those who prowl without entry. Restless, they look for a resale, whatever. A young man from Burzaco tries his luck. He talks to a policeman, he begs him, he tells him about the adventures he did to get there and that he has no money. “Even if it is the second half”, but the refusal is resounding. “How angry to see that everyone has a ticket and I don’t,” he protests and goes to another door to continue with his strategy. “Ticket in hand and wearing a chinstrap,” says one in a blue vest through a megaphone. “Those who do not have a ticket have nothing to do here,” says a policeman. Half an hour before the game starts.
The young man from Burzaco returns to the same place of entry in which he had tried before. “I’m going to go in anyway,” he says. “These guys don’t understand that Messi is playing today.” A group of people gather and take the opportunity to get close to the package without lifting any
suspicion. The tide advances and it is time. Wink and pass. He gets lost in the pilgrimage of light blue and white shirts that hastens his pace. The popular festival is about to begin.
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