For a month, every four years, we crush with illusion, we clench our jaws, we stick our faces to the green image and we speculate with results, and good, bad, hard and impossible possible matches.
For a month, every four years, we breathe soccer, sweat the same colors, the same anxiety, and the same hope that we can bring the gold, sports glory and joy.
For a month every four years, we are soccer, we are Argentina wherever we are, and we all cheer for the same team.
During this month, that one of every four years, we are filled with illusions and we got further than we had in a very long time. During this month, we played all seven games, and the cup cheated us in the very end. It was too close and the scream got stuck in our throats, that of the happiness that wanted to be, but couldn’t. During this month, this team gave all they had.
Soccer is a beautiful sport; one that always has a rematch, fills us with emotion and illusion and that sometimes leaves us hanging.
Soccer is a sport. A game. A wonderful one that gets us all in the same place to celebrate. That’s what soccer is.
People, though, are that ugly thing that gathers to celebrate and ends up fighting each other on a day that was supposed to be full of sadness but also joy. Because soccer always has a rematch, and because, in four year time, for a month, we get that chance again, that anxiety, that illusion to play all the games, win the last one and to celebrate full of joy.