Dissent on a Descent

AKA: A Tale of Two Disasters.

New column about Argentine soccer posted at the Sports Trough. Included in the post, for your viewing pleasure, the most complete fan meltdown of all time. Enjoy!

Death Is On the Line

NOTE: This column is double-posted over at a brand new website for which I am a contributor, The Sports Trough. So check out all the new stuff there!

Imagine if you will, that during the New York Knicks’ various failures over the last decade there was something far more important at stake. Or that the Chicago Cubs were on the verge of significant consequences for their futility beyond continued razzing from White Sox fans. What if the Knicks were relegated to the NBDL, and the Cubs to AAA ball? Can you imagine the Nashville Sounds playing a summer classic at Wrigley? How would the fans react? Would they violently revolt, or just leave the team completely? What about all the lost TV revenue? These are just a few of the concerns at stake this Sunday in Buenos Aires.

In Argentine soccer, two teams rise above all others in terms of popularity. The owners of the “Superclasico” and one of the most renowned rivalries in all of sport: River Plate and Boca Juniors. In recent polls, roughly 80% of all Argentines root for one of these two teams over all others. They have the most money, and some would argue the richest history. But all that people know about soccer in Argentina may change in just a few days. Over the last three years, both teams have been in a steady decline, clinging to veterans who were either over the hill or lacking the desire to fight for victories. And that freefall has put River in a suddenly extremely precarious position.

There are five levels of soccer leagues in the country, and the bottom two teams from each division are relegated down a notch at the end of every season, with the top two teams sent up. The next two lowest performers get a chance to fight to stay with the big boys. There are only three teams that have never been sent down to the B league: Boca, River, and Independiente. River, for the first time in their history, is now fighting for their lives. Their fans refer to themselves as “The Millionaires,” but the equal parts shock, shame, and disgust they are enduring is unheard of in the 110 year history of the club, and they are feeling nothing like a million bucks.

After several seasons of struggles, River cleaned house, fired their third head coach in a year, and started the season with a lot of hope. After seven games, they were just a few points out of first place. But as quickly as the hope arrived, they began to lose. Seemingly every week. In the last week, they had to win or tie to avoid the “promotion” (games against a B team, the winner of which ends up in the top league). They gave up a goal in the last few minutes to lose 2-1, and the players left the field under a hail of bottles, garbage, and anything else their fans could grab. Instead of Millionaires, they performed more like the derisive nickname their rivals apply to them: the Chickens.

The Promotion works thusly: The fourth worst team from the top division plays the fourth best team from the B division twice. Once on each team’s home turf. After both games, they take the sum of the goals. In the case of a tie, the team from the top division wins.

Wednesday night, some 400 miles from home, River took the field against Belgrano de Cordoba, and laid an egg. The Cordobeses were clearly more prepared for the game, and, with their home crowd going bonkers, blasted in a penalty kick after a clear handball in the penalty box 25 minutes into the game. From that point on, as they have all season when under a bit of pressure, River collapsed. Despite a steady string of free kicks and corners, they got few quality chances and played sloppy the rest of the first half. Eight minutes into the second, Belgrano notched a superb goal by César Pereya. And at that moment, 40% of Argentina was shitting their pants or smashing their television or both.

But what happened next was even more surprising. Suddenly there were fans on the field, not streaking or trying to steal the ball, but attacking the River players. At first it seemed these were fans of Belgrano, trying to celebrate, as they wore no gear marking their allegiance. Instead, these were River fans so enraged by what they were seeing that they tore through the fence separating them from the field. “Find your balls!” yelled one fan as he gave a two-handed shove to a midfielder. After a 20 minute delay and the crowd threatened firehoses, play resumed. Needless to say, this did not help River find balls of any kind, and they returned to the capital under heavy guard with a deficit of two goals.So this Sunday, at 3pm, they will take the field in the largest stadium in the country, but they don’t even know whether their fans will be rooting for them. In fact, with good reason, it is more likely the players will fear for their lives. The murder of soccer players who err is not unheard of in Latin America, and when you consider the sheer quantity of enraged Millionaires/Chickens, if I were a player, I would be worried about any public appearance.

There are other factors worth mentioning. There is a tremendous amount of money at stake. For the television alone, River will make 10 times less money in the B division. Not to mention the fact that nobody will be buying jerseys, hats, or probably even tickets. Some teams go to the B and never come back. River has enough funding that this is unlikely, but even playing in the Promotion was unheard of before this week.

Rival factions are conflicted. The sheer pleasure they have taken over these last two weeks in relentlessly making fun of the River fans has possibly been enough. And many don’t wish to see River leave the top league. Boca, for one, stands to lose money, and to a certain degree all teams do. Think what would happen if the Cubs never played any major competition. That’s a huge fan base that no longer buys visitors’ tickets.

For all the Machiavellian thinking we hear about how the NBA is fixed or that the MLB doesn’t care about their small-market teams, you wouldn’t believe some of the accusations levied at the AFA before the first Promotion game even took place. Everyone is assuming that somehow the league will ensure that River wins the last game by at least two goals. That the refs will be bought off, that fans will storm the field to disrupt the game in a way that affects the scoreboard, that God will come down and declare River the overall winner. Belgrano is likely going to have to play out of their minds just to lose by only one.

I arrived in Argentina with the chance to pick any team from the 20 in the top division. That’s a rare opportunity in life, and after great research and contemplation, I settled on Independiente. River is not our top Rival, but definitely our second. Think Notre Dame/Michigan. And they always beat us. I am not conflicted. I have every desire to see Belgrano win 3-0. My wife (also, not coincidentally an Independiente fan), is of the same mind. And there are so many reasons for this. Perhaps this is comparable Alabama fans rooting for Auburn in their bowl game – something I just can’t fathom. I want River, and all their Chicken followers to suffer. After this, I want to see them go to the C, then the D (note: this will not happen ever, but a guy can dream).

Watching this River team play, they collapse once things go badly. Like Stan Van Gundy said about the Atlanta Hawks, they’re “frontrunners.” Only in this case, they are rarely in front. Now they have to come back home, play in front of 58,000 fans, most of whom want them dead, and find a way to win by two goals. That’s going to be some pregame locker room.

Death is on the line Sunday. Surely at risk is the legacy of one of the world’s most famous futbol clubs. Hopefully nothing more grave. I’m sure the government will try to put 58,000 cops on the field, just in case. If it weren’t a Sunday, it would be the ideal day to rob a bank. I can say this. I’m keeping the hell away from that stadium, and will be eagerly watching the drama unfold on TV, rooting for ruin and heartbreak. It’s a rare opportunity to see a nationwide car wreck live. With slow-motion replays. Today, I’m a Cordobés, too.

The Well Worn Practice of Self-Delusion

I’ve been through this before. Lots of times. In your heart of hearts you feel things that don’t make sense. You approach the situation with your brain of brains. You say, “Man, this looks pretty bad, if we win it will be a miracle.” And if the game were to happen right then, you’d stay in your brain of brains and robotically accept the results.

But time passes. You read an optimistic report from a blogger who lives in his heart of hearts all day long, and he punches a small crack in the façade. Once you pry open the door to optimism, the train has left the station and won’t stop until you reach “We’re gonna do it” land. It happened to me again.

Aside from their red-card aided loss to Serbia, Germany had been the clear top dog in this World Cup. Argentina had only played one decent opponent. Still, with Messi, with Tevez, even with Maradona who had appeared to have learned a thing or two about coaching soccer, many were picking them to win the game. It didn’t take much for them to convince me. I already had punched that crack in the façade myself. In soccer, everyone always has a chance. You never really close that door.

Towards the end of my big road trip, I returned to Ann Arbor for The Game against Ohio State. Michigan fans had been enduring an ungainly year, one that began with losses to Appalachian State and Oregon. Yet, despite it all, the team had a chance for the Rose Bowl if they could just beat Ohio State. The Buckeyes had lost to Illinois; they weren’t an unstoppable force. But Hart and Henne were both playing hurt, and there was no reasonable way to believe that Michigan would come through.

But as the week progressed, I started to believe. More than anything, after driving 14,181 miles I felt like I deserved it. How illogical is that? Of course I was dead wrong. It was one of the most boring football games I’ve ever seen, a 17-3 punt-fest in which Michigan never remotely threatened to win. I deserved nothing, despite my self-convincing.

When you’re winning, a soccer match takes an eternity. When you’re losing, they fly by. Argentina's 4-0 defeat was done in a flash. People here could accept defeat, but 4-0. 4-0!?! It ripped the heart out of the country. When the game ended, the city was dead quiet. Even the birds and the breeze were in hiding.

That’s what sucks about self-delusion. It always comes to an end, but there’s no way to know ahead of time. I really don’t know squat about soccer, and still managed to convince myself that victory would be ours. What is wrong with me? Nothing that's not wrong with everyone who wants his team to win I suppose. SI's Joe Posnanski did the same thing while hoping for a compassionate LeBron.

As night fell, Buenos Aires began to shake off the stink of failure. People left their homes to have a coffee, talking meekly of things other than futbol. I found myself in a taxi with a driver who was not so shy. "That was an embarrassment! Argentina should never have lost that game!" I told him that was 4-0, and Germany has been the best team so far. "No. Argentina is better, and should have won!" I must say I admired the man for the willful optimism even after such a stark result. Maybe self-delusion can be used to obscure reality instead of making it sting. But in the face of such a strong reaction, I had nothing much to say. I was as silent as the birds during the afternoon.

Crazy for the Copa

Alternate title: Loco por los goles

If I were still in the US, I am sure I would be paying attention to the World Cup. In a week or so. At least some of the games. But as I happen to be living outside of North America, my new neighbors are doing their best to infect me with their fever. Obviously, one of the perks of moving to Argentina was being able to live in a futbol-crazed land during the World Cup. We're still a week away, and the hype is living up to, well, the hype.

The event taken over the entire city. The best analogy I can think of is if the Super Bowl were to go on for a month and if two thirds of the league was invited to compete. But only if we had waited four years since the last one. Two months ago my male coworkers started drawing up scenarios on whiteboards, and getting excited over potential matchups like North Korea vs South Korea, and "colonial combat" like USA/England, Brazil/Portugal, and Chile/Spain. About ten days ago, the women became infected, too. This commercial is alarmingly accurate:


Argentina just celebrated its Bicentennial a couple of weeks ago. The entire city was decked out in flags and ribbons. Argentina being Argentina, many buildings didn't get their act together very quickly and hastily draped the Celeste y Blanco just a day or two before the event. Lucky for them, there is reason to leave the decorations up. This isn't like keeping your Christmas lights blinking until Easter. If anything, the purpose is far more immediate now. Recent studies have shown that the country's populous is in a better mood and has more optimism about the nation's future during the tournament.

Though opinions abound, nobody really has any idea how the Argentine team is going to do. Members of the international press have universally labeled them the "most intriguing" team in the tournament. They're right.

Let's review the backstory in brief. Argentina has some of the best players in the world, including the reigning Golden Boot winner, Lionel Messi. Couple that with a long history of success, and anything less than reaching the semifinals is an automatic letdown. But Team Argentina had been seriously struggling with disappointing performances in World Cup qualifiers and friendlies alike. This led the AFA to take the desperate decision of putting the squad in the hands of God, aka Diego Maradona. Maradona, as you may know, is one of the most famous footballers in history, and a national treasure. He's also had trouble with drugs and never proven himself to be a successful coach. Nevertheless, to most Argentines, he is surely a deity, and in the city of Rosario, there is even a religion dedicated to him. The decision was risky, but nearly all Argentines were supportive at the time. He is, after all, the man who did this:


But Argentina didn't fare much better under Maradona's watch, and only barely qualified for the tournament. This isn't quite like Duke nearly missing the field of 64, but it's close. After locking up a spot on the last day of play, Maradona made some pointed comments to the media at his press conference. "For those who doubted me," he declared, "you can blow me." This led to a two-month suspension enforced by FIFA, and further doubt in his abilities to lead the team.

Locals, however, have been eager to put the blame for the teams failures on the players, most pointedly at Lionel Messi. Too many times to count, I have heard people claim that he tries for Barcelona, but for Argentina, "no hace nada." Even though I'm just a layman, it is clear that when Messi has the ball, the rest of his teammates simply stand around watching. Think Kobe Bryant in 2007. I may not be the ultimate expert in futbol yet, but even the best players can't take on the other 11 by themselves.

It's obvious to me that the team is disorganized and unstructured. Plus, it's not like we don't have data. Messi scored 34 goals in roughly as many games for Barcelona in the last season. If he suddenly can't get the ball into the net, is it that he has lost his will to compete or that he is being misused? There is a simple answer to this question. But, admitting as much would mean believing in a fallible God. Nobody is ready to do that, no matter how outrageous the press conference.

Will this all end in hugs and smiles? Time will tell.

At this point, no one knows what will happen, save for one simple idea. If Argentina does well, Maradona will say and do something interesting. If they fail spectacularly, he will say and do something interesting. He has already promised to run through the streets of Buenos Aires naked if they win the whole thing, an entirely idle threat unless he finds a way to make the team to play better. At this point I can say that I have become infected with the same fever as the rest of the people living in this fine city. And at this moment my lack of knowledge doesn't even matter. I don't know what's going to happen, either. But I am counting down the days until it does.

On Deals

Hey, Argentina, I thought we had an agreement. I was going to move to a country where they care about soccer, and you were going to play in the 2010 World Cup - and play well. This is not only embarrassing, I'm feeling totally ripped off. For those uninitiated, Argentina has never missed a world cup, but after losing to Brazil and Paraguay in succession this week, they have currently positioned themselves out of the tournament. There are two games remaining, but Argentina does not control its own destiny. They have to win them both and hope that Ecuador loses one.

They boast one of the two best players on the planet and a coach who was one of the greatest of all time. But this is not a team. Every player seems reluctant to give up the ball. Maybe they're all so good they think they can win games themselves. but this isn't working. It's easy for people to blame Diego Maradona, and it's clear that he's not helping the team win. But these problems existed before he arrived.

A man at the end of his tenure...?

As I said, I feel cheated. There's still an outside chance that FIFA will make some kind of exception or that Argentina can make its way in via the open slot. But at this point, nobody in this country has any confidence that such a thing will happen. They're beyond crestfallen. They're disgusted.

...this guy thinks so.

Michigan's another story. We had our own agreement. There would be ups and downs in equal measure, but the team would always be at least pretty good and I would definitely have a game to watch in January. Last year, well, we all know what happened. Then again, I'm the one who moved away. For me to whine any more about 2008 is like complaining that the girl you dumped is dating some cheesy schmo. But if we're talking about disgusted fans, it's hard not to think about what happened last year.

But then this happened:


And then this:

And suddenly... we got us a football team again. I'm tempted to check my expectations, thinking about the miracle against Wisconsin last year. It's so hard to tell early in the season what is real and what is not. That result turned out to be decidedly not real. Those who said Michigan was lucky to win were correct. And Wisconsin soon proved to be a team somewhere between mediocre and lousy.

But last week, the excitement returned. As a Michigan fan, you expect such moments. You've been promised them over the years. You get to thinking you deserve them, and maybe you do. Relief quickly turned to joy and anticipation for the next game.

Part of the deal is that Michigan never rolls over against Notre Dame. I don't think the Irish have ever blown us out, at least not in the last fifteen years. The Notre Dame fans I talk to think that they're going to cruise through this game, but that's par for the course in South Bend. Overconfidence goes with the territory. That said, they looked pretty impressive against Nevada.

I've lost all hope for Argentina. Our deal is broken. But then again, if Michigan wins tomorrow, it's clear that the fan contract is wholly renewed. There's still time for Argentina to get their act together, though I'm not ready to enter any pact with Maradona still in charge. Either way, he's likely gone. I just hope that Michigan sends Charlie Weis to join him in early retirement. VAMOS AZUL!

Super Clásico Bros.

Much like college football, the rivalries here in Argentina are the most important games of the year. Each team has their counterpart who the fans hate with all of their soul. Win your rivalry match and the season is a success. Lose, and it is a failure. For many fans, even the championship is secondary. The whole country turns its attention to the rivalry or clásico in a given week. And no clásico matches the fervor of Boca/River.The Boca Juniors are the most popular team in Argentina - one of the most popular in the world. Diego Maradona, despite getting his start as an Argentino Junior, will always be associated with Boca, having played the majority of his career there. They sport a rather fetching combination of Yellow and Blue, originally chosen due to a ship from Sweden. No joke. One could even call the yellow "maize" (although corn here is referred to only as choclo). Rival fans refer to them as Los Bosteros, meaning "manure handlers", but of course they were able to make the nickname a point of pride. Perhaps it's like the "Bug Eaters" in Nebraska, but I have to review my 'Husker lore. Traditionally, Boca appealed to the more blue-collar citizenry, though times have changed and the identities are not so clear cut anymore.

Photo by Fabián Marelli, La Nacion

River Plate is the only team that can remotely challenge Boca's popularity. Originally, the two clubs were both centered in the city's Boca neighborhood, but in 1923, River moved to the more affluent (and safer) Nuñez area. Their stadium is the largest in the country. Fans of other teams often point out that the army built the stadium for them, but this often comes off as "stadium envy." When that doesn't work, they call them the Gallinas. This literally means "hens", but is of course calling them chickens. But of course female chickens. While in the past, River drew the more wealthy crowd, that, too has changed and there have been some rather dangerous and wild incidents at their stadium.

Photo by Mauro Alfieri, La Nacion

I made several efforts to obtain tickets to the Boca vs. River match today, but was unable to find one for less than 600 pesos. It was a gorgeous day, the first really cool one we've had this autumn (yes, it's autumn here - south of the equator and all). Unwilling to pay the same as the tourists, I had to resort to internet viewing. It really tamped down the intensity, particularly since nobody scored in the first half. But the second provided more excitement. When Boca took the lead on the left foot of Martín Palermo, people all over my neighborhood hollered "Gooooool! Gooool!!" Horns were honked. River countered just minutes later off a booming free kick that zoomed past the keeper. My neighborhood erupted again, though the noise came from a completely different set of people.
English highlights can be found here, but I think you'll agree the announcers are far too polite.

And that's where things ended. Maybe ending in a tie is still like kissing your sister, but they're certainly more accustomed to it here. And considering there are no playoffs unless there's a tie in the season's final standings (and you think the BCS is frustrating - that's a whole other blog post), they won't likely play each other again until the next season. But if you think about it, it will only make the next one that much more important. At least Boca won't get voted out of going to the Rose Bowl. I hope to get to some more games soon, but Boca River may have to wait until I get some sort of promotion or commit to a team so I can get season tickets. For now, it was an exciting day that the entire city paid attention to, the closest thing they have to a Super Bowl.

Argentine Soccer, Take 1

I ame behind in the analysis of which team I shall call my own here in the Torneo Clasura. That process will begin in this space shortly or longly. But in the meantime, I was finally able to check out a local match, something I wish I had done my first week in town.

Obtaining tickets to a fútbol game here in Buenos Aires is no easy task. I had the good fortune of friends who were able to help, but it meant traipsing across town on the hottest day of the year. The salt stains left on my red shirt were evidence of the effort, but more importantly the tickets in hand, three different versions for each seat, heightened the anticipation level. I was strongly cautioned about personal safety, partly because this was a rivalry game, and because it was in a lousy neighborhood, but mostly because it was an Argentine fútbol match. I left my cell phone, watch, and even wallet at home and wore a non-descript, black t-shirt. Taking the 128 to the game, there were a few guys Independiente jerseys. They hollered insults to any Racing fans we passed on the street, but generally behaved themselves. There was no commandeering of the bus or anything. Upon arrival, it was clear that I had been overly cautioned. There were thousands of police officers, and we were patted down three times before we got to the actual stadium.

Club Atletico Independiente vs Racing Club

Joining me was one of my old Michigan roommates. Chris and I had done this walk together many times before, though the last was a sloppy loss against Illinois on a miserably rainy day in 1999. This was reminiscent of the lead-up to every game I attended last season. Even though their season had so far lacked promise, the Red Devils were in high spirits. This was their Iron Bowl, their version of The Game. The hop in their step was only interrupted for pee breaks. The fans were roughly 95% men, one clear advantage college football affords. The police steered fans of each team down different streets, so there could be no risk of an altercation.

The Independiente stadium is currently under construction, so their home games are being held at the venue belonging to Huracán. To call it dilapidated would be a compliment. Harvard Stadium felt newer. Each seat was made of cement, complete with a contoured back – fixed right in as part of the structure. There are two sections available in each stadium, platea and popular. Popular is where all the most insane fans sit (really, stand and jump) and is cheaper. Again for the sake of safety, we sat in platea. But the fan in me was longing to join the hooligans. Because soccer can be rather mundane if you are not pulling one way or the other, Chris and I opted for the “home” team.

Argentines loves to brag about their fútbol. Truth be told, they love to brag about their everything, but one point of particular pride is that they have the craziest fans in the world. At an individual level, these people can go toe to toe with any college football fan. I have no idea how many were in either end, but they generated a ton of volume. Chris noted that Michigan doesn’t come close, and that’s about right. But didn't remotely match the volume I heard at Clemson or LSU. Still, when you consider there were probably only 20,000 fans for Independiente and 10,000 for Racing, they really brought it. Individual signs for each neighborhood could be found all over the populares. Generally a simple Olivos, or any other area, in the team’s colors. Right before kickoff, each of the populares unfurled a gigantic banner that covered their entire end of the stadium. They were like Paul Bunyan’s bedsheets. Tiny hands reaching up and poking the banners made them appear to come to life, moving like a ship lost at sea. As the players ran out to take the field, fans from both ends hurled enough toilet paper to drape Toomer’s Corner ten times over into the air and onto the field. It was amazing. If that kind of thing doesn’t get you excited to watch a game, you’re not human.

Both of these teams are having lousy seasons, but the loser would really have nothing left and likely be needing a new coach. Right from the start, it appeared we had made the right choice. The Independiente players just had more fire (and likely more talent). Ten minutes in, they notched a great goal on a header off a free kick, and the place went berserk. A fan to our right who appeared like he’d be more at home in popular immediately jumped up, turned to the Racing end, and aggressively grabbed his genitals while hollering in their direction.

The Racing fans, for their part, were really impressive. Though in smaller numbers, they made as much noise as their counterparts, but all of their cheers and songs were really in unison. I think they must meet and practice during the week. At halftime, they donned yellow construction helmets as a way to razz Independiente for their still-not-completed stadium. And when I say “they”, I mean thousands of them. And they all waited for halftime to do it. The thing is, their team is generally terrible, and even when Independiente scored goals, they hardly groaned. I can’t think of a college football equivalent – where a team is such a cheerful glutton for punishment. Washington probably came the closest. Notre Dame at least has all that history. This would be like if Vanderbilt had the most passionate fans in the country.

If only the team was ready to go to work

Independiente controlled most of the action, with Racing rarely creating a promising opportunity. The best player on the field was easily the Red Devils’ Rolfi Montenegro. It struck me how amazing it is to watch someone in any sport that is so talented that you feel like they don’t even belong on the same field as the rest of them. During my trip, the only ones that come to mind are Jake Locker, Justin Beaver, and, gulp, Vernon Gholston. (Tebow didn’t have his best outing in the Cocktail Party). A touchy foul in the penalty box gave Rolfi a penalty kick for a score after which he took off his shoe and sprinted around the field, displaying it above his head for everyone.

Rolfi looks a lot younger from far away

Throughout the match, fans cheered for every minute event. Again, if you take soccer too passively, it loses a lot. Whenever anyone made a mistake, the crowd whistled and shouted “Boludo!” Boludo is a local term meaning something in between asshole and moron often heard when driving or joking around with friends. A player from either team could accidentally kick the ball out of bounds, and the reaction would be the same “Boludo” --> You f*ed up! Ha-ha. or “Boludo” --> You f*ed up! You asshole! When #11, a striker for Independiente had the ball, the package man to our right consistently yelled, “Dale Negro!” (pronounced “dah-ley, neh-gro”), which basically means, “Come on, black guy!” This was probably yelled at least 30 times by crotch guy alone. Take that to mean what you will, but adding to the oddity of is the fact that the guy’s last name is Moreno, which pretty much means “dark guy”. Had he simply said, "Dale Moreno!", I would have thought the same thing anyway.

With about five minutes left in the game (it’s impossible to know exactly because there was no clock in the stadium), we decided to make an early exit. Chris had arrived on the red eye the night before and we had a heavy does of Argentine nightlife planned. They make the home team’s fans wait a half-hour to leave because, again, they don’t want any altercations. But by all accounts, it was a peaceful finish, with the Red Devils reveling in their triumph, and Racing firing their coach before we made it home. After my first game here, I’m most struck by the enthusiasm. In some ways, there’s no question that it tops anything I’ve seen in a college football stadium, and I’ve been to an LSU home opener. I can’t wait for round two.

This video is in Spanish, but is very worth watching. Note especially the paper from 22-32 seconds.

Futbol Season Is Nearly Upon Us

There's some sort of Super Bowl thingy this Sunday. It's been interesting to see the reaction, er, non-reaction to the event here in Buenos Aires. I have pretty much avoided all coverage of it, and that's the way I likes it. I don't even know if I'm going to watch the game at all. I don't care who wins and am only rooting for Steve Breaston to garner the MVP (or at least be stopped just short of the goalline by Larry Foote). Maybe if I can teach some locals about the game, it'll be worth enduring. After all, it is America's fourth biggest holiday, right?

With the real football season already in the books, and one last game to go in the version that still employs Tony Siragusa, we're in the thick of the offseason. Reports about recruiting and coach-hiring and all sorts of other barely-football-related matters abound. But here in Argentina, the autumn season of La Primera División Argentina is about to kick off. Everyone tells me that the fans here are craaaazy and thinks I should compare them to the college football fanatics from home. Putting aside false modesty for a moment, I can't think of a better person to play judge.

Soccer is nearly unwatchable if you're not actually rooting for one of the teams. At this point, I have no team of my own and don't have any preconceived notions about any of them. It's a rare opportunity to make a fresh choice. I feel like every other team in my life was somewhat chosen for me, but this is my chance to become a fan with eyes open all the way. So I aim to pick one and will do so very publicly here in this space. Coming next week, the criteria I plan to use and a synopsis of every team I can realistically choose. Before making my final decision, I plan to check out the stadiums and fans as well. Hopefully by mid-season, I'll be painting my face and cursing at the television again.

As I said, soccer games are kinda hard when you don't care. Soccer highlights, on the other hand....seriously groovy: