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.

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.