Road trip #2

Our second road trip was much more important than the last one. This game was the final game of the season for the oldest Barcelona team. The boys are playing in the Men's 3rd division. This game would decide the league champion and a place in the promotion tournament. Promoting to the 2nd division has tremendous worth to a club.

Today's opponents were the "Camioneros" basically the team of the truckers union. Their union is the most powerful here and they have great pride in their team. As we waited in the dressing room we could hear the arrival of the home fans. It started as a dull thumping but as the buses came closer the beating of drums and the singing fans became so loud it was hard to think of anything else.

It was time to take the field, as we ran through the gates into the field, we could see what was waiting for us. The stands were full of chanting fans expressing their "fondness" for us. To this point I have been a spectator listening to the fans taunt each other from across the field. Today there were no fans for us. Being that the team plays for CEFAR and not a club there is no history or fan base. For the first time I could feel the energy directed towards me, I was on the bench and the fans were gesturing to us directly. I did not think any of them knew me but they seemed to talk about my mother a lot!

The field was directly under the highway, every truck that passed over would pull their air horns in support of the other team. You could smell the rockets and fire crackers from across the field. It was impressive. The coaches would try to yell out to the players but no one beyond the sideline could hear them. The crowd was trying to intimidate us and I think it was working.

For a moment the noise subsided. The game held and we waited for something. I could see an old man walking slowly with security. He was coming towards our bench, it was the father of Maradona and his brother. Jorge had played in Boca with both Maradonas so they greeted us and shook hands. The crowd seemed humbled by their presence. They were escorted to a private viewing area behind or bench. Once they acknowledged the crowd the singing began again.

The game was fast and intense with fierce tackling. Our boys were struggling with the experience of the men and the overwhelming crowd. We had to win in order to advance, a tie would see them through. We failed to score numerous chances and were caught on the counter-attack. The stadium went crazy. We were crushed. The minutes ticked away and the final whistle brought about an amazing celebration.

We headed for the corridor that lead to our dressing room. The fans were going crazy, climbing the fences and getting closer to us. Before long security was no longer able to hold them back. They ran on to the field and surrounded their team in celebration. They began to pull at the jerseys of all the players eventually taking their shirts and their shorts too! It was something that I have seen on the old films of Pele when the fans took all of his clothes after Brazil won the World Cup.

Myself and one other player got separated from the team. Fans were around us grabbing at me. I was wearing a green pinnie while on the bench like one of the subs because I did not have papers to permit me to be there. The other team wore green and white and this particular drunken fan thought I was a Camionero. I was holding my camera under my pinnie and was not going to let him see it. I fought with one hand and tried to explain that I was the other team. He did not believe me in spanish so I used english. I yelled at him in english and it seemed to stun him. I broke free and ran for the gates. Security was coming back for me and escorted me to our room. We closed the doors and listened to the fans surround the building.

Jorge looked at me and asked "where did you go?" I explained what happened and together we shared a hug and a laugh. We stood together and in a quiet voice he said "maybe good we did not win" The crowd was going crazy and they were happy, imagine if they were mad...

Casa de Boca!

Inside the Boca Museum.

Is it really December?

May seem strange, but I had no idea that it was December. Now that the monsoon rains have stopped during the days, it is really hot, 30 degrees at night.

Our next road trip was not until late in the day so Jorge arranged for me to go to "Casa Amarilla" (The Yellow house). It is the home of Boca Juniors, the most famous club in all of South America. As usual Jorge arranges for someone to go with me because of his concerns for security. Together we walked around outside the stadium and visited the Boca Museum while we waited to find out whether we would be allowed into training. Inside the museum was awesome. The history of this club is displayed on the walls with photos of all the famous players that played for the "yellow and blue." On one of the walls was a particular photo which caught my eye. It was the picture of Jorge Raffo, my friend and mentor. It struck me how fortunate we are in Victoria to have built a relationship with him.

Practices are held at a private complex attached to the stadium. After much negotiation, and phone calls with Jorge to the guards, security finally let me pass through the huge gates. Outside hundreds of fans waited hoping to get a glimpse of their idols. As we walked through the gates Mauro seemed more excited than me. He explained that his dream is to be the fitness coach of Boca. He has only imagined being here, only special guests ever get inside these walls.
Once inside we were led to a platform just elevated enough to have an amazing view of the field. As I watched training and filmed the players, Mauro was timing the number of seconds for each fitness exercise. He was noting the rest intervals and was focused on the trainers. Various players came by, we would say hello, shake hands and Mauro would tell me who each player was. This was his team, he knew everything about them. I met Requilme former Valencia star and center mid for Argentina. We got a photo with the Palermo, the #9 striker. He is closing in on the record to become the greatest scorer of all time in Boca history.

It was a great experience, made even more special because I shared it with someone from here that to him meant so much. This was his Barcelona!

I will try to add a photo to the top but no promises. Just lucky to even stay connected!

Later the story of our road trip that afternoon....

Road Trip!

Below is the story of my first road trip.

Road trip

Besides being exhausted each night, arriving back sometimes close to 12am, the internet connection here is ridiculous. My lap top is having issues and would not connect for the last 3 days. Don't know how long it will last!

So much has happened since the last time I wrote. I will start with my first road trip with a Barcelona team.

The day begins a little after 6am as we prepare to leave for Lujan, a city to the west I think.
When it is time to go a security guard opens a tiny door in the steel gate on the side wall of the complex, we duck our heads and 1 by 1 we board the bus. Having been in a number of taxis during the last few days I can only imagine what this will be like. The rules of the road are only suggestions! They drive as many cars wide as will fit in the road. Sometimes 4 wide in 2 lanes. Helmets for bicycles don't exist and helmets for motorcycles are worn, if at all, on top of the head to shade from the sun. Red lights mean sometimes stop, often slow a little or just honk your horn and go right through. I have watched buses of fans with police escorts driving down the highway with people sitting out the windows, doors open and people hanging on the sides! (Pictures to prove it)

As we head out of Buenos Aires across flat lands I can't help but think of the news stories of bus crashes in Central or South America. I got more worried after watching the bus driver buckle up as we entered a different road. Of course there were no seat belts for us. After an hour or so we came across an accident where a water truck plowed into another truck. At least it was not us!

The stadium was old and run down with water all over the field from the nights rain. We entered the dressing rooms and the coaches laid out the jerseys. Something about seeing the Barcelona jersey seems impressive. There were 20 players but only 16 shirts. To this point I had only really became close to one player from this team. His name was Leonardo and I hoped he would play because it is better to be in with the cool kids! As they started calling out numbers the players would come get their shirt. Numbers 1-11 were together and #12-#16 were separate with pinnies on top for the subs. They were at player #9 and still no Leonardo, then they called the #10 with the captains band and it was him. Here in Argentina the #10 means everything, you are always center mid and the leader of the attack. Leonardo grabbed his shirt, smiled at me and instantly made me part of the group.

Jorge asked me to stand back from the bench because it was an official match and I was not on the list. It took about 5 minutes for the police to see me and question my reason for being there. My spanish seemed to disappear at that moment as they escorted me away from the field towards the stands. I was left to myself to watch from the stands not knowing which fans belonged to which team.

The game was good, our team won quite easily and the crowd was rather calm. A single drummer and a little singing, overall a typical Saturday game in Victoria.

After the game I talked with Jorge and he asked me where did I go! We talked about the game and that the next match would be different....

Behind this door...

Tuesday morning I was invited by one of Jorge's friends to go watch the professional team we had gone to see the night before. After going to the training of the 1st Division team of Velez Sarsfield a driver took towards CEFAR. We stopped and he told me to follow him. We walked towards the corner of the street. As we went around I could see a small door. We entered what seemed like the smallest of houses to find quite a surprise for me. Inside was so many people, I began to look around and found little hallways that lead to rooms with 2 double beds in each and then a narrow stairway that lead up to more rooms.

I had found the "hotel" where boys from around the different provinces of Argentina would live in order to play for the various professional teams. These boys leave their homes and are placed by their new team in this hotel for a year, or maybe more if they are lucky!

I was invited to eat at 2 long tables that could hold 20 boys when needed. The ladies of the house spoke no english and neither did any of the players. Our meal was "pollo et papas" chicken and potatoes, which seems to be the only other choice to "baca and papas" which is beef.

The joke here, I think, is 2 choices:

1) beef and potatoes or 2) potatoes and beef

I talked with the ladies about Canada and their hotel which they don't own. I asked for a photo of them and they seemed very surprised. They wondered why i would care about them. I told them, I hope correctly, that they were the "Madres de Argentino futbol" They smiled and kissed my cheek. My new friend from River Plate arrived at the door and told me "nosotros vamos" "We go"

As we drove we talked about the hotel and the famous players that came out of that particular hotel, not to mention all of the dozens hotels for futbolistas throughout Buenos Aires and probably all of South America.

Along one of the highways we went past a huge sign advertising Gatoraide. It had Lionel Mesi and it read:

"No exista los amistosas" We played the english-spanish guessing game but came to the conclusion that I did not understand.

We arrived at the training grounds for Boca Juniors youth teams. Today River Plate U15, Gustavo's team, would play against Boca in an exhibition. The game finished 1-1 and was very good to watch.

Directly after was the U16 River vs Boca also. This game was not so even, Boca was playing well and River was struggling. The score got to 4-0 before River scored a late goal to make the final 4-1. As the Boca fans cheered and the Boca players danced and began to sing something snapped. Something was said or done that crossed the line. There was shouting and then pushing and then punches were exchanged. Within seconds all 22 players were involved, the players from the sidelines raced in and so did the coaches. It could have become much worse if not for an amazing tackle, NFL style, by the River trainer on his own team player. After much yelling and 5 letter words the fighting stopped and the teams began to separate as coaches wrestled the fighting players towards the dressing rooms.

Emotions were running wild, adrenaline was pumping through the veins of those involved. The coaches around me talked and seemed frustrated about losing, about the brawl and life in general. I turned to Gustavo and said I understand; "no exista los amistosas" means "there are no friendlies" Even though we call exhibition games "friendlies," down here every game is for life! Gustavo covered his heart and said "Encorazon"

Below the little boy just happened to be near, notice where his hand is. Even at 5 yrs old his heart beats for River Plate!

Por mi amigos, manana! Chau!