GOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!

Seeing a football match in South America was an absolute must for me when we were planning this trip. Unfortunately, it seemed as if the gods were conspiring against me. The whole time Gabby and I were to be in Argentina there was not one home game for either the Boca Juniors or the River Plate (two local BA teams that have a huge rivalary, it would have been amazing to see them play *each other*, by all accounts those matches are simply insane). In any case, as Gabby and I sat in our "favourite" Argentine location - the bus station’s internet cubicles, I found a company - Tangol - that helped people acquire football match tickets and provided a guide as well as a trip to and from the match. There was *one* match the whole time were in BA; as Gabs´ sister Isabelle would say - "lucky me." The match was between a local team called the Vélez Sarsfield and a Chilean team called the Universad Católica. The two teams had met once before and Vélez had won 2-0. If the global score was in favour of the home team then they would proceed to the next round.

The trip to the stadium was a long and wandering one, picking up people all around the city. Gabby and I also had barely checked in and got showered before turning around and busing then running to the meeting point to catch the bus. 2 hours in traffic around the city we arrived at the Vélez stadium. We made our way in and our seats were located on the side, with a perfect view overlooking the opposing team’s goal as well as the "hooligan" or uber fan section, or the barra brava. Gabby and I were sitting between the guide and our new Scottish friend who both were giving us tips on football matches as well as fans. We were informed that unlike in the UK where football super fans tend to make noise in ebbs and flows, the barra brava would sing and beat drums constantly throughout the entire 90 minute match, and that they did. Our guide informed us they were singing songs in Spanish such as "come on Vélez, we will follow you anywhere." Gabby and I were both amused and intrigued by the number of riot police present around the stadium, including the referees’ police escorts on and off the pitch. As these things go in areas with more intense matches, the Chilean fans had their own section of the stadium. Though we all remarked that the handful of fans that had made the trek were nearly outnumbered by the amount of banners that they had brought. The riot police in their section were also probably at a ratio of 2-3 fans to every police officer. One last point on the riot police, I particularly enjoyed when the opposing team would restart the play from the sidelines that two police officers would come together to place their shields around the player as he passed the ball to one of his teammates.

Shortly into the game, Gabby and I ventured out to get food and, so we thought, beer. Turns out we were fools as who the heck in their right mind would serve alcohol at a football match; come on gringas! I settled on a palm sized burger and coke and vegan Gabby had to make her feast on a bag of nuts. As we made our way back into the stadium our new Scottish friend informed us we had missed the opposing team scoring the first goal. "Opps! Perhaps we’re good luck charms and need to stay in our seats," I speculated to Gabby. While the game was not sold out and it wasn’t as intense of a crowd had it been a Boca Jnrs. v. River Plate I did have a great time taking in the "hooligans" to our left as well as those season ticket holders around us who seemingly read all the pointers in the 2011 Time Out Guide for BA:

A) Wake up to the sound of non-stop football punditry on the radio, shower in team-branded soap and then pop on your retro 1972 top. B) Pick up a copy of the daily sporting paper Olé and head to a preordained bar for a Quilmes beer while deconstructing the team line'up. C) Get to the stadium early to soak up the pre-match atmosphere. This usually involves chanting derogatory songs at any unsuspecting person wearing the wrong shirt, buying a choripan (sausage sandwich) - possibly the most dangerous custom - and buying a fluffy, naff hat. D) After the barra barava have slipped past the police into the stadium, make your way through various friskings and walk up into the stand to the truly overwhelming sight of 30,000 or so bouncing and signing fans. E) Boo as the referee walks onto the pitch (it doesn’t matter that he hasn’t made a decision yet), and scream the worst word you know in Spanish as the opposition appear. And as your team walk out, throw the pile of ripped newspaper you were just handed into the air for a spectacular ticker-tape effect. F) Spend the next 90 minutes shouting yourself hoarse, enjoying what is usually a thrilling game and gaping at the unique spectacle that is the fans of Argentinean football.

So, maybe not all of that happened, but pretty darn close I am sure. I particularly enjoyed the fans around us who were middle-aged women who seemingly knew every player and were amongst the most active in yelling at the refs. As well as a group of older men behind us who I came to believe were former barra brava. All in all, I was all smiles for our more subdued, but certainly entertaining game. Oh, yes, and our home team did eventually score, giving me the chance to yell: GOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL at Gabby, which I am sure she appreciated. There were no more goals the rest of the match, and so globally our team was set to progress to the next round. The match was without the overly commercialized nature of our sports games, say hockey, and ended almost as quickly as it started. To the point where Gabby exclaimed, "whoa, wait, it’s over now? But it is tied...." We hustled out of the stadium with our group only to have to wait 15-20 minutes as the police escorted the Chilean fans out first. Then we arrived home to change and go for dinner at more respectable BA hour - 10:30.