Mexico versus Argentina
The title says it all, an epic match between the perennial champions and the all-time underdogs, two prideful Latin footballer nations that play at full volume but whose matches invariably fade into background notes.
I know nothing about soccer. But I'm aware enough to get worried every time Mexico wins a World Cup match. At the Angel of Independence several blocks from where I live, kilometers of cars break out with honks and deafening music until sunrise. The street becomes an alcoholic sports-orgy in the heart of the Mexican republic. I can't sleep until 630 or 7 AM.
Yesterday I watched the US-Ghana game in a local cantina and felt the pent-up rage Mexicans feel toward the US (team), at once passing, fleeting and superficial (isn't everyone supposed to root against the gringos?) but at the same time, an antagonistic clash of opposites.
Although soccer inspires cheap nationalism, it's also a lightning rod for true-felt pride and emotions that surge in the heat of competition. The masks come off when your home team is in the World Cup. Everyone becomes a nationalist. Which is what makes it so cathartic and real, a cheap yet spot-on catalyst that cuts sharply all ways.
Or perhaps this isn't really about soccer, or at least not winning soccer. After all, why would a country that loses so many soccer matches have so many delirious soccer celebrations? In South Africa's World Cup, the Mexican fans, one of the biggest delegations, are the loudest, most ardent and colorful in the stadium.
Is it just a game? When the Tri plays abroad, the rhythm and ordinariness of life is broken. In the capital and every provincial Mexican city, the world fills with mayhem and shouts of solidarity.
I witness what I call "breakDown" every time the Selección Mexicana wins a major match, which thankfully isn't often. After the last winning World Cup game with France, over 60 teenagers were arrested at the Angel for smashing bottles ecstatically.
Mariachi sing "The King"
The famous mariachi Son de San Pedro arrived last week in Plaza Garibaldi in Mexico City on the day of the Uruguay match to sing El Rey to thousands of delirious fans. This is the romance of triumph, a ritual performed each year with lots of cold beer, music and pageantry.
An obsession with being number one.
Mexico lost the march 1-0. But since the team moved to the second round anyway, over 70,000 fans gathered at the Angel and Zócalo where they screamed and frenetically waved Mexican flags. Over 70,000 strong, with 23 arrests for vandalism and 7 injured police officers.
Thank god there was no real party.
Keeping the faith
Maybe there isn't much deep meaning here, just tumult and a going to extremes; a release of fierce and noble feelings repressed by the frustration of too much ordinariness.
Or perhaps this frenzy is something larger, a violent outpouring in which "the Mexican, drunk with his own self, is aware at last, in a mortal embrace, of his fellow Mexican".
All I can say is: Viva el Tri!
* all quotes are from Octavio Paz, Labyrinth of Solitude.
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