It's about time: I haven't talked about the World Cup yet. Since my last two posts were decidedly depressing, I think its about time to talk about what its like to be in Argentina during the World Cup. Let me clarify: I am currently in Argentina during the Mundial and Argentina has never lost a game! Many of my friends and family have made reference to the World Cup lately, mostly via facebook, but as Argentina has continued to advance over the past few weeks, the situation here has rapidly turned newsworthy. So, for all you bored Americans back home: what's the atmosphere like here?
First things first: Mundial is the most important thing around. When Argentina plays, watching the game trumps all, including but not limited to: work, school, mealtimes, visits to relatives in hospital, and traffic laws. Being from the USA, a country at best only mildly intrigued by the epic spectacle of Mundial, I was surprised when my lessons with students were rescheduled for the games. And I do not mean lessons that were scheduled during gametime; I am talking about lessons scheduled fully five hours before gametime. Yep, a 9am lesson was rescheduled due to the 1pm game. This is because everyone must "really concentrate in the morning because they won't get any work done for the rest of the day," as one of my students explained to me. Here, English lessons are rendered completely superfluous when compared to a soccer game. And many, many other things share the same fate. Last week, I saw a beggar shoo away a good Samaritan trying to give him money because the hapless fellow was blocking his view of the game through a cafe window. Now that's commitment. That is loyalty at its finest. That is love.
The second striking thing about Mundial in Argentina is the noise. As I told my friend Lauren today: I think every horn in Argentina is honking. There are all kinds of noisemakers here, but the loudest of all is undoubtedly the teenage boys. These little hooligans, many armed with snare drums, positively overtake the central plazas and Calle Sarimiento, the pedestrian shopping district in Mendoza on game days. Once gathered in a massive, undulating crowd of dark mullets and rat tails (soooo undeservedly popular here), the boys proceed to climb trees, light posts, and newsstands where they flail recklessly and weave huge Argentina flags precariously through the power lines. Another popular pastime before, during, and after the game is to light off industrial flares... in the middle of the crowd. I can only thank some higher power that I still have hair on the left side of my head after one be-mulleted teenager lit off a flare that whistled past just inches from ear before sending sparks raining down over the crowd. I still have my hair, but my hearing may never recover from Mundial.
The third and most incredible thing about Mundial in Argentina, however, is the most striking: I have never been so excited for a soccer game! The intensity of devotion here is unrivaled and absolutely contagious. To win is to experience pure elation. To lose is unimaginable. Before today's game, I found myself holding my breath in a local cafe as pictures of riotous streets and murderous fans went dancing through my head. In fact, I did see a riot last week... after Argentina WON. How can the streets be safe after a loss? How will anything ever get done? With the national high of Mundial making grown men positively giddy, I fear the national depression of a loss like the plague. But let's not focus on the negative right now. As one of my students told me: Argentina has not done this good in my whole lifetime. Clearly, fate has smiled down on me to land me here, right now, to experience the feverish thrill of Mundial and to give me mad dreams of rapid spanish commetary punctuated by GOOOOOOAAAAALLLLL! Ahhhhh. Like music to my ears. If only I could hear...
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