My social life is hectic lately. It consists of picking up my children from their different educational centers, then taking them to train or dance and keeping an eye on the calendar of Christmas and extracurricular functions. so exciting way of life It is completed with attendance at Benjamin games, work meetings and medical appointments. Sometimes I allow myself a treat and I also watch TV. Other times, on very special occasions, I have coffee with someone.
All this is good enough for society in general, I suppose, but not good enough for feeding material into these columns. Luckily, every once in a while someone remembers me and sends me a message.
The other day, an old contact from the stands did it. Longtime readers will remember it, perhaps. When I met him, a field invasion appeared in the conversation. Our team was struggling in Third Division with bad results and non-payment problems. The discontent exploded one Sunday morning in the lower area of ​​Gol Norte: my colleague led the dozens of ultras who jumped onto the grass and faced the box.
That picture was on the front page of the newspaper the next day. Our friend came out there in the foreground. He then explained to me that he had learned a lesson from all that, and I first thought that he meant that he had understood that things are not done that way, that we live in a society and conflicts are resolved in a civilized manner. But no, the lesson he had learned was the following: not to go to football dressed in any way, to always go to football dressed correctly, which had appeared on the cover giving an image of being dragged, in a tracksuit, “like a junkie.”
Violent, but elegant
The fact is that more than a decade has passed since that time and this person wrote me a message. Turns out he saw me talking nonsense on a podcast and remembered me. “I have to ask you something,” he noted, “because your son wants to be a soccer player, but mine wants to be ultra.”
Koke, an Atlético player, talks with the ultras of the red and white team in the sector from which the lighters were thrown at Courtois. / Associated Press/LaPresse
I thought then that he was going to ask me for something to help his son get that dangerous idea out of his head, but again I thought in the wrong way. My friend from the old days asked me if I knew how to find that photograph, the one of the camp invasion, because he wanted to show it to his son.
It made him excited, a nice memory. A lesson in humility for the kid. A way to earn respect.
Thinking wrongly, reaching wrong conclusions, is one of my skills. The other day I saw Atlético-Valencia. I observed with joy a beautiful landscape. Apparently, they had distributed thousands of Santa hats. It is one of the advantages of wearing the colors red and white. I let myself be rocked by the Christmas spirit. I thought that charm would soak up the red and white hearts.
Error: the harmony was short-lived. Valencia scored a goal (later disallowed) and I noticed, while they were celebrating, the local fans who could be seen in the background. I thought I saw a lot of people in Santa hats shouting at rival players. The contrast made me laugh: not even the magic of Christmas prevents football from bringing out the worst in us.
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