Buenos Aires– mid-January and it’s hot, very hot. There’s no football, not real football anyway, into which the players put their hearts and souls. It’s simply not worth it when it’s 34 degrees centigrade in the shade and the humidity is dense enough to make the buildings sweat. Although that might be leaking air-conditioners. I’m not sure.

The players are in training for the start of the 2012 Clausura season which kicks off in a few weeks time. They play in lots of mini-three and four team tournaments at coastal resorts since that’s where anyone who can has gone to escape the searing heat of the cities.

No-one cares that much, despite some frantic coverage in the football pages since they’ve got to fill the space with something, so anything will do.

The Beach at Mar del Plata. Room for more?

With the exodus to the beach, where city dwellers will sit sweaty armpit alongside sweaty armpit with other city dwellers, but from different cities to the one they’re from, Buenos Aires becomes almost tolerable.

The roads are not jam packed, except for those leading out of the city. And there are seats to be had on the underground, more now than ever before since the city council has just put the fare up by a whopping 127percent.

You find that the shops, bars and cafes that you usually frequent are often closed with a hurriedly scribbled note on the door reading: Back in February, or March. Doctors, dentists, electricians and car mechanics have also migrated to the coast or the mountains.

Tough luck if you’d left your sandals to be repaired or you were awaiting a replacement heart pacemaker.

The summer also draws a very peculiar creature out into the open – right out into the open. I’m sure there are sub-species in Brazil, Colombia and elsewhere but I believe the most intense concentration is to be found in Buenos Aires. It’s the ageing sun seeker.

While in Britain the sound of the cuckoo heralds the arrival of summer, in Buenos Aires it’s the sighting of a portly but already all-over tanned man of between sixty and eighty years old with his shirt off.

Susana. How old?

A short while later, the female of the species will emerge to prostrate herself in the most sun-baked, open spaces in the city wearing the kind of bikini you wouldn’t let your fifteen year-old daughter be seen in.

I spotted one the other day while warming up to run in the Bosques de Palermo. From a distance, when all I could see was bikini and tanned limbs, I thought I’d stumbled across a younger member of the species and went to investigate, in the interests of anthropological research, obviously.

This however was a fine example of a more mature specimen, at least seventy years-old, her much tanned leathery skin dangling loosely from a skeletal frame. She displayed the obligatory cigarette in one hand and the Blackberry in the other. Her straight, dry hair was of a colour not known to nature.

These creatures can read and have access to the Internet yet seem to know nothing of UV rays or the increasingly fragile O-zone layer.

I’d like to emphasis here that I’m trying hard not to be judgmental. These people have the right to tan wherever and whenever they want, although I’d rather they didn’t do it in public before I’d had my breakfast.

The fact that the notion of growing old gracefully is totally alien to them or that smoking the amount they do gives them a voice that sounds like Lemmy from Motorhead after a particularly bad night is simply an observation – not a judgment.

Like male body builders, they seem unaware that they’re generally unattractive to the opposite sex and really only out to impress and compete with others of the same ilk.

The most skilled and celebrated exponent of this art of growing old ungracefully is Susana Gimenez – a once beautiful model, actress and talk show hostess who is now in her eighties, or possibly nineties, who continues to believe that she can defy the advances and ravages of time by much make-up, plastic surgery and photo-shopping. You’ll not find her tanning in public. It’s strictly the tanning studio and the beaches of Punta del Este in Uruguay for the upper end of the market.

Another, but much younger exponent of the art is the president, Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner, who will shortly turn 59.

Cool Summer

Cristina has been known to keep other heads of state waiting while she prepared to face the cameras.

Her husband and predecessor as president, Nestor, died in October 2010 and she’s worn black ever since. But not just any old black.

She wears glamorous, fashionable black and rarely the same outfit twice, adding a new twist to that old Henry Ford adage about being able to choose any colour you liked, as long it was black.

Reading this back I’ve realized that it’s impossible to talk about appearances in this way without sounding bitchy. So I guess I’m just going to have to pour myself another saucer of milk and live with that

It’s 34 degrees centigrade in the shade and I was thinking about slinging the hammock in the patio but really can’t be arsed.

My antidote to the suffocating heat is to switch the fan on, prepare some form of iced drink and watch English winter Premiership football on cable TV….Kenny Dalglish in that ridiculous coat, goose-pimpled Newcastle fans in cap-sleeved T-shirts and cups of steamy Bovril all round.

I’ll be back when the season kicks off. Stay warm!

I’m sorry that I’ve fallen so far behind while so much has been happening. Two wins out of three for Argentinos Juniors sees them finish the season with 22 points and qualify for the Sudamericana Cup…the Intertoto Cup of South America. That was a 2-1 home win over Arsenal, a 1-0 defeat at All Boys and a 1-0 victory over Olimpo on the last day of the season at home.

But I guess more importantly, the world has been saved from the threat of global warming, at least on paper. I’m still in Durban, South Africa, recovering from observing two weeks of negotiation at the United Nations Climate Change talks.

Climate Change Saviours?

My work entailed interviewing anyone and everyone who had some connection with what they call the Conference of the Parties or COP17. They included scientists, negotiators, meteorologists, oceanographers, forestry experts, politicians, youth group representatives, Indonesian dancing girls, earnest Scandinavians, researchers from the Amazon and the Sahara, excited Australians who claimed to have found a way of turning camel dung into a renewable energy source that would provide power for half of Asia and more green pressure groups than you could shake a cucumber at.

We all pretty much know what the problem is. The world, but particularly the rich nations with the United States at the top of the list, have been burning so much carbon fuel – oil, coal and gas – into the air for so long that the world’s temperature is rising. And if we keep on at the present rate we’ll be fried, but not before we’ve suffered floods and droughts and starvation and possibly even plagues of locusts of biblical proportions.

Boca Juniors. A White Rhino?

Many claimed to have the answers. Vegans told us that not eating meat was the cure. His Holiness 1008 Shri Shri Soham Baba, a monk wearing orange robes and sporting a large silver tea pot, puts his money on greater spiritual awareness. He first noticed the effects of climate change while living in a cave in the Himalayas. More electric buses, more bicycles, less petrol burning cars, less long distance flights.

Everyone, it seemed, is green and no-one is polluting. One oil company executive told me his firm was exploiting oil reserves in the Ecuadoran Amazon causing the minimal amount of damage. A US navy rear admiral said he travelled the world and saw the undeniable effects of climate change in all corners, reports his findings to his government which simply chooses to continue polluting.

I visited the boat of a Swiss sailor, a former ski instructor, who noticed the ice melting around his office. Dario Schwörer embarked on a fifteen-year mission to highlight the effects of global warming by sailing the world, climbing all of the world’s highest mountains and using only his sails, his bike and his feet to do it. He’s travelling with his wife and four children. When the seas get choppy he hangs the kids from the ceiling on elastic ropes to keep them out of harms way. “Dangerous?” I asked him.

“No,” he replied. “Our biggest danger is from drunken drivers when we cycle through city centres.”

There were 194 countries represented in Durban. We could all cite many examples of any two countries with unresolved disputes stretching back hundreds of years. Try getting 194 to agree on anything.

The Rest...dung beetles?

Basically, the poor countries say they don’t pollute much yet suffer the worst of the droughts and the flooding caused by climate change which in turn has been caused by the rich world. The wealthy nations admit that there’s a problem but feel the developing countries should stop buring carbon fuels and take on equal responsibilities. And do India and especially China still qualify as developing nations?

The phrase circulating around the negotiating chambers was ‘equal but differentiated responsibilites.’ If ever there was a legal-political term designed to flumox the people then this is it. We’re all in the same boat, but some more than others.

As I’m sure you know by now, after some tense last minute huddling in dark corners, the negotiators saved the process and came up with the wording that pretty much brings all 194 nations on board.

The trouble now is that they’ll all have gone home and will, at this very moment, be poring over the small print with their lawyers to see just how differentiated they are and in what ways they can wheedle out of their full responsibilites. Meanwhile, the world continues to pollute, the temperatures are rising and the floods and droughts are becoming more severe and more frequent.

Of all the many people I spoke to, perhaps the most poignant was a young man from the remote Marshall Islands, somewhere out there in the Pacific Ocean. He was munching on a BigMac and fries during another of the many lulls in the negotiations. Every year, he said, they could observe the sea levels rising. “We move further inland,” he explained. “And one day we’ll have no-where left to go.”

I’ll be expanding my carbon footprint shortly with the flight back to Buenos Aires. By that time Boca Juniors will have finished celebrating their Apertura championship victory – unbeaten and out of sight of second-placed Racing Club.

They talk a lot in South Africa about the Big Five, the five mightiest beasts – lion, elephant, rhino, leopard and dung beetle. Sorry, that last one should read buffalo. I went on safari yesterday and only saw the rhino.

Buenos Aires has its own Big Five. Boca Juniors, River Plate, San Lorenzo, Racing Club and Independiente. Only Boca deserve that title at the moment. The rest? Dung beetles!!

What’s he talking about? This guy has gone mad! He’s overdosed on prime Argentine beef, yerba mate and dulce de leche. Surely he means Banfield 2 Argentinos Juniors 2?

Bizarrely, I find myself in Durban, South Africa, where I’m working on the big United Nations sponsored climate change conference. And it’s big, really big. The future of our planet depends to a large extent on what is, or is not agreed at this huge talking shop.

Politicians from more than 190 nations, pressure groups  — from those who believe veganism will save the world to those who believe our future rests on greater production of rattan furniture – a Hindu priest who spent twenty years living in a cave, more scientists than you could shake a test tube at and girl guides…yes, girl guides!…are in Durban to discuss our future. Then we await the arrival of certain notables like Leonardo di Caprio, Angelina Jolie, Richard Branson and Arnold Schwarzenegger. If they can’t sort out the many and complex issues that need resolving before the world can agree on and then implement binding solutions, then nobody can. Can I suggest that you start hoarding goodies in your underground bunker in Patagonia right now.

The Moses Mabhida Stadium

But that’s just the future of our planet. If you land in Durban and the Golden Arrows are playing the Orlando Pirates at the Moses Mabhida stadium in the semi finals of the cup, then that’s where you go. Obviously!

Never mind that you’ve just flown the nine hours from Buenos Aires to Johannesburg then on to Durban with a five hour time difference. You check into your hotel and then you pay your 50 rand for a seat in a fine stadium, used during the 2010 World Cup.

The football was great in patches with some lovely slick passing moves from both sides. At other times in was technically poor, with abstract passing and geometrically confused control. Former West Ham space filler, Benni McCarthy, now pulls an Orlando Pirates jersey tightly over a growing belly.

I thought I was sat in the away end, among the Pirates fans, until the Arrows scored in the first half and sporadically positioned locals leapt out of their seats. There was no attempt to segregate the fans, there was no need. There was no aggression or rancour. Segregation is perhaps a dirty concept in post apartheid South Africa. There were no fences and yet beer was being swilled in vast quantities from plastic cups as the fans sat in their seats in this architecturally divine stadium.

Passionate Pirates

I shouldn’t be surprised. But if you watch your football, as I do in Argentina, caged behind barbed wire topped fences, kept behind for half an hour after the game to allow the away fans home first to they don’t get torn limb from limb, then this is a surprise and a very pleasant one.

Many fans danced throughout the match. The Pirates fans sported workman’s hard hats, cut and carved to produce intricate pop-out designs on the front. One had a football boot moulded onto it.

Orlando Pirates were the better team and soon got the equalizer they deserved. They went two up in the second half and topped it off with a penalty. Despite being the away side, based in Johannesburg, their support is drawn predominantly from the Zulu community which occupies the east of South Africa.

Football is a game supported mostly by South Africa’s black population while rugby is a mostly white-supported game. But that wasn’t an issue here. It was simply fun. Fun football with relaxed fans mingling freely with one another, white, black, Indian, families, men and women.

C’mon Orlando Pirates. Up the Bucs!

There is no excuse,  no justification for racism but there is often an explanation. Sepp Blatter might do well to come to Argentina to see how far Europe,  especially Britain,  has moved away from the days of monkey chanting,  bananas thrown onto the pitch,  golliwogs,  the Black and White Minstrels and unbelievably bad TV sit-coms like Love Thy Neighbour.

For Argentina in many ways is stuck in a time warp. It’s a long way from everywhere,  except maybe Uruguay and the remoter bits of Paraguay and Bolivia,  which don’t really count. I’m talking major centres of population,  civilization and sophistication here. Places like New York,  London,  Paris and,  dare I say it,  Zurich.

The porteños,  as the residents of Buenos Aires are known,  will tell you that their city is like Paris or Rome,  that they’re as cultivated as the Viennese and the Catalans. In many ways they are. But in plenty of other ways,  they’re not.

I was standing on the terraces at the Diego Armando Maradona stadium when towards the end of the first half the visitors,  Godoy Cruz,  brought on their first substitute,  Armando Cooper.

Armando Cooper

He’s a nifty little player with agile feet and plenty of oomph. He made an immediate impression and it soon became clear to the home fans that if Godoy Cruz were going to get anything from this game,  it would be through Mr Cooper.

What is noticeable about Cooper,  who’s from Panama,  is that he’s black. That’s noticeable because there are very few black players in the Argentine league and none of them are from Argentina since the country hardly has a black population.

What followed from those around me was a barrage of racist vitriol,  spat rather than shouted. Cooper looked like he’d not heard it but Argentinos Juniors has a compact ground with the fans very close to the pitch and he must have heard the words and felt the hatred.

The abuse was varied but unimaginative. I heard someone mention slavery and another shouted something about Kunte Kinte.

If their only cultural reference to Afro-Latin Americans is an over-dramatized and over-simplified 1970s TV series on the African slave trade then I think you get some idea of the depths of ignorance in which we’re wallowing here.

The abuse did not come from all the fans but there were enough of them to be threatening and for it to be apparent that challenging them could result in my being skewered on the sharp bits of the railings that keep us caged in.

It offended my white,  middle-class liberal sensitivities but I was with a French friend,  a black French friend who also heard the abuse. Although none was directed at him and none of those doing the abusing appeared to notice that he might take offence,  he felt the fear and the hatred. That’s what Sepp Blatter doesn’t seem to understand – this is an issue that cannot be solved with a gentleman’s handshake after the game.  

Godoy Cruz in action

It has to be said that the fans will hurl equally vehement insults on a regular basis at the referee and his assistants and the visiting players. It’s nasty enough for me to be grateful that the pitch is ringed by thick metal fences topped with barbed wire. Rabid animals do need to be caged.

If you see black people on the streets of Buenos Aires,  and you can go days without seeing one,  then they are likely to be from Colombia or they’ll be Brazilian or American tourists. Recently,  West African men,  mostly from Senegal,  have set up stalls in the more run-down commercial parts of the city selling  jewelry.

I’ve often heard it said by those modern-day street wise philosophers that we find the world over,  otherwise known as taxi drivers or ignorant idiots,  that Argentines are not racist because ‘we don’t have any blacks.’

There have been books written and several theories put forward as to why that’s the case.

For Argentina,  like every country in the Americas brought in African slaves to work their mines and plantations and once had a substantial black population. Neighbouring Uruguay still has one,  so too does Bolivia.

One theory is that the nineteenth century generals put black men in the front line in their many and vicious wars to eradicate the indigenous communities in central Argentina. Most perished in battle. There’s not much left of Argentina’s indigenous heritage either. Black women were integrated into the population,  at the time expanding rapidly with the influx of European immigrants,  predominantly men from Italy and Spain.

By the turn of the twentieth century Argentina’s black population had pretty much disappeared. But of course the racism remained. It’s all a question of degrees.

Argentina is an immigrant community…from Italy,  Spain,  France,  Croatia,  Greece,  Britain and elsewhere. But it’s a white immigrant population.

With no Afro-Latin Americans to prejudice, the attention turned to darker skinned immigrants of mixed indigenous and European blood from the country’s interior or from Bolivia and Paraguay.

There are hundreds of thousands of immigrants from neighbouring countries in Argentina but they’re kept in their place. The Bolivians sell fruit and veg,  the Paraguayan women are maids and nannies and the men work in construction.

The children at the private schools that dot the neighbourhoods across the north of Buenos Aires are almost exclusively white.

Like I said,  Sepp Blatter should come to Argentina. There are bits of it that are like Europe– the swampy,  rancid smelling parts that he obviously inhabits.

One of those Colombians I mentioned earlier,  Teo Gutierrez,  had a tough weekend too. He was the second Racing Club player to be sent off in their top of the table clash with Boca Juniors. Like so many much-hyped games,  this one ended 0-0.

With just four games to go,  Boca are eight points clear of Racing and have no doubt already booked their party venue.

Independiente beat Olimpo 3-0,  Velez continued their good form with a 3-1 win at Belgrano and Newell’s continued their poor form with a 1-0 home defeat to Tigre. San Martin and All Boys played out a dull 0-0 draw,  Colon beat Rafaela 1-0 and San Lorenzo sacked their manager,  Omar Asad,  after losing 1-0 at home to Union.

Arsenal won 1-0 at Lanus. and the bottom of the table clash between Estudiantes and Banfield was abandoned in the first half,  with Banfield leading 1-0,  after the home fans threw fireworks onto the pitch.

The Iguazu Falls in the far north-east of Argentina on its border with Brazil have just been declared one of the seven natural wonders of the world,  along with the Amazon jungle,  Table Mountain in South Africa and some interesting and unusual rivers and islands in east Asia.

My own vote went to the bird pond on Wanstead Flats in east London but my campaign,  for some reason,  didn’t seem to catch the public imagination.  

The Argentine people are proud of the award,  as though they’d played a part in the construction of the falls. There are bits of the complex that feel like a watery DisneyWorld but in general the authorities look after it very well.

Iguazu - One of the Wonders.

My only complaint is directed at the Brazilian side where they allow helicopter trips over the falls,  pissing off the wildlife and drowning out the “Ooohs” and “Aaaahhs” of the tourists on the Argentine side.

The award however should have gone to the Argentine national football team. There’s enough natural talent and an overdose of wonderous skill in the legs of Messi,  Higuain,  Di Maria and Aguero to beat the Komodo national park in Indonesia into eighth place and out of the reckoning.

But it’s not happening. After that disastrous 1-0 defeat away to Venezuela in the second qualifying game for the 2014 World Cup,  the boys in sky blue and white were served the best possible dish with which to regain their footballing appetite –  the weakest side in the group,  Bolivia. They’ve replaced Venezuela as the whipping boys,  the Bradford Park Avenue of South America. They’re ill at ease with the thicker oxygen-laden air we breathe at or near sea-level,  generally unable to wear down their opponents as they do when playing among the clouds of La Paz where the llamas and the mountain goats roam.

And what’s more,  this was at home,  in River Plate’s Monumental Stadium in Buenos Aires where Argentina would have a passionate crowd behind them,  or so the theory went. The commentators bombarded us with statistics…something about the hundreds of World Cup qualifying away games Bolivia have played over the years of which they’d drawn only a handful and won just one – against Venezuela.

This was Messi,  Higuain,  Mascherano etc – the cream of the European leagues against a bunch of guys generally playing for Bolivian teams like The Strongest,  Destroyers and Blooming or the also-rans in the leagues of neighbouring countries.

It all started to go horribly wrong for the home side before the kick-off. I was near the stadium about forty-minutes beforehand to pick my son up from school and saw a few fans strolling nonchalantly towards the ground. There seemed to be little in the way of expectation or anticipation. I imagine there was a greater buzz at Brisbane Road as Leyton Orient keyed up for the their FA Cup tie against Bromley.

Bolivia - The Strongest?

Just 24,000 turned up on a sunny afternoon in a stadium that can hold more than 40,000 and many of them were raucous Bolivians.

The men in green scurried and passed and played like a team. Those in sky blue and white pranced around and preened themselves like the prima donnas many of them are. Their manager,  Alejandro Sabella,  has the face of a deputy head at a girls’ school who’s not quite got to grips with the discipline problem.

Sure,  the Ecuadoran referee should have played the advantage and let Higuain’s first half goal stand after Messi was fouled on the edge of the penalty area. But he didn’t and true professionals would have shrugged their shoulders and moved on. This was only Bolivia don’t forget.

Then at the start of the second half,  Martin Demichelis did some kind of keepsy-upsy thing near his own penalty area and lost the ball to Marcelo Martins who still had some work to do to before slamming it home.

A silence enveloped Argentina during which I thought I could hear the crashing of water at the Iguazu Falls several hundred leagues to the north. First Venezuela then Bolivia!!

The crowd,  needing a culprit,  turned against Demichelis,  booing every time he touched the ball. Unnerved,  trying to hold back the tears as he watched his international career floating away over the rootops of Buenos Aires,  he only made more mistakes.

And someone needs to tell him that you can get away with a ridiculous haircut when you’re 22,  going out with a top model and playing at the peak of your career. But as you start to fade,  that Ashley Cole-type pomposity starts to look just a tad ridiculous.  

Argentina’s motto seems to be:  “When in doubt,  give the ball to Messi.”  Never mind that he’s being marked by three defenders and is in no position to receive it. Ezequiel Lavezzi came on as a substitute and equalized with his first touch of the ball. A partial sigh of relief. The home side huffed and puffed like they were playing at altitude. But a draw was a fair result.  Bolivia was ecstatic. Argentina face Colombia away on Tuesday.

The team to fear in this qualifying group is little Uruguay. World Cup semi-finalists,  Americas Cup champions and now top of the table with seven points from nine. Liverpool’s Luis Suarez put four past Chile.

The Argentine newspapers are full of analysis,  criticism and suggestions. I could pick eleven players from the current pool of exceptional talent.  But eleven players,  as everyone except Alejandro Sabella seems to know,  does not a team make. 

The seven natural wonders of the world? We’re naturally wondering what in the world Argentina needs to do to start playing as we all know they should be.

With just five games to go and Boca Juniors running away with the Argentine championship,  there’s only really one story filling the sports pages. OK,  maybe two,  if you count the resurgence of River Plate bursting back to the top flight after suffering the first relegation in their history a few months ago.

No,  the really big story is the imminent clash between the former head of the Boca Juniors barra brava,  or hooligan element,  Rafa Di Zeo,  and the man who stood in for him while he was serving time in prison but now refuses to stand down,  Mauro Martin.

Di Zeo last week attended a Boca home game accompanied by hundreds of supporters and filled one end of the ground. Martin and his entourage filled the other end. Both made threatening gestures to one another,  all captured by the media.

Both men were banned from the Boca game this weekend away to Velez Sarsfield but most believe that this has merely delayed the inevitable clash for control of the Boca barra brava, La Doce.

Martin and Di Zeo - Not Friends.

With elections for club president due at the beginning of December,  the authorities are tip-toeing around the issue like it’s a dispute over which kind of cup cakes to serve at the village fete.

The newspapers openly discuss the links the two thugs have with the candidates in the same way they reported on the national elections last month. And in some cases they’re talking about the same people. The former president of Boca Juniors and current mayor ofBuenos Aires,  Mauricio Macri,  is a possible runner in the next national elections in 2015.

His links with Di Zeo while he presided over a very successful stint running the club are well documented. Di Zeo has just emerged from a long stretch in prison for violent behaviour. The Boca authorities welcomed him with open arms. The politicians are scared and when politicians are scared of criminals like Di Zeo and Martin it ends in the kind of tragedy being lived every day of her life by people like Liliana Suarez de Garcia.

Her son Daniel was killed by barra brava at a game between Argentina and Uruguay in the Americas Cup back in 1995. I met her at the office of a pressure group called Salvemos al Futbol – Let’s Save Football which campaigns against football violence and is made up largely by families of the victims.

She knows the names of her son’s killers. She knows where they live and where they work. But although sixteen years have passed since Daniel was stabbed to death outside the ground,  the killers continue to move around freely,  any possible legal proceedings bogged down in bureaucracy,  ineptitude and a lack of political will.

Daniel Garcia was a Boca fan who traveled toUruguayfor the international game. He was traveling with Platense supporters,  a Buenos Aires club now languishing in the third division. They’d been involved in some spat with followers of Tigre and Moron– a petty,  convoluted dispute about perceived rivalries and insults that reminded me of something being garbled by Matt Lucas’s Little Britain character,  Vicky Pollard.  That team called me a slag but I’m friends with a different team which used to be friends with my best mate’s team, at least he was my best mate until I caught him snogging behind the bikeshed with Tracy. These are grown men, don’t forget.

Those battling for control of the Boca barra brava treat their conflict like a game. Similar disputes are being played out at clubs all overArgentina. The end result is often  innocent fans like Daniel Garcia bleeding to death outside the ground.

Liliana heard about her son’s murder on the radio. She and her husband drove to Uruguayand arrived in time to see a botched investigation which was followed by prevarication and indifference from both the Uruguayan and the Argentine authorities.

“Our fight will continue because all we’ve got left is his memory and the wish for justice,”  she said. “The fight is not easy because it’s very uneven. We’re alone. We can’t count on the support of the state. They’ve got their interests…I shall not rest a minute of my life until those responsible,  whose names I know,  are exposed,  are repudiated by society. That’s what I’m going to do…make sure that everyone knows who they are and what they did.”

Homage to Daniel Garcia

Liliana was dignified and determined. She’s just one of many fighting to change a system that rarely brings those responsible for the violence in Argentine football to justice. Because there’s too much money and too many vested interests entwined in the game for anyone to act.

Graciela Muniz,  who works with Liliana,  said:  “What we’re seeing now is general violence supported by the sporting authorities and the politicians in which the judges are looking the other way. And we say to the authorities,  to the government,  please take the necessary measures to prevent this happening. That they send a message condemning violence in football.”

I wish them luck but I don’t hold out much hope that we’re going to see any radical changes any time soon.

Meanwhile, back on the field,  Atletico Rafaela lost another chance to chase Boca with a 0-0 draw at home to Belgrano. Tigre beat Colon 2-1 and Godoy Cruz thumped bottom club Estudiantes 3-1. All Boys and Independiente drew 2-2 and Olimpo and San Lorenzo 1-1.

My boys,  Argentinos Juniors,  after that rare victory last week,  went down 1-0 at Racing who came off the back of five consecutive draws and claimed second spot. Lanus beat Banfield 2-1 inthe derby of the south of Buenos Aires hinterland while Boca and Velez only managed a disappointing 0-0.

River Plate went back on top of the B division with a 4-1 win in the far north-west of Argentina at Gimnasia de Jujuy…all four goals coming from Fernando Cavenaghi.

Football,  as I’ve often said,  reflects life. But this was a perfect footballing day and how often in life do we have perfect days?

I was up in time to see the second half of Chelsea versus Arsenal – a sublime game if you have no emotional attachment to either team. The Latin American commentators were salivating over the quality of the football.

Then I nipped around the corner where I was the guest on a Saturday morning football radio chat show. They asked me what on earth I was doing in Buenos Aires supporting Argentinos Juniors. People always ask me that. Why them? Why not Boca Juniors or River Plate? Or at the very least Racing Club or Independiente? It’s like an Argentine landing  in London and spurning Arsenal or Chelsea in favour of Fulham or Queen’s Park Rangers. So I explained that I didn’t choose one of their big clubs for exactly the same reasons that I’m not a fan of either Chelsea or Arsenal.

Fenced In.

Argentinos Juniors I said,  with their homely neighbourhood stadium,  their success in producing fine,  young talent and their fans’ consistent demand for attractive football over a win-at-all-costs philosophy,  made them the nearest Argentine equivalent to West Ham United. Plus I can get there easily on the 113 bus.

We also talked about the differences between the game in England and Argentina. As I rambled on it occurred to me that the only fundamental differences are elements that were introduced in England post Hillsborough. Things like the removal of fencing,  the transformation to all-seater stadiums and better policing. Then there was the fact that English stadiums have beer and betting.  And they were very keen to know about the state of the toilets.

I kept telling them how passionate I found the Argentine fans to be because I suspected that that’s what they wanted to hear. But I’m not sure,  on reflection,  that they’re any more passionate than the Liverpool,  Bristol City or Stoke supporters I’ve come across.

Where Argentina does differ from the English game is in how deeply ingrained the violence perpetrated by their barra brava or hooligan element has become. In some ways it’s reminiscent of the hooliganism that blighted the English game in the nineteen seventies and eighties.

The violence here now differs from that suffered in England then in how closely related the thugs are to the club authorities and sometimes even to the local police forces and politicians. There’s violence,  of course. But there’s also money to be made:  in re-selling tickets,  controlling parking around the ground on match days and dealing drugs on the terraces,  among other illegal activities.

Something to shout about...

There is no political will to change things since plenty of people are doing very nicely thank-you with how things are. There’s an incident pretty much every week,  sometimes resulting in the death of a supporter. This week’s drama was a little different in that a fan ran onto the San Lorenzo training ground and whacked a player,  Jonathan Bottinelli. He’s said he wants to leave the club.

The national security ministry insisted that San Lorenzo’s game this weekend against All Boys be suspended while a full investigation is carried out.  San Lorenzo is one of the biggest clubs in Buenos Aires and it’s in crisis. Its barra brava wander around the club’s facilities at will. The players are in dispute over unpaid wages,  there’s talk of splits between groups of players and in the boardroom where the president,  Carlos Abdo,  has been in office for a chaotic ten months.

I explained about the restructuring in the English game after Hillsborough,  Heysel and Bradford and the lack of political will to do much about the problems in the game until there had been a Hillsborough,  a Heysel and a Bradford.

“And the toilets really are clean?” they asked again.

Then I went home to check on the English league scores in that frantic,  obsessive way that you do as a fan living abroad and disturbed my neighbours with a loud “Yesss!!!” and a rendition of “I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles,” as I clocked the result from Upton Park. Even the team I used to watch as a teenager and still retain a soft spot for,  Aldershot Town,  did nothing to ruin my day with a 3-1 win over Crewe in League Two.

But as I waited for my bus to the La Paternal neighbourhood for Argentinos Juniors against Velez Sarsfield on a sunny,  cloudless afternoon,  I asked myself whether I could,  whether I should hope for all three cherries to line up on the same day? Was that just being greedy?

This was the bottom placed team,  with just one win all season,  against the reigning champions.

But as Lou Reed put it:  ‘Oh such a Perfect Day,  I’m glad I spent it at the Diego Armando Maradona Stadium…’ Or something like that.

The home side played coherent,  attacking football from the beginning,  their Uruguayan midfielder,  Roberto Brum,  battling for and winning nearly every ball.

They were not rewarded until the cusp of halftime with a strike from Santiago Salcedo. Velez helped things along with an own goal in the second half.

Then to add bring just a slight whiff of Upton Park to the proceedings,  the former West Ham striker,  born in Argentina,  nationalized Mexican and now playing in Argentina,  Guillermo Franco,  pulled one back for the visitors with a headed goal from a free-kick.

The Bichos wrapped things up with a Salcedo penalty and our ramshackle stadium,  possibly the most decrepit in the division,  reacquainted itself with victory – the first home win since April.

I suspect it’ll be some time before I next enjoy a footballing day quite like it.

Meanwhile,  those giants of Argentine football,  River Plate,  suffered a setback in their battle to climb out of the second division with their first defeat of the season,  2-1 against Aldosivi.

Back in the top division,  Newell’s Old Boys and Olimpo drew 2-2 and Independiente and Arsenal dragged out a dull 0-0. Colon won by the single goal at Belgrano and Lanus beat Godoy Cruz 2-1.

But all eyes were at Boca,  both on and off the pitch. Boca increased their lead at the top to nine points with a 3-1 win over their nearest rivals,  Atletico de Rafaela. But the imminent battle is on the terraces where the previous head of the violent barra brava, Rafa Di Zeo, returned to the ground after serving a prison term for violence at the ground. The club authorities hand him his season ticket on a silver platter and Di Zeo arrived in a convoy of cars and vans with his supporters. The stand-in boss of La Doce,  Mauro Martin,  will not stand aside. War is inevitable but it’s a war manufactured by the authorities — the Boca club officials, the police and local politicians. Both shameful and remarkable.

The front page headline read:  ‘A Machine That Can’t Stop Winning.’ It was referring to Boca Juniors after a 2-0 win at Colon that leaves them six points clear at the top of the table and unbeaten this season.

But it could just have easily have applied to the president,  Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner,  who on Sunday romped to an overwhelming victory in elections to secure a second four year term in office.

Now,  if you’re standing up while reading this I suggest you take a seat. Since I’m going to attempt a delicate feat and compare events in Argentine football with what’s happening in its politics. It’ll be like one of those tricks where I juggle four eggs while removing all my clothing and re-dressing in my wife’s undergarments without dropping a single item. Or maybe not!

The Bombonera -- needs a lick of paint.

President Kirchner took over from her husband,  Nestor,  in 2007. He was supposed to resume the reins in these elections but rather inconsiderately died of a heart attack a year ago. I’m sure there’s something in the Argentine constitution about the deceased not being able to stand for elected office although,  even in his current state,  he’d have stood a good chance since the opposition was so abysmally poor.

The economy is doing OK on the back of shiploads of soya sold to China to fatten their livestock which in turn is feeding an ever more affluent and meat-hungry population.

Boca Juniors is also doing OK after a few lean seasons when they probably weren’t eating enough soya. They also face weak opposition. Their old rivals,  River Plate,  are battling to climb out of the second division after relegation last season for the first time in their history. One fan put it to me that they went down on purpose since the second division championship was the only silverware they’d not won and there was a space in their trophy cabinet.

There’s an even bigger space in the first division where the superclasico,  the twice yearly clash between Boca and River,  used to take place. Meanwhile,  few of the other big clubs have taken advantage of River’s absence,  most of them languishing in the lower half of the table. San Lorenzo,  Independiente and Estudiantes — where are you? Languishing in the lower half of the table,  like I just said.

With 54percent of the vote,  President Kirchner’s win was outstanding. However,  the 46percent of the electorate who don’t much like her split their vote between a sickly-looking socialist,  the grinning idiot son of a former president,  a reptilian former president and a former beauty queen with a decidedly dusty tiara,  among others.

President Cristina -- four more years.

Both winning parties are much softer and gooier on the inside than they appear on the outside. Boca’s iconic Bombonera stadium could do with a lick or two of blue and gold paint,  as could its squad. They can’t keep relying on the fading genius of the most miserable man in football,  Juan Roman Riquelme. The scorer of their two goals against Colon was Nico Blandi,  who last year turned out on loan at Argentinos Juniors and was universally disliked and disparaged.

The club authorities have done nothing to deal with the gangrenous wound that is gnawing at its innards – the barra brava or hard core fans. One former hooligan leader,   Rafa Di Zeo,  was handed his membership card back just days after emerging from prison where he’d served time for violent behaviour on the terraces.

The new government must tackle rampant inflation,  massive capital flight and the fact that its national side, with Messi,  Higuain and Di Maria in its ranks,  lost to Venezuela for the first time ever in a World Cup qualifier. National crises don’t come much bigger.

With Brazil on the up and up,  Argentina doesn’t have the regional clout it once did. It was front page news when it was announced that the president will be granted some brief face time with Barack Obama when their paths cross in Cannes next week. Possibly outside the cloakroom while he’s on his way to take a leak after a long session with President Medvedev and before a serious head to head with Mrs Merkel.

But both the government and Boca Juniors are euphoric for now and who are we to deny them the delight of those champagne bubbles tickling the underside of their noses?

That 3-1 defeat at second-placed Atletico de Rafaela and Banfield’s 3-0 win over Independiente means that Argentinos Juniors are now rooted firmly to the bottom of the table. That’s 20^th out of twenty. Our own champagne tickling time as champions less than a year and a half ago is but a distant memory.

Velez beat Estudiantes 1-0 while Arsenal won with the same score at home to San Lorenzo.  Union clinched their own 1-0 victory,  away at Olimpo while All Boys and Newell’s Old Boys drew 1-1. They would share the spoils,  wouldn’t they? The Old Boys network and all that. Or is it the All Boys network?

Belgrano beat Tigre at their place while Godoy Cruz and San Martin shared the spoils 2-2. Racing and Lanus also drew,  one apiece.

 See! I didn’t drop a single egg. And I rather like the silky feel of these stockings. Hey! Whad’ya think you’re looking at?

The Clarin newspaper said that if ever football’s world governing body decides to change the rules and punish both teams for playing dull, negative football then this game would be a fine example of what brought the change about.

The goalkeepers were hardly called upon,  the ball rarely left midfield where it bounced from leg to knee like in a demented game of pinball and two players,  one from each side,  were sent off following a clash after just twelve minutes,  probably glad to be out of it.

So just as well that I missed this match. Instead,  I found myself outside the Bombonera,  the home of Boca Juniors before their clash with Belgrano – in another less than satisfying 0-0 draw.

Democracy at Boca...

What was interesting,  however,  was the campaigning for the election of a new club president. By kick-off we were knee-deep in competing leaflets thrust at us by young,  attractive people clad in tight-fitting blue and yellow clothes. There was a hot air balloon,  conflicting banners stretched across the streets and a bombardment of promises that the future would be bigger,  better and shinier.

It was democracy in football,  giving the fans a tangible say in the running of their club,  a sense of owning at least a tiny piece of something close to their hearts. That vote is perhaps more resonant than an overpriced team shirt bearing the name of an overpriced player who was sold to an Italian club for an exorbitant fee even before the season had kicked off.

The Boca campaign is running in parallel and is infinitely more colourful than the election for national president which takes places on Sunday. That’s dull simply because the outcome is already assured. The incumbent president,  Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner,  will win comfortably. She was way ahead in the primaries held a couple of months ago,  the opposition is fragmented and the Argentine economy is doing alright.

Imagine how dull the Scottish league would be without Rangers challenging Celtic or the Spanish with only Barcelona dominant. The Argentine elections are like that only without goalposts and a crackly tannoy system.

It’s normal,  stable and a little drab. It’s what most people want in their politics. I,  however,  was attracted to Latin America by its loonies and eccentrics.

Abdala ‘El Loco’ Bucaram,  the former president of Ecuador,  for example. With a ridiculous Hitler moustache he would sing at his political rallies,  once presenting the presidents at a regional conference with a CD containing thirteen songs performed by him.

When a political rival was compared to a donkey,  Bucaram publicly apologized to donkeys. He was,  not surprisingly,  turfed out of office by angry crowds.

El Loco...Bucaram

Then next door in Paraguay we’ve got a former Roman Catholic bishop as president. Nothing wrong with that. But soon after Fernando Lugo started campaigning, women across the land held up the children that the sandal-wearing old goat had fathered.

The magical realism that dominated Latin American literature from the nineteen-eighties onwards I believe took hold partly because it only took a surreal step or two beyond real life.

But not any more. Now we look to Europe,  to the mother countries,  for our political scandal and weirdness.

AC Milan owner and part-time president of Italy,  Silvio Berlusconi,  is nearly always top of the ratings for his inappropriate comments and sex scandals. How do you win a confidence vote after suggesting that your party,  the governing party,  be renamed Forza Gnocca….Go Pussy? If you’re Silvio Berlusconi,  you do.

But the British government seems to be making a strong challenge for bizarre silliness.

I can kind of understand what the former Defence Minister,  Liam Fox,  was up to in including his mates in his entourage on an official visit to Sri Lanka.

“It’ll be spiffing fun,”  he no doubt told them over G&Ts in his gentleman’s club a few days before the trip. “Werritty can pretend to be my very important right-hand-man and we can make loads of lovely money.” I don’t condone it but I understand it. It’s a case of pure unadulterated greed and a total disregard for the people who elected him in the UK and a lack of respect towards the people of Sri Lanka.

What I can’t begin to understand is the case of cabinet minister,  Oliver Letwin,  disposing of government papers in public parks. Why? Doesn’t he have minions to do that kind of work for him? Hasn’t he heard of a shredder? Never mind the breaches of security.

It’s the image of the prime minister’s policy advisor wandering the parks during his lunch break in his suit,  no doubt mumbling to himself as he pulls papers from his bulging briefcase and stuffs them into the bins before sitting down on the nearest bench to scoff his cucumber sandwiches and drinking yoghurt,  that is so disturbing.  Is this how countries are run?

Give me randy bishops and singing madmen any day.

Back in the far more staid and respectable world of football,  Boca,  with that 0-0 draw continue six points clear at the top. Racing lead the chasing pack with their own 0-0 draw at San Martin. Rafaela lost ground with a 3-0 defeat at Estudiantes who lift themselves off the bottom.

Newell’s and Arsenal also drew 0-0 but there were goals at Independiente who beat Godoy Cruz 2-1 and at Lanus where Velez won by the same score.

Banfield lost 1-0 at San Lorenzo which plonks them back on the bottom while Olimpo and Tigre and Union and All Boys all drew 1-1.

They took their time but finally – a victory for Argentinos Juniors. It was the tenth game of the season which is more than half way through a very short,  nineteen game campaign.

As well as being a thoroughly well-deserved win that lifts the team just a tad clearer of the foul-smelling,  fetid bottom of the league,  it also puts a stop to my whingeing and moaning. This was a team performance built on the back of a fine game played last week against Boca Juniors.

The Bichos started well with a headed goal after four minutes from an attacker I’ve been very critical of,  JJ Morales. In the second half the visitors doubled the score with a sublime chip over the advancing goalkeeper’s head by the stocky Uruguayan,  Roberto Brum.

Belgrano,  urged on by a 40,000-strong home crowd,  pulled one back which added to a tense and gripping final twenty minutes or so.

We’ve got a week-long break as the 2014 World Cup qualifying campaign gets underway  – Argentina kicking off against Chile. No Brazil to contend with since they qualify automatically as hosts.

That’s it! With nothing to complain about, I’ve got nothing left to say. I’m done. Life is sweet.

Oh no it’s not! There’s always plenty I’m not happy about and I find my complaints are usually better focussed when mixing with the large and eclectic foreign community that lives in Buenos Aires.

For our experience as foreigners living in a foreign land is a shared experience that binds us. Much of our complaining is done at 11 on a weekday morning while sipping coffee at a pavement cafe in the sunshine while some of the world’s most beautiful people saunter past. Then we’ll realise that we really have no right to complain before launching headlong into another anti-Argie diatribe.

The locals have grown up with the things us foreigners whinge about — the dog shit on the streets,  heavy bureaucracy,  bad driving,  unreliable policemen and no Marmite. They know no better.

When my American friend,  Charles,  mentioned the poor selection of breakfast cereals on display in Argentine supermarkets I immediately sympathised with his plight.

“If we see Honey Grahams,” he said. “We buy eight boxes.” So now I know where they’ve all gone. The locals start the day with,  to my mind,  inadequate milky coffee and a sticky croissant or media luna.

Another way us gringos,  the men anyway,  cope with distance from our homelands is by obsessing about our sports teams. Americans meeting in a Buenos Aires coffee bar will jump on the subject of baseball like two hungry dogs on a bone.

Who do you support?

I’ve got one English West Ham supporting friend in Buenos Aires who has just returned from London. I’m going to see him tomorrow and the first thing I’ll ask is whether he breathed in the air around Upton Park and what it was like.

I noticed the other day that I wear a West Ham t-shirt,  have West Ham slippers,  beer mat,  baseball cap,  towel,  tankard,  alarm clock,  two mugs and a sweat shirt.

I’m like a sad,  balding forty-nine year old teenager. I wasn’t that obsessed when I was a teenager.

What being part of an ex-pat community brings home is how alike we are. In the United States I’m a visitor talking with a cute accent while in Britain Americans are tourists wearing shorts at inappropriate times of the year while we guffaw at their pronunciation of our place names.

But on neutral ground the only difference is in accent and the spelling of a few words. Which raises the question: how did that come about?

Did those early Americans get so upset when the Brits killed Mel Gibson’s son that they called a meeting to discuss how to retaliate.

“I know how we gonna teach those darned Limeys a lesson.”

Mel Gibson - True patriot.

“How’s that Hank?”

“We’re gonna take the ‘u’ outta colour.”

“You sure Hank? Aint that just a step too far. Them Limeys gonna be real pissed.”

“I don’t care no more. You know what else we gonna do? We gonna misspell grey and instead of calling a spanner a spanner, we gonna call it a wrench.”

“Now hold on Hank. A revolution is one thing but all they done is tax our tea and I ain’t even sure Mel Gibson is a real American.”

I can forgive them the theft of Stan Laurel,  Charlie Chaplin and Hugh Laurie but why oh why did they replace the ‘y’ in tyre. I just don’t get that.

Contrary to popular belief in the UK, many Americans have embraced football, proper football with a round ball, with a passion….especially those living in football-mad places like Argentina. They can kick the ball in a straight line and follow the local league as avidly as the locals. I mean, how could you not?

Talking of the local league….Is it all done and dusted with nine games still to play? Boca are five points clear at the top after a 1-0 win over Tigre. Atletico de Rafaela are still behind them after a 2-1 victory over Lanus. Racing slipped back with a 1-1 draw at home to local rivals Independiente in the only real derby left in the top division.

Velez beat San Martin 1-0,  Olimpo won 2-1 at All Boys while Colon and Estudiantes drew 1-1. Banfield lifted themselves off the bottom for the first time this season with a 2-0 win over Newell’s, Arsenal beat Union de Santa Fe 2-1 and San Lorenzo’s problems continue after they were beaten 2-0 at Godoy Cruz.