All Boys 0 Argentinos Juniors 0
I didn’t go to this game although I very much wanted to. It’s the nearest thing Argentinos Juniors has to a local derby since All Boys is just 3km or so up the road and it’s a stadium I’ve never been to. But the local authorities, in their wisdom, decided to ban visiting fans. What did we ever do to upset them?
They cited previous unpleasantness for their decision. OK, I’ve seen a few boggled-eyed angry fans kicking walls and smashing their palms against walls but the only damage they generally do is to themselves.
Shout louder! He can't hear you.
The Bichos are a motley collection of boisterous youngsters, grandads wallowing in nostalgia, proud mums and dads with toddlers on their shoulders and enthusiastic footie fans like myself. No harm to no-one.
The decision was met with rightful indignation – of Mourinho-like proportions – by the club authorities. They refused to attend the game in protest. “It’s because we’re a small club,” they bleated, which is probably true. The police fancied a day off and wouldn’t have taken the same decision if they were dealing with a Boca Juniors, say, or a River Plate.
I got to see the game in a dark, cavernous sports hall at the Argentinos Juniors complex where the club had erected a big screen. Entrance was free. We clapped and cheered and abused the referee which was an odd sensation since, obviously, they couldn’t hear us.
Yet another draw in a game Argentinos Juniors really should have won simply because they were the better side. But they couldn’t put away their chances and therein lies one of the fundamental truths of football. If you don’t score more goals than your opponents, you don’t win. I’ve often thought that a career in philosophy would have suited me.
There’s no doubt that the whole system is stacked in favour of the big boys. Relegation is decided on the average results over three seasons. So a big club that finds it is sliding down the rankings can generally reorganise itself and buy its way out of trouble.
That is more or less what River Plate are in the process of doing. They’ve had a few, by their standards, dismal seasons and their average was looking about as healthy as Diego Maradona the morning after the night before.
Sitting comfortably.
The president, Daniel Passarella, brought in a new manager in JJ Lopez, they’ve kept their disruptive barra brava in check and pretty much turned things around. They might not win the title this season but they’ll stay in the top division. Of that, there is no doubt.
As fans, we know it’s not really fair. We know that the game is riddled with vested interests, bags of money and, sometimes, corruption. Jose Mourinho knows what he’s talking about. OK, we’re aware that he’s only whinging to divert attention from his players in their moment of misery.
But mostly, we’d rather not think about it. Those who run football, like those who run most money-spinning sports, simply cannot afford to admit that their administrations are rotten to the core, that drugs are rife, that they’d bend over and pull their trousers down themselves to satisfy the sponsors. They could but they never will since too many vested interests are served.
And where do we, the fans, fit into all this. We’d rather not rock the boat either. We have also invested time, money, emotion, hopes and expectations into our teams, our sport. To come clean with ourselves and admit that we’ve been had, that we continue to be duped, makes us look pretty dumb. We need our sport, our team, our hopes and expectations.
I still vividly remember the 1988 Olympic 100m final between Carl Lewis and Ben Johnson. It was one of the best sub-ten second chunks of sporting history ever, an event that surpassed the hype that had preceded it. Then, a couple of days later, Ben Johnson, who’d won, was tested positive for steroids and his gold medal was taken from him and awarded to second-placed Carl Lewis. Like millions of others, I felt cheated, duped.
I was living in Madrid when it became known that Real Madrid had a debt the size of a small country. But to many, Real Madrid is more important than most small countries and, like a small country, couldn’t be allowed to go out of business. A company that did something meaningless like build housing for the underprivileged, maybe. But Real Madrid? Never!
Spectating - but not as we know it.
The city authorities conjured up a deal where they bought the club’s training ground for an inflated sum and rented it back to them for a pittance. The local tax payers paid, Atletico Madrid fans included. There should have been a furore but there wasn’t.
Few were surprised when Diego Maradona was sent home from the 1994 World Cup after failing a drugs test. But c’mon! Was he the only one? I don’t think so. He maintains that he was targeted for openly and loudly criticising the footballing authorities, which I think is likely. They need to show that they care every now and then by making an example of someone and who better than the loud-mouthed number 10?
But to put their house in order, to really put their house in order would mean lancing a very big boil and that would hurt. It would hurt the Grondonas and the Blatters, it would hurt the corporate sponsors and it would hurt us, the fans. So they’ll pick the odd scab occasionally. But that’s all they’ll ever do.
A big moan, I know, for a relatively small injustice. But sometimes these things have simply got to be said. Then not said for a long time while we immerse ourselves again in the drama, the controversy, the hype and escapism that is football.
