There’s been a full programme of mid-week games which have produced bundles of goals, including the 4-4 draw between Velez Sarsfield and Boca Juniors. And this as the national team finally played the way they should be playing and outclassed Germany on their own soil in an impressive pre-World Cup friendly.

Estudiantes  0  Argentinos Juniors  1

There’s been a full programme of mid-week games which have produced bundles of goals, including the 4-4 draw between Velez Sarsfield and Boca Juniors. And this as the national team finally played the way they should be playing and outclassed Germany on their own soil in an impressive pre-World Cup friendly.

Veron - his eye on the ball.

The Estudiantes playmaker, Juan Sebastian Veron, was on duty for Argentina while the man that ticks at the heart of Argentinos Juniors, Nestor Ortigoza, was with the Paraguay squad. Yet the two teams still produced a throbbing thriller of a game, Jose Luis Calderon netting the much needed winner for the visitors. And this against the South American champions, no less.

So how do they do it? Quality football, both home and away, simultaneously, at the same time? Well, strength in depth is one reason. The other is that they’re not shagging one another’s wives and girlfriends. And even if they were, it wouldn’t be plastered all over the local media. Sex in Argentina is simply not news and coverage of the John Terry-Wayne Bridge affair has been light since they don’t really get what all the fuss is about.

Sex happens in Argentina and it happens in Argentine football. We know that since Carlos and Mrs Tevez have just had a baby.

In this macho society, it’s still a sign of prowess to sleep with many women, even if you are married. It was long a tradition, for those who could afford it, to keep a second and even a third family. There was the official family then the mistress, with the offspring of that relationship kept in a discreet apartment a respectable distance away. Sometimes the wife knew, sometimes she only found out when the mistress turned up at the husband’s funeral, demanding her share of the spoils.

The other reason I know that sex happens in Argentina is because of the vast number of lingerie shops – probably more per head of population than Viagra bottles in —— —-’s bathroom cabinet. (Insert name of least favourite England footballer here)

But the most appropriate symbol of Argentina’s attitude to sex is the Telo. Unless you’re a beady-eyed journalist like myself, trained in the art of observance, you might not notice the Telos. But they’re there, in every neighbourhood, so discreet, so quiet, so unassuming, that you could walk past one twenty times and not notice it.

If you need sex and you need it now, at any time of the day or night, the Telo is there for you – at the standard, the luxury or the deluxe rate. There is no English translation. Some might call it a Knocking Shop but that would be demeaning. The Telo is not a hotel, despite the sign outside reading Albergue Transitorio or Transitory Accommodation. And it’s certainly not a brothel. They simply provide clean rooms that you rent by the hour to take your lover, boyfriend, girlfriend, husband or wife for uninterrupted, noisy sex. (British readers may pause here to titter as if the condoms were being passed around the sex education class)

Most Argentines will have their first sexual experience, not in the back of a car or at their parents’ house while their mum’s nipped out to buy washing powder, but in a Telo. Probably a cheap one in a neighbourhood some distance away to avoid anyone they knew spotting them going in or coming out. The standard of Telo will rise along with your earnings.

Better than the back seat of a car - surely!

Discretion is everything. The car-park is underground and each parking bay is covered by a curtain. It simply wouldn’t do for your wife to drive in with your next-door neighbour to spot your car and realise that you weren’t really going over the January sales figures with Miss Suarez, your secretary. The receptionist sits behind a smoky one-way glass. Drinks are ordered by telephone and then brought to your room and placed in a double-doored hole in the wall. The rooms, according to how much you want to pay, can be equipped with Jacuzzi, huge bed, mirrored ceilings and more. Use your imagination.

Then there are the themed Telos, on the outskirts of the major cities. The Centurion which is all togas and grapes. The Pharaoh if you walk like an Egyptian. Or The Cave for those into wooden clubs and animal furs. A quick internet check reveals one Telo with rooms for ‘two, three or four people.’ Another offers hydro-massage, gym, sauna and mini-swimming pool. Quite how you’re supposed to find the time and the energy for sex, I’m not sure.

There are condoms on the bedside tables, next to the customer survey forms. And cable television showing all the adult channels. They’ve got all the major sports channels too which is useful if you’ve forgotten the Viagra and find the fun is over earlier than anticipated. But I warn you, Bolton Wanderers versus Hull City as a starter does nothing to set the scene for a session of passionate sex.

Not that I’d know, of course. No-one ever openly admits to using a Telo. Say it’s your birthday and the in-laws are round looking after the kids. “Oh dear! We’re out of cat food,” you tell the mother-in-law. “And there’s a sale of bumper bags but only at the pet shop in Belgrano so we’ll need to take a bus and we’d both better go since it’ll be heavy and it’s quite dangerous there at this time of the day and er…”

You and your wife/girlfriend rush out, deliberately forgetting your mobile phones. No matter how good an actor you are, you’ll return an hour or two later feeling guilty and without the cat food. “Sold out,” you say. “And we’re flushed because there were no buses and we walked back, quickly.”

She knows. And she knows that you know that she knows. But that’s fine.  That’s the story I read, anyway, in a Sunday magazine – by an anonymous writer.

The point being that sex happens in Argentina and it’s no-one’s business but the man and woman, the man and man or the woman and woman or the man, woman and man for that matter, who are involved.

I really don’t care who John Terry has sex with. But if his off-field activities undermine morale in the England camp which in turn affect performances in South Africa, then I think some kind of chemical castration should be considered. Only temporary, you understand. We are the fans, for Christ’s sake, surely we have some rights!

I’ve just been watching Arsenal v Everton on the TV in my shorts, no shirt and an ice-cold drink in my hand. There’s nothing quite like seeing those sixty-thousand or so frozen, wool-wrapped fans huddled together like penguins having a bad day while all those  around me are complaining about the excessive [...]]]> Arsenal 2  Everton  2

I’ve just been watching Arsenal v Everton on the TV in my shorts, no shirt and an ice-cold drink in my hand. There’s nothing quite like seeing those sixty-thousand or so frozen, wool-wrapped fans huddled together like penguins having a bad day while all those  around me are complaining about the excessive southern hemisphere summer heat.

Punta del Este-for those who can afford it

They get so hot and bothered down here in January that all those who can head for the Atlantic beach resorts – those with a few pesos to rub together go to Punte del Este in Uruguay or to Brazil, while the rest head for resorts on the Argentine coast.

Those of us who have stayed behind in Buenos Aires can enjoy emptier streets and plazas and shorter queues at the ice-cream parlours.  We’re also being treated to a spectacular political drama.

President Cristina Kirchner wanted six-and-a-half billion dollars from the national reserve to pay off a chunk of Argentina’s huge foreign debt which is due later this year. But the head of the central bank, Martin Redrado, told her to keep her hands to herself.

She stormed off in a huff and announced that Mr Redrado had resigned – only he hadn’t. “It’s my job,” he said, “and I’m keeping it.”

So the president signed a special decree to have him removed. But she needed the signatures of her cabinet to make it valid. However, they were at the beach, working on their tans, making sand-castles, sipping cocktails etc and had to be dragged back to Buenos Aires, sand between their toes, sun-cream on their noses and tans less than complete.

Then a judge nullified the decree and Mr Redrado went back to work. It’s not over yet and as we count the days until the start of the new football season, it’s keeping us amused.

Redrado-should he stay or should he go?

Those players not captured by the European club nets that trawl Argentina at this time of the year are back in training. Running through Bosque de Palermo the other day, I saw the River Plate squad going through their paces. I know it’s early, but I think I’m in better condition than most of them.

You probably think I’m making this up, but as I stood at the edge of the lake recovering from my run I saw two turtles having sex in the water. At least I think they were. How do you know they’re not fighting, one on the other’s back applying the turtle equivalent of a half-nelson? Or were they dancing a slow, slow tango? On reflection, it was definitely sex, proof that there’s still plenty of fun to be had in a half-empty, football-free, hot and humid Buenos Aires, for the turtles at least.

The extreme heat is punctuated by thunder storms which, as well as relieving the humidity, wash away the dog shit which has become one of the most irritating aspects of life in Buenos Aires.

Much of the population lives in apartment blocks, highly inappropriate for keeping dogs, often big, hairy ones totally unsuited to the heat.  Crime is an issue but it’s not nearly as bad as some porteños, as the residents of Buenos Aires call themselves, will tell you it is. Plenty of the more paranoid residents buy their pets as guard-dogs. Others love their pooches dearly. But they’re often too lazy, busy or scared to walk them, so will hire a professional dog walker to do it for them.

It’s a common sight in Buenos Aires to see a walker with up to fifteen assorted poodles, Labradors, Chihuahuas, Great Danes and terriers straining at their leashes and dumping all over the pavements. Of course, the walkers are supposed to clean up but they rarely do.

Dogs' Life

This business has become so lucrative that many walkers now use vans to pick up their charges and drive them to the park. There, they’re tied up to trees while the walkers chat with fellow walkers, drink mate tea and perhaps kick a ball around. I know this because they gather in the park where I run. Overnight the area is used by prostitutes who discard the used condoms among the trees and by day by the dog-walkers who don’t walk. Runners are advised to tread very carefully.

The park cleaners have a tough job, but so too do the journalists who have to fill the sports pages during the summer months. There’s no cricket here, so they cover the pointless triangular pre-season tournaments being played at the beach resorts or tell tales of new shirt designs or who is joining the annual exodus to Europe.

The football may be taking a break but the battle between rival fans never rests. If you saw the World Club championship final between Barcelona and Argentina’s Estudiantes last month you may have wondered why some of the fans had banners with a simple 7-0 on them.

Estudiantes may have won the South American Libertadores cup and reached the pinnacle of world football with a final against Barcelona, but a game their fans revel in more than any other was the 7-0 victory in 2006 over their rivals in the city of La Plata, Gimnasia y Esgrima.

A young Gimnasia fan, Maxi Vazquez, sent a photo of himself wearing the club shirt to get his national identity card renewed. But his new card was processed by an Estudiantes fan who scrawled 7-0 on the photo before stamping and coating it with plastic. Maxi was livid. The offending official was tracked down and fired, despite a support campaign on Facebook that attracted more than eight-hundred and fifty fans.

I don’t know whether there’s a park in La Plata where turtles have sex but that former official now has plenty of time on his hands to investigate while he waits for the referee to blow that first whistle of the season.

I, meanwhile, think I’ll plop another ice-cube in my glass. Que calor!

If it keeps on like this, we’re going to have to start mumbling about perhaps winning the championship. Don’t forget, Argentinos Juniors is the team that finished in last place last season. Estudiantes, from the city of La Plata, were not only top of the table and unbeaten this season, they’re [...]]]> Argentinos Juniors 1 Estudiantes 0

If it keeps on like this, we’re going to have to start mumbling about perhaps winning the championship. Don’t forget, Argentinos Juniors is the team that finished in last place last season. Estudiantes, from the city of La Plata, were not only top of the table and unbeaten this season, they’re the South American champions, the holders of the Libertadores Cup. This was a big test and a huge scalp.

For no other reason than that they make up fifty percent of the population, women in Argentine football is a subject that must be covered. And since I’m neither a woman nor an Argentine and couldn’t make the game, I don’t feel worthy. So I’ve contracted my wife Claudia to do this piece. I, in return, will do some quality dish washing and perhaps some top of the range ironing in return.   Over to you, Claudia:

I love football.  I am a Boca Juniors fan and always have been – thanks to my mum being one (albeit in name only, since she never went to a game in her life.) I love an exciting game of live football but most of those I have seen haven’t been that good since all I’ve been to is about a dozen West Ham matches and one or two at Boca.

A couple of years ago I was lucky enough to land a job as a producer for a TV company covering the quarter-finals and one semi-final at the Copa America, the South American national championships, in Venezuela. I was supposed to be neutral but couldn’t restrain a cheer when Leo Messi scored a fantastic goal against Mexico.

I listen to football matches on the radio while I cook, no matter who’s playing – the commentators always giving away their preferences when they scream their team’s goals.

The only other game I had seen at the Diego Maradona Stadium was last April, when Argentinos Juniors met Independiente in a disappointing game of two very mediocre halves which ended in a 1-1 draw.  The result didn’t matter too much because the sun shone, the atmosphere was good and we had gone as a gang with some family friends.

Daniel couldn’t make this game and I thought I might be a bit conspicuous as a single female. So I took our twelve-year-old son, Benjamin, along with me. But there were, I was pleased to see, quite a few women in the crowd.

The game got off to a good start, even though the fans around us didn’t seem to think so. It’s just that maybe I’m not used to that amount of swearing at people you’re supposed to be supporting.   Fifteen minutes into the first half, the Estudiantes goalie had to be replaced after a bad collision with an Argentinos Juniors forward and ten minutes after that the bichos went one up.  A tall, muscular player managed to head the ball into the net after a scramble near the post.

See them? One, perhaps two, women in the crowd?

The Estudiantes players claimed it was offside, but the score remained 1-0 for Argentinos.  – “So,” I asked the man sitting next to me, “who scored?” –  “No idea” he replied.  Aren’t the men  supposed to know that kind of thing, able to answer the women’s questions?

Football in Argentina is all testosterone with little room for anything else.  There are very few women’s teams and a smattering of women referees.

It was big news when last June Estela Maris Álvarez de Oliveira was appointed as the main referee at the match between San Martín de San Juan and CAI in the Nacional B (the Argentine second division).  I’m not sure if she ever appeared again after all the abuse she took.

There are no women sports commentators on radio or television, something we share with the rest of Latin America.  At the Copa America in Venezuela, there were maybe two or three female producers in a sea of male journalists and photographers.  In most people’s imagination, women in football can only mean one thing – botineras. These are the invariably blond leggy starlets seeking fame and fortune by hanging on to the arms of Argentina’s  well-heeled and well-oiled footballers, preferably those playing abroad.  They’re the local equivalent of footballers’ wives.  And they’re so popular in our gossip magazines that there is going to be an Argentine version of that TV soap, called, well, Botineras, what else?

He's got nice legs...

However, what I saw today is simply women who like going to watch football, especially as the atmosphere was relaxed and they didn’t feel threatened.  So maybe I was the only crazy one shouting at Hauche and Ortigoza to get a move on and clapping and chanting ORTIGOOOO, ORTIGOOOO, But I believe the others were grateful, in their own quiet way, for the opportunity to see the beautiful game, and some not bad looking men to boot.

While we waited for the hordes of disappointed Estudiantes fans to leave the stadium, I watched some of the other women and girls standing around.  One pair struck me as different from the rest – they were about 20 years’ old, well groomed and carefully dressed, in a sort of casual but showy way.  There were no dads, brothers or boyfriends lurking around, so I can only assume they were on a fishing trip to see what could be had from among the crowd.  As we filed out of the stadium, I saw them again, standing near some fans who were looking at them like they were a couple of juicy steaks. The girls’ attention however was directed towards another group of better looking males.  So this, I realised, was like a prelude to tonight’s club scene.

More and more women these days are going to football.  We all want to share in our team’s successes and in some stadiums the atmosphere and other women help us to feel secure. Although I wouldn’t go to Boca Juniors since it’s too intimidating (even though I’ll always be a bostera).

But I enjoyed being at Argentinos Juniors and soaking in the enthusiasm of a crowd that just loves the game.  For ninety minutes it was great being part of that today.

[Ah, you want to know who scored... Matias Caruzzo, at 27’ in the 1^st half, apparently off-side.  The referee, who at moments seemed to have little control of the game, showed seven yellow cards, six to Estudiantes players.  Veron, despised by Argentinos fans, had a few chances on goal, but Argentinos managed to hang on for their fourth consecutive win this season.  They have now moved second in the table.]