Godoy Cruz 1 Argentinos Juniors 0
It had to happen sooner or later and Godoy Cruz were always likely contenders to take the unbeaten tag from Argentinos Juniors. They scored in the second minute and played solidly and effectively to hold on to the lead.
Funnily enough, in that parallel universe over the ocean, West Ham’s Robbie Keane also scored in the second minute at home to Aston Villa. A good thing, you might have thought. Not for West Ham, it isn’t. They don’t do very well when they’re ahead and the earlier they take the lead, the more time they have to screw things up.
Last week a 2-0 half-time lead against Manchester United wasn’t enough. This time, Villa equalised before halftime then, always threatening, punched home the winner in injury time. Godoy Cruz showed West Ham how to hold on to an early lead, with solid defending and threatening counter-attacks.
That double dose of footballing misery simply topped off a week of irritation for me. I’ve spoken before about the dog shit that decorates the pavements of Buenos Aires, ranted and raved about the irresponsible owners who soil this fair city. But never before, being nimble of foot and sharp of eye, had I trodden in the aforementioned offending article. Until this week, that is, when I managed it twice in the space of a couple of days.
The first time I was with company in someone else’s house when the offending smell reached my nostrils. It was a gradual realisation, provoked by the uncomfortable shifting and twitching of those, with sharper olfactory sensibilities, seated near me. What can you do? Blame the dog owners and make a polite exit. There is no subtle or face-saving way to do it.
Then, a couple of days later, I returned from a run and, in that moment of self-satisfied jubilation at completing the distance without heart failure, I noticed the offending shoe. Autumn is making a hesitant appearance in the southern hemisphere, leaves carpeting the pavements and obscuring the foul, offending brown stuff.
The following day I left my house just as a big, fat Labrador was dumping his load not a tail’s length from my front door. The anger and indignation emanating from my person must have been palpable since that dog’s owner whipped a plastic bag from his pocket and scooped up his dog’s mess in a move as swift and graceful as a Barcelona counter-attack.
Normally you’ll get an Arsene Wenger-style: “I didn’t see it. It might have been my dog, but I’m not sure. I’d like to see the action replay.”
Stress only exists if you allow it the space and provide the conditions for it to prosper. It’s a question of attitude. I don’t need to get angry about the irresponsibility of Buenos Aires dog owners or the time wasted in badly run banks or the senseless lack of courtesy on the roads. That’s what I tell myself and sometimes I listen and sometimes I don’t.
I understand why the banks here, like in much of the rest of the world, have now put their tellers behind bullet-proof glass screens. Crime is on the rise, people are frightened and it’s a big issue in campaigning for October’s elections. But you would have thought it obvious that if you put a teller behind a thick glass screen then they’ll need some way of communicating with customers on the other side of the thick glass screen.
“I’ll call you,” the teller told me, “when the cheque has been authorised.” I waited. That’s what you do in Argentine banks, you wait. I never leave the house without a book in my pocket because you never know where you’ll be waiting or for how long. So Junot Diaz’s collection of short stories, Drown, kept me entertained. I glanced up every now and then and after about fifteen minutes noticed my teller gesticulating wildly, his mouth moving like an exasperated goldfish. I couldn’t hear a thing.
I walked closer to investigate, provoking a ripple of consternation in the queue and a barely discernable twitch from the security guard. “What me?” I mouthed back, also goldfish-style. I always think you should at least try to communicate with the locals in their own tongue.
He couldn’t see me and beckoned forth the next customer. I placed myself in the teller’s line of vision but far enough away from the queue not to incite a riot then jigged up and down on the spot to attract his attention. “Me?” I signalled, when he’d finished with the customer. “Dnngal-Schwogllllr-srish-ogglam,” he said. I took a chance and lurched forward. It was indeed me, my cheque had been authorised and he counted out my cash. I left the bank, laughing. You’ve got to really. Life is short, we’re often told. Mine was one hour and fifteen minutes shorter.
I crossed the road, smiling ironic thanks at motorists who did not smash into me even though I had the light. I sympathised with bus drivers over the new magnetic card machines installed just a few weeks ago that are already pretty much all busted. I shrugged my shoulders in resignation as I noticed that basic foodstuff, like milk, had gone up again and I arrived home delighted that the soles of my shoes were clean and smelling as fragrantly as when I’d left the house.
That’s me, looking on the bright side. But two defeats over the weekend is much harder to cope with. Argentinos Juniors have the crucial Copa Libertadores game against Brazil’s Fluminense this Wednesday which we hope will provide something to cheer about.
Meanwhile, we’ve sunk to ninth place in the league, but still only four points behind the leaders, River Plate. They played out a dull 0-0 away at Gimnasia. Velez couldn’t take advantage, also drawing, 1-1 at Colon. Boca also drew – in a thrilling 3-3 at home to lowly Tigre. San Lorenzo and Lanus were level at 1-1 and Olimpo and Estudiantes at 2-2. Quilmes won their first game of the season – 3-1 against fellow strugglers Newell’s, All Boys beat Huracan 3-1 and Racing thumped their local rivals Independiente 2-0. That’s all folks. Watch where you tread!
