Argentinos Juniors  0  River Plate  0

It’s been a while since anyone saw a 0-0 draw at the humble home of Argentinos Juniors. And with an attack force as flaccid and potent as a week-old stick of celery, it could be a while yet before we see another goal, at least from the home side.

They weren’t bad, Argentinos Juniors, against the team now sitting proudly on top of the Argentine first division. But all the good work from the goalkeeper through the defence and into a creative midfield came to a floppy, indecisive, wishy-washy nothingness in front of goal, which allowed the River Plate keeper, Juan Pablo Carrizo, to admire the rooftops of La Paternal, file his nails and send emails to friends he’d not contacted for a while.

River Plate were not much better, only troubling the home side’s goalkeeper, Nicolás Navarro, on a couple of occasions.

One player, however, did stand out – the visitor’s Number Ten, Ariel Ortega. Every time he touched the ball, large parts of the home crowd shouted: “Boracho – Drunkard.”

I don’t think he was. No-one could execute the kind of subtle passes, deft little flicks and surging runs that he did while in a state of inebriation. But he has been and often.

Ortega, at 36-years-old, is currently in the midst of yet another comeback. River fans, who haven’t seen their team lift any silverware since 2008, are hoping that El Burrito will inspire their underperforming stars like he did in the nineteen-nineties when the Millionaires had to employ a full-time trophy polisher.

Back in February, Ortega failed to turn up for training, again. And again his club, which has shown admirable patience with his alcoholic lapses, shipped him off to a detox clinic.

There’s plenty of alcohol coursing through the veins of Argentine society. Most meals are accompanied by fine and very affordable red wines from their very own Andean mountains. They drink some foul, overly bitter concoction called Fernet. They produce cheap whisky with English names like Old Smuggler, Breeder’s Choice and Cow’s Piss. I made that last one up, in case you were wondering.

And when you ask the waiter in most bars and restaurants what they can off offer you from their ample beer selection, they’ll say: “Quilmes.”

“Quilmes,” you’ll reply. “And what else?”

“Just Quilmes.”

“I’d better make that a Quilmes then.”

It’s not a bad beer. I’m going to try now, and no doubt fail, not to sound sexist. But it’s a lady’s beer. It’s light and wispy and delightfully refreshing on a hot day.  But it’s not a bloke’s beer.

Thankfully, there’s a nascent proper beer brewing community producing some fine ales such as Patagonia, Barba Roja and Otro Mundo. But you have to search for them.

So when we got on the bus to take us to the game and there were five River Plate fans each clutching a sweaty bottle of Quilmes and trying to look threatening, we merely sniggered. They sang, they bashed the side of the bus and they stomped their feet but then they got into a terrible panic when they thought they’d missed their stop.

I’m not sure what Ariel Ortega drinks. But whatever it is, it’s put the brakes on what promised to be a wonderful career. He didn’t do badly, winning national and international titles with River Plate, appearing more than eighty times for Argentina in three World Cups, including one memorable game against Holland when he got sent off for headbutting Edwin van der Sar. He also briefly shone in Italy with Sampdoria and returned to Argentina to win a further championship title with Newell’s Old Boys. But it could and should have been so much better.

An excessive number of nicknames, El Burrito, Orteguita, El Chango, El Jujuyeno, El Bushito, seems to imply that it’s been difficult to get to know the real Ariel Ortega or that he’s not happy with who he is…at least off the pitch.

He’s from the distant north-western province of Jujuy, on the border with Bolivia, and some have suggested that he’s simply struggled to adjust to the bright lights of Buenos Aires and the overwhelming demands of playing for a club that expects so much.

Whatever the reasons, like George Best, Paul Gascoigne and, of course Diego Maradona, before him, his mercurial talent has been blighted by the booze. Why is it that so often, such excessive gifts on the pitch are accompanied by the need to get wasted off it?

The newspapers only gave Ortega a five out of ten for his performance on Sunday, making Argentinos Juniors’ Juan Mercier the man-of-the-match with eight. My memory of most of this match will fade quicker than the ice-cubes in a whisky and soda left in the sun. But I did get to see just a few flashes of the brilliance of which Ariel Ortega is capable of. I’d like to say: “I’ll drink to that.” But probably best not to.

* So, like I said, that draw leaves River sitting atop the table with ten points from four games and Argentinos Juniors third from bottom with just two after two draws and two defeats. Boca Juniors won their first game, a nervy 2-1 home victory over Velez Sarsfield. Tigre beat Quilmes 3-0 to lift themselves off the bottom spot where they’re replaced by Independiente, who lost 2-1 at home to Arsenal. Racing’s early promise, as it so often does, is already fading with a 1-0 defeat at newly promoted Olimpo. The other big Buenos Aires team, San Lorenzo, moved up to fourth place with a 3-1 win over All Boys.