This weekend’s football programme has been cancelled to mark the death of staunch Racing Club fan, Nestor Kirchner. He died, aged 60, following a heart attack at his holiday home in the Patagonian town of Calafate.
He was also the man who helped to negotiate state television taking over the broadcast of all live first division games. That meant free footy for the fans and an end to expensive satellite dishes or having to watch your team at a nearby bar where you’d make one beer last for the full ninety-minutes.
Oh! And he was also the former president of Argentina, the husband of the current president and the man likely to be the next president, after elections next year.

Too Much!
What he was not was a healthy man. Nestor Kirchner had deep, sunken eyes surrounded by shadows darker than those cast by the clouds over Upton Park. His hair was lank and his suits ill-fitting.
He’d already been taken to hospital twice this year with heart problems. He went under the knife in February shortly after Racing had kicked off against Arsenal. When he came to, he asked what the score was and, it was reported, his wife and the medical team lied to him in order to help his recovery. Racing had lost 4-2.
He was back in hospital in September when he was given heart by-pass surgery. Forty-eight hours after being sewn up he was back on his feet, alongside his wife, Cristina, at a political rally. His doctors have every right to now say: “I told you so.”
He was that rare creature in modern-day politics who didn’t seem to care about his image. There was none of that jogging around the presidential garden with his body-guards for the TV cameras nor coaching from image consultants. He was however totally at ease munching on a fatty Choripan while negotiating with union leaders over beer in smoke-filled rooms.
He was a crappy speaker, doing nothing to hide a slight speech impediment. And charisma he probably thought was a new defender signed from Paraguay during the close season. Pablo Charisma, hard tackler and a useful left foot. Kirchner was a backroom operator, a wheeler-dealer, a man who forged alliances and made deals. Whether you agreed with him or not, he knew what he wanted out of politics and how to get it.
He’s been credited with overseeing Argentina’s return to relative stability and prosperity following its economic and social crisis at the end of 2001. He stood up to the International Monetary Fund, which many Argentines blamed for that crisis. And he ensured that the prosecutions were resumed of those responsible for human rights violations under military rule in the nineteen seventies and eighties.
Some accused him of corruption, others said he was a man who bore grudges. His move to put football on state television was driven by his dispute with the media group that had previously owned the rights.
But the national show of sorrow and mourning was immense and genuine, I suspect because, love him or hate him, he was genuine.
His love of football was certainly real, not something added on by his advisors to improve his standing among the working classes. If it were, they’d have insisted he support Boca Juniors or River Plate rather than perennial losers, Racing.

Nestor Kirchner
Racing, based in the industrial suburb of Avellaneda just south of Buenos Aires, really should be much better. Their stadium is right next to their local rivals, Independiente. Both are big clubs with a huge number of fans. But while Independiente have a trophy cabinet bulging with silverware from both national and international competitions, Racing’s displays large gaps with the words ‘unfulfilled potential’ written in the dust.
The team’s ability to sustain their optimism in the face of cock-up after cock-up is admirable. They remind me of Newcastle United or Manchester City, before they became a rich man’s toy. This ability to consistently disappoint can have done nothing to help a man suffering from stress.
The outpouring of grief for Nestor Kirchner’s passing has been impressive, with some waiting twenty hours to pay their last respects to his closed coffin, laid in the presidential palace in Buenos Aires. Presidents flew in from across South America.
Diego Maradona came. Nestor Kirchner was his strongest ally in his bid to retake the reins of the national team. It probably wouldn’t have been enough but with Nestor’s passing, I suspect the little fat fellow has lost any faint hope he might have had of fulfilling his dream.
The crowds were out again on Friday, in the rain, causing several hours delay in moving Kirchner’s body to the city airport. From there it was flown to his home town, Rio Gallegos, deep down in Patagonia, where it was laid to rest in the local cemetery, I suspect accompanied by a blue and white Racing Club scarf.









