Argentinos Juniors  1  Tigre  1

With hindsight, this game was only ever going to end in a draw. There have been so many this season. But let’s be thankful for small mercies. At least there were a couple of goals and it didn’t start raining, despite threatening to throughout the game, until we were scurrying out of the stadium after we’d applauded our boys off the pitch and on their way to their winter holidays in a kind of semi-enthusiastic , mas o menos, sort of way.

As the final whistle blew, the Tigre fans and players leapt about and on top of one another as though they’d just won the championship and the lottery at the same time. Word had obviously just filtered through that results from the other four games being played simultaneously had gone their way and their place in the top division was safe.

Limited Action

Limited Action

But the news that in Argentina pretty much knocks the world off its axis is that River Plate lost at home to Lanus and must now play a couple of matches against a low-life from a lower division – in this case Belgrano of Cordoba – to retain their place in the top division and avoid relegation for the first time in their history.

As one who’s just lived through the trauma of relegation with West Ham I can assure River Plate supporters that, while it seems at times to be the worst thing that can happen to you, up there with having your house repossessed or your children confessing that they don’t much like football and only accompanied you to games for the burgers, life does go on and there is hope of a better future.

Argentine writer and River fan, Quino, wrote an excellent piece in the Perfil newspaper, for which his fellow fans will brand him a blasphemer, saying he wanted River to go down.

“Bit by bit, year after year,” he wrote, “River have turned into a team without a soul, without football, without goals, without respect for their tradition, with dull footballers and cowardly coaches. And now we’ve reached rock bottom.”

Relegation, he predicts, will deliver them a radical solution that he hopes will allow them to escape from what he calls interminable suffering.

So Long, Farewell.

So Long, Farewell.

Quilmes are down, for sure, after losing 1-0 to Olimpo. Huracan, who lost 5-1 to Independiente, must play Gimnasia, who squandered a two-goal lead to draw 2-2 with Boca, in what promise to be a couple of tense matches. The loser will go down, the winner will have another chance and will battle it out with a team from the lower echelon for a place in the top flight.

I personally witnessed most of Argentinos Juniors’ home games, a couple of away matches and the rest on tele and never have I spent so long watching football for so little reward. The football was often ineffective and the goals sparse. The Bichos were often the better team but in nineteen games they managed just 16 goals and most of them were scored away from home. That is not entertaining football by anyone’s standards.

They finished a very respectable fifth simply by having the best defence in the division, letting in just 11 goals. The champions, Velez, conceded 16 but managed to score more than twice as many as Argentinos Juniors. The point being, if you can’t score goals all our cheering and all the players’ huffing and puffing and running around amounts to very little and frustration will inevitably set in.

I hope the manager, Pedro Troglio, stays and manages to convince key players to remain with him since there’s the foundations of a decent team here. A couple of players who can tuck the ball in the net will make all the difference.

The truth is that none of the other teams I saw at the Diego Maradona stadium this season impressed me. I missed the Velez visit since I was at Upton Park watching West Ham lose to Birmingham City in the poorest exhibition of football at inflated prices that I’ve probably ever seen. May The Blues linger in the lower divisions for a long time and Aston Villa fans, you have my sympathy.

So, I’ll take a break now. I may return for the Copa America that kicks off on July 1. All the games, apart from the final, are being played in cities distant from Buenos Aires.  Since I’ve put my money on Argentina winning every major tournament for the last eight years or so, I’m going to continue in the same vein – Argentina to beat Brazil in the final. Not especially adventurous, I know. Paraguay and Uruguay are good outside bets and could provide an upset or two.

I’m putting my Argentinos Junior’s shirt in the wash now so it’s clean and ironed for next season. Hasta la vista chicos.

Quilmes  2  Argentinos Juniors  2

Football, so they say, is a funny game. Only I’m not laughing. Argentinos Juniors were 1-0 up in the second half when Quilmes had a player sent off. Quilmes started to play better and scored an equaliser. Now that, whichever way you look at it, doesn’t make sense. Then they had another player sent off and, with nine men against eleven, they scored a second.

It’s not supposed to go like that. Argentinos Juniors are the current champions and currently sit at the bottom of the table. Quilmes are only one place above them.

Of course I was relieved when Nicolas Berado bundled the ball into the net for the equaliser in the dying seconds of the game but my innate sense of justice meant that I cheered with a heavy heart.

Quilmes showed greater fight and deserved more. They evoked the spirit of the indigenous people after whom the town of Quilmes is named, rather than the beer by the same name which, as I believe I’ve complained about on many previous occasions, has about as much bite as a pensioner who’s lost his false teeth.

The Quilmes people were a tough bunch, resisting the Inca invasions of the fifteenth century up around what is now the northern province of Tucuman. Then they spent another hundred or so years fighting the Spaniards until they were defeated in 1667.

Food Handout

Food Handout

The Spaniards, because they had guns and horses and the Indians didn’t, decided to relocate the survivors to a reservation just south of Buenos Aires and two thousand or so were marched the 1,500km, hundreds of them dying on the way. The settlement was abandoned in 1810 and the survivors moved to what is now the city of Quilmes – home to the nation’s most popular beer and its second worst first division football team.

A few hundred Quilmes Indians stayed on in Tucuman province and today their descendants cling onto scraps of land where they live in abject poverty, a shadow of their former glory. It’s much the same story for the remainder of Argentina’s other indigenous people.

Julio Roca is a national hero. He must be since his face adorns the Argentine 100 peso note. He was twice president at the end of the nineteenth century, rising to prominence as a talented and brave military officer, responsible for taming the wild interior of Argentina, the pampas. By taming I mean subduing the ferocious Indians. At least that’s what some history books will tell you. Others say he was a ruthless murderer who butchered innocent women and children. Nothing is ever simple, is it?

Whatever the truth, many Argentines are not even aware that they still have an indigenous population. There are quaint stories down in the southern town of Ushuaia about the 1831 British expedition, led by Captain Robert Fitzroy, that took four local Fuegian Indians back to England to ‘civilise’ them. Streets in Ushuaia go by the names they were given –Boat Memory, York Minster, Fuegia Basket y Jemmy Button.

But there were also ferocious battles, brave and colourful chiefs and well-established indigenous communities equal to those in North America. The difference is that there was no Hollywood film industry to record and romanticise them.

The truth is that in the end there wasn’t much to romanticise. There are hardly any Indians left in the far south, for instance. Illness and poverty killed them off many years ago.

There are communities in the north of Argentina, saved by their remoteness from modern society and their poverty. I’ve been there — the Toba in Chaco province, the Wichi in Salta and the Guarani in Misiones.

They are different communities with their own languages and customs but what they have in common is the poverty in which they live and the disdain with which they’re treated by the local authorities.

The Toba in Chaco were dying from malnutrition and tuberculosis – in the twenty-first century in a country that belongs to the G20 group of the world’s wealthiest nations.

Young Guarani were committing suicide because they felt ostracized by modern society. Their elders decided to keep them under quarantine and limit their exposure to the outside world – patrolling the perimeter of their community.

The Toba in Chaco

The Toba in Chaco

The Wichi, near the borders with Bolivia and Paraguay, were victims of a battle for souls being fought by North American and European evangelical missions which, in their race to win converts, paid little heed to the indigenous people’s history and culture.

These are all people for whom land is life. Yet land is also power in Argentina and after generations of falling victim to unscrupulous farmers, corrupt politicians and mercenary police forces, the remaining indigenous communities have been pushed into barren scraps of land where most rely on government food handouts and their only comfort is often in drink and drugs.

Yet despite the abject conditions in which they were living, I still encountered a generosity, a peacefulness and a nobility lacking in modern society. I always felt enriched by my visits.

“You’re a naive, soft-in-the-head old hippy,” I hear some of you say. “Romanticising a community that does little to help itself.”  Perhaps. But I can’t help thinking that Argentina needs its original people more than it thinks it does.

That’s what happens when your team is bottom of the table and playing crap football – you end up searching elsewhere for spiritual solace. It’s certainly not going to be found in that insipid Quilmes beer, unlikely to be discovered in the industrial drabness of the Quilmes neighbourhood but maybe, just maybe, it lurks in what remains of those once noble Quilmes people.

Elsewhere in the first division, there were goals galore. Underachieving Racing Club thumped Lanus 4-0. Rubbish Gimnasia claimed their first victory of the season with a 3-0 drubbing of Huracan and San Lorenzo continued their fine start to the season with a 3-1 win over Olimpo.

Boca are beginning to string results together with a 3-1 win over Colon, made all the sweeter for their fans knowing that River had lost 1-0 to Newell’s. Banfield beat Independiente 4-0 and new boys, All Boys, continue to shine with an impressive 2-1 victory over Estudiantes.

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.

Evenly matched-Even on paper

Evenly matched-Even on paper. Photo: Lucas S

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.

Ariel Ortega

Ariel Ortega

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.

The pre-match line-up

The pre-match line-up. Photo: Lucas S

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.

08/08
2010

Argentinos Juniors  1  Huracan  2

Of course, everyone tries just that little harder to beat the champions. And with a lot of new players, Argentinos Juniors were still finding their feet. And their midfield playmaker, Nestor Ortigoza, was missing and the wind blowing in a north-north-easterly direction always has an impact on the way the home-side plays, especially on the seventh of the month when that month begins with the letter ‘A.’

Whatever the reasons, this was painful defeat, especially after all the hope and expectation harvested last season. Yes, there were a lot of changes. But the new manager, Pedro Troglio, had the team playing the same attractive passing game. Argentinos controlled the first half, taking the lead with a well-worked goal from one of the new boys, Gonzalo Vargas, five minutes before the break.

Thanks Champs

Thanks Champs

The crowd liked that and took him to their hearts, immediately giving him a nickname – ‘the Uruguayan’ because he’s, well, from Uruguay.

Everything was running according to plan. There was a big crowd, full of expectation. Someone even spent the close season cutting big letters out of polystyrene, and painting every other one red, to spell out the words: Gracias Campeon.

As I approached the stadium I could smell the newly cut grass mixed with possibly even a tinge of fresh paint. The police hadn’t done much in the way of pre-season training. At the turnstile an officer held us up while he lit a cigarette then leaned on the railing with his belly protruding like a sack of rice hanging on the wall. He kind of half-heartedly raised his free hand and tapped my coat pocket then allowed me through with a barely perceptible nod of his head.

No-one wants to admit that they don’t recognise their own players, but with so many new signings I must confess that I’d scribbled down some notes which I surreptitiously slid in and out of my pocket before announcing boldly to anyone that cared to listen: “He looks useful that Escudero.” Or “Ocampo seems to be settling in nicely.”

Just fourteen seconds after the kickoff I heard my first reference to the referee’s mother’s private parts. In fact, the old guy behind me had obviously been rehearsing his insults during the idle months, abusing the match officials and the away fans with such vigour that at half-time he offered a kind of half-hearted apology to those around him whose eardrums had had to endure his assault. “I’ve had no-one to shout at for two months,” he explained.

And then, in a nightmarish three minutes mid-way through the second half, our dream drooped like a pensioner at an orgy who’s just discovered that he’s mixed his Viagra up with his indigestion tablets.

Firstly, Huracan’s Mariano Martínez blasted the ball home for the equaliser from an almighty bundle in the Argentinos defence. Then, a minute later, Cesar Montiglio put the visitors two-one up after Gustavo Oberman lost the ball in midfield. It couldn’t get much worse. Could it?

There are parts of the Diego Maradona stadium I simply can’t see from where I stand, even with a bit of jigging and jumping about.  Most of the bottom right-hand corner of the pitch, for instance, is obscured by the managers’ dugouts and more metal posts, fencing and barbed wire than you’d find around most prison compounds. So I’m not really sure what happened next. But the result was that another Argentinos Juniors new boy, Gabriel Perez Tarifa, was sent off  just eight minutes after he came on as a substitute in his first ever game for Argentinos Juniors for what the newspapers called ‘excessive abuse.’ Not, I hope, another reference to the referee’s mother’s private parts!

Restricted Vision

Restricted Vision

One of the reasons that Argentinos Juniors became champions was because they made a habit of carving results out of lost causes. Two-nil down away to Lanus in the second game of last season to win six-three. Three-one down at home to Independiente in the penultimate match to clinch a crucial four-three victory, and more.

But not today. There were a couple of chances and the crowd managed to rally a bit of chanting along the lines of “we may be losing this one but we’re still champions, so there!” But it wasn’t going to be.

Argentinos Juniors were fine champions last season. And modest Banfield worthy winners the season before that. But I can’t help feeling that the planets are being realigned to what are generally perceived to be their rightful places.

Boca Juniors and River Plate don’t win everything all the time. But if two or three seasons go by without at least one of them being the dominant team in Argentina then people start to feel a little uneasy, like things are not quite right. As if Sir Alex were not chewing gum or Alan Shearer were saying something interesting. It’s OK but it’s not quite right.

Boca, of course, have poached Argentinos Junior’s championship-winning manager Claudio Borghi, the backroom staff and one of  his best players, Matias Caruzzo. River, who have been dismal for several seasons now, began to show signs of recovery towards the end of the last campaign and have bought wisely during the close season.

When Boca and River fade it’s usually Independiente or San Lorenzo that pick up the slack and Estudiantes, the best Argentine team in recent years, are still strong, their 103-year-old talisman, Juan Sebastian Veron scoring the penalty today in a 1-0 win over Newell’s Old Boys.

The three promoted teams are Quilmes, who yo-yo between the top two divisions, Olimpo from Bahia Blanca way down south and modest, some might say ramshackle, little Buenos Aires outfit, All Boys.  Since football is very much a man’s game in Argentina, I expect their stay in the top flight to be brief.