San Lorenzo  1  Argentinos Juniors  2

How joyous it must be to have the best player in the world pulling on your club shirt. They had that for a while at Argentinos Juniors when on the 20th October 1976 a stocky, young cherub ambled nervously onto the pitch. Diego Armando Maradona went on to play 166 games and score 115 goals for the club, before moving on to big city rivals, Boca Juniors.

I’ve never met him but by all accounts, Diego is what people here call a boludo. I’m not quite sure how this word translates into English, but it’s not nice. However, Maradona is a legendary boludo, a much-loved boludo, held dear to the hearts of millions of Argentines for the wonderful moments he gave them wearing the shirts of both Argentinos and Boca Juniors. Fans of a certain age talk with tears in their eyes about those golden days when they saw, or claim they saw, the Number 10 perform his magic. It’s something to tell the grandchildren.

Stan Bowles - Magic Moments

Stan Bowles - Magic Moments

I was never a QPR fan and can’t quite remember why I was at Loftus Road on a wet Wednesday night in November some time in the nineteen-seventies. I don’t remember the team they were playing or the score or, for that matter, where I’ve put my coffee cup. But firmly etched on my obviously soddled brain are a couple of moments of exquisite play by QPR’s Stan Bowles. I was close to the touchline, so was he. It’s moments like those that restore and maintain your faith in football, especially when you’re waiting at a bus-stop in the rain after a one-nil home defeat.

You tell yourself that you’re giving up football, that you’re not wasting your money on any more games, that next time you’ll stay at home and find spiritual enlightenment by baking bread, or something. Only you do go, always hoping for a Stan Bowles moment.

But you don’t get any of that with Lionel Messi, at least not in Argentina. He may turn out to be better than Diego, he may be the best the world has ever seen. He might even achieve legendary status if he can help Argentina to lift the World Cup. But he’ll never have the same place in Argentine hearts as the podgy, obnoxious Maradona.

And that’s because almost no-one here witnessed his early days. No-one can tell their grandchildren about the magic he weaved in the last minute against Independiente to clinch the title for Newell’s, or how he humiliated River Plate with three goals in ten minutes, leaving their defenders dizzy and bumping into one another. Because he was gone, out the door before his voice had broken, him and his family whisked away from the poor neighbourhood he’d grown up in in the city of Rosario and installed on the other side of the globe in Barcelona.

Sid Lowe, in an excellent article in The Guardian (http://www.guardian.co.uk/football/blog/2010/mar/22/leo-messi-barcelona-la-liga-spain), recently wrote how they’d run out of superlatives in Spain to describe Messi’s awesome performances. We catch all of that second hand here in the newspapers and on the tele. But the real dilemma in Argentina is why young Leo can’t reproduce his club form at national level.

Best of Legends

Best of Legends

One theory is that the team coach, that very same Diego Maradona, the man with an ego bursting out of his belly, deliberately plays him out of position and ensures that he doesn’t get the service he requires so that, at international level at least, Messi will never overtake him on the road to footballing sainthood.

Another theory, recently explained in the newspaper, Pagina12, is that having gone to Spain so young, Leo doesn’t have any affinity for the sky blue and white of Argentina and can’t really be bothered to break sweat for the national cause. So he employs his unknown twin brother, Jose Messi, to play in his place. Only Jose is no good.

A far more plausible, but much less entertaining theory, suggests that Pep Guardiola simply understands how best to play Messi and ensures he gets adequate service from his teammates. And Diego doesn’t.

In the run-up to the World Cup, foreign film crews are flocking to Rosario to tell the world where this footballing prodigy came from. You may not know this, but the collective term for a pack of journalists is a ‘shitload,’ as in ‘there’s a shitload of journalists heading to Rosario to do the Messi story.’

They’re interviewing his former teachers, neighbours, distant relatives, football coaches, the owner of the shop where he bought his first football boots, pencil case, socks etc. in the search for something, anything, that might point to what made Messi Messi.

They won’t find much among the fans of Newell’s Old Boys, the club where he played his way through the junior ranks. Because they didn’t realise they’d had him until he’d gone.

Foreign scouts roam along the touchlines of pitches in the shanty-towns and clubs of Argentina, like paedophiles in the park, looking for the next Messi, their sweaty hands firmly grasping the binding contract that will whisk little Jorge or Claudio and his wide-eyed parents across the Atlantic in search of a dream.

Argentines will get behind their national team more passionately than most during the World Cup, they always do. And if Messi produces the goods, then he’ll be hailed as a hero. No-one doubts his nationalism.

But I suspect that in years to come, they won’t be naming football stadiums after him, or hanging his picture on the greasy walls of bars and cafes in the far-flung corners of Argentina, as they do with Maradona’s.

Messi - Gone too Soon!

Messi - Gone too Soon!

Because Argentines have never really seen him close up. He’s never given them stories to tell or dreams to dream.

And talking of dreams…ours is still well and truly alive after a 2-1 victory at San Lorenzo in a game that Argentinos Juniors didn’t really deserve to win. Thousands of Argentinos fans trekked across Buenos Aires to see San Lorenzo take the lead in the first half after some defensive chaos from the visitors.

The good players, especially Nestor Ortigoza, did not play their best, passes went astray and there was confusion in defence. But champions win the games in which they play badly. And if Argentinos Juniors do emerge as champions then they may look back on this game as a crucial one. Two goals from Ismael Sosa in the second half making the difference.

This is now a two-horse race. Godoy Cruz lost to Rosario Central and Independiente were beaten 3-2 at home by Boca Juniors. Estudiantes are still leaders after beating relegated Chacarita 2-1 and Argentinos sit just a point behind them with two games to go.

Argentinos Juniors  2  San Lorenzo  1

How I’ve reached the seventeenth game of the Argentine football season without mentioning tango I really don’t know. It’s either a gift or I’ve been criminally negligent. But the time has finally come for me to pull on my fishnet stockings and stiletto heels and rectify my lapse to a two by four beat.

San Lorenzo are from the Buenos Aires neighbourhood of Boedo – the cradle, many will tell you, of the tango. An equal number will tell you that that’s as bogus as a French World Cup qualifying goal. But the barrio does boast a fair number of bars, street corners and lamp posts, for all I know, named after tango legends such as Osvaldo Pugliese and Homero Manzi. And there’s a whole bunch of famous tango songs which mention Boedo.

Carlos Gardel

Carlos Gardel

Whether tango gets your feet tapping or not, there’s no doubt that it’s an intrinsic part of the Buenos Aires culture and nightlife. You realise that slumped in the back of a taxi at three on a Sunday morning as the driver wrecks his suspension over the cobbled streets with a Carlos Gardel song playing on the radio.

Gardel is the Sinatra, the Presley, the Dylan of tango. If the bars and cafes of Argentina are adorned with three pictures, then you can pretty much guarantee that one will be Diego Maradona, another Evita and the third Carlos Gardel.

He was a cool dude and no mistake, an early superstar with his slicked-back hair and dapper suits. There is some dispute over whether he was born in France or Uruguay but there’s no doubt that he grew up in Argentina. He was what they called in those days ‘a ladies’ man.’ There are rumours that he also served time in prison. Gardel toured Europe in the nineteen twenties and made a couple of Hollywood films in the thirties. Then, like all true superstars, he met an early death — in a plane crash in Medellin, Colombia, in 1935.

There’s a statue of him by his grave in the Chacarita cemetery near my house where admirers regularly place a fresh cigarette in his hand.

Forget your sequinned ballroom tango – the real thing is both sexy and seedy. That’s not surprising when you consider its roots in the bars and brothels of Buenos Aires and Montevideo. That’s where Gardel found and nurtured it before helping to make tango music international.

It Takes Two...

It Takes Two...

At the end of the nineteenth century, hundreds of thousands of European immigrants were flooding into Argentina. Some were fleeing squalor and persecution, others were filled with dreams about what they might do in a land with huge unfulfilled potential.

There were far more men than women and many spent their well-earned wages on their well-earned days off at the brothels. Business was brisk and there was a fair amount of waiting around. The more considerate Madams provided musical entertainment and that, so the story goes, is where the men perfected their tango dance moves – dancing with other men since the women were busy.

There’s another story that the dance developed as the men practised their knife fighting moves. The jerkiness of the dance, especially when that stiletto flicks up between your legs to within a whisker of your most sensitive parts, may lend some credence to that theory.

The truth is that the early days of tango were not well documented which leaves us open to rumour and conjecture. I’ve been told that that tango touches the soul. Not mine, I’m afraid. That’s only ever happened to me at Upton Park and then very, very rarely.

Tango has spread around the world – to Japan, France, the United States and Finland. Hundreds of dancers come to Buenos Aires every year to immerse themselves in the roots of the dance and the music. One woman with a tango school in Holland once told me that she came to Argentina every year to ‘top up her tango mojo.’ Its avid practioners will claim that it’s changed their lives.

People have often told me that I should take advantage of the fact that I live in Buenos Aires and learn to dance tango. But I’m wise enough to know two things. Firstly, that there are people who can dance and then that there are people who should never dance if they don’t want to embarrass themselves and those around them. I fall into the second category. And the second thing I know is that you should write down the things that you know since, with age, you’re liable to forget them.

Buenos Aires these days is awash with tango shows, huge spectaculars in which tourists can watch some of finest dancers and listen to the best musicians that Argentina has to offer. The tourist boom has given it fresh impetus, with tango schools springing up to cater for youngsters who want to follow a career in fishnet stockings.

From the sixties onwards, with the invasion of European and American rock and then the development of the home-grown variety, a whole generation of Argentines rebelled against tango. Many are returning now, ignoring their parents who know nothing, and instead turning to their grandparents to teach them the old steps.

Tango Paraphernalia

Tango Paraphernalia

The real thing never really went away. It’s practised in milongas – dance schools, often running in the afternoon, where you receive lessons before launching into an orgy of tango dance and music. Everyone dances with everyone else. As the classes end, it’s common for gangs of elderly, dapper gentlemen with Clark Gable moustaches to turn up looking for an eligible female dance partner.

It’s all about tango talent and it’s not unusual to see a short seventy-something year-old man in a suit he’s been wearing since 1952 with his face lost in the cleavage of a tall blonde twenty-year old.

Very Benny Hill, until they start dancing. If they’ve got it, then size, age and language don’t matter.

This was an interesting game on a damp, cold day, far too chilly for fishnets. San Lorenzo took the lead with a Pablo Pintos goal in the first half when the Argentinos defence looked like they were playing in tango high-heels and simply gave the ball away. But the home side found their rhythm in the second half with some well-choreographed moves. The equaliser came from a Facundo Coria free-kick on the edge of the penalty area. The second looked from where I was standing like a Gustavo Oberman cross that somehow ended up in the net. But who’s complaining?

This was an impressive victory against one of the so-called Buenos Aires Big Five. The other four, although I shouldn’t have to tell you, being Boca, River, Independiente and Racing.