It is time for Argentina to appeal to its infinite and incunable football testament. It's time to claim Di Stéfano, Maradona and Messi, victims of an amnesiac country. From a country kidnapped by the bullying of even more infamous bars than bravas that do not hide their campechanía with leaders and politicians of guard. It's time to evoke the Graphic, to the sharp pen of Roberto Fontanarrosa, to the versallesca writing of Jorge Valdano, to the eternal penalties of Osvaldo Soriano, to the troubadour's voice Víctor Hugo Morales... In short, it is time for Argentina to put so much curse in parentheses that the subjugate and an overdose of football self-esteem. He has plenty of arguments for a chest do. Not only has it been an extraordinary nursery for footballers, but no one put a better letter and voice to this wonderful game that owes so much to Argentina. As much as you have seen the shame in these times of sewer, the export of the Superclásico should suppose the signal to a forceful purge.
Madrid, with its cathedral Santiago Bernabéu -Where River already paraded five times and Boca in one-, is a unique opportunity for the two teams, aupated by their good people (which abound and abounds), contribute to exorcise so many demons. True, none of them go through a recreational moment. As a symptom, Pablo Pérez, xeneize, and Ponzio, millionaire, two strenuous half-rattles of a lifetime, are the ones that give the most passes. Promising guys like Pavón (Mouth) and Ezequiel Palacios (River) are still in the departure lounge. Few enlightened, but both sets do not lack lineage after 110 years of superclassic rivalry, more than a century of challenges with electrical overload that have turned the mutual ordagos into a derby without comparison. Six Libertadores Cups light up Boca and three River. But none will be like the one at stake, because there was never a fencer duel in a summit like this. So argentina hyperbolic that the shiver of each other in the face of a possible defeat has been seismic across the planet. The option to lose has prevailed over the option to win. To the point that there has been more party in the offices than in the grass. There is no turning back. Without a Bombonera in which the areas tremble and without the expansive wave of the Monumental, to River and Boca, Boca and River, the Coliseum of La Castellana in Madrid will turn out to be an operatic venue. The meadow is as strange as the stands, where the two legions of fans will converge for the first time in years and years. Neither their screaming will have a recognizable echo, with militants here and there, Spanish neighbors, arrived from Argentina and from all corners of Europe.
Never a Superclásico was so universal, even though Buenos Aires mourn the amputation of the party of all parties. Today, the showcase will be orbital. It should be enough for the world to provide for the great football Argentina. That unforgettable Argentina that let us know that the ball does not get stained. That Argentina grateful with the old woman through Di Stéfano, whose mime to the ball was second to none Maradona and Messi. And nobody had the invaluable privilege of Spain, happily watered from the other side of the pond for the best of Argentine football. There was only one River and Boca in the Iberian view. A historical event that celebrate for life as long as everyone remembers that it is football, only football. And do not forget that the canonization of the winner will not be the same if he does not know how to win, just as the loser's sentence will be reduced if he knows how to lose.