Playing football with the locals in Argentina

In my hometown of Liverpool, football is more than just a sport or a hobby; for some, to call it a passion would be an understatement in a city where for many it is a way of life. Historically it may well have been a rare method of escapism from an unpleasant reality. Now Liverpool is a very nice city to live in but football remains as important as ever in many lives.

Whilst travelling has made it difficult to train in any sport consistently, I still exercise when I can although this is generally just alone with the skipping rope and resistance bands I carry with me. Having spent four years at university as a member of multiple sports societies with which I would train and attend social events almost every day, it is the social side of sport that I miss the most. Whilst I may meet so many new people as I frequently move around, for me the social interaction amongst those who share a passion for, and are taking part in a certain sport, is different.

Over the past few years I have not really played any football beyond the occasional kick-about with kids at summer camps – although, that’s not to say those matches did not at times become extremely competitive. Consequently, when I was invited to join a five-a-side match not long after arriving in Argentina, it’s fair to say I was excited.

Like so many places, Argentina possesses, and is famous for, its deep passion for football. In Messi and Maradona it is a country that gave the world two of its greatest even players; the rivalry between Boca and River is one of the most intense in the world – so much so they had to move a recent match to Europe to avoid violence; and the fans are famously passionate.

Incidentally, I had the opportunity to watch a Boca Juniors match at their home stadium of the Bombonera. It is incredibly difficult to find tickets normally as they are only available to season ticket holders – not even fans of the away team are allowed to attend due to past problems. Fortunately, I know one such season ticket holder who offered to take me for what would be the final match of the season. Unfortunately, I had to say no as I had already made plans to volunteer at a WorkAway on that date. To keep it short, the WorkAway was cancelled at the last minute, too late to get a ticket, and Boca went on to win the match 8 (eight) – 1 in what would have been an incredible match to attend in a stadium famous for its atmosphere at the worst of times….

I had been invited to play by Hernan, who had been my online Spanish teacher before I headed to Argentina; a local of Buenos Aires we had become good friends. It was my first trip into the main city itself and also my first time meeting Hernan in person.

The pitch could be found lying in the shadows of an overpass running through a busy suburb of the capital. The surrounding area appeared more westernised than a lot of the rest of the city I saw, with modern apartments and stylish bars lining the streets. The sports complex itself was fairly substantial, if basic, with multiple football pitches and tennis courts all in constant use.

Upon arriving Hernan gifted me with a shirt of his beloved River Plate, a kind gesture as well as the latest in a line of people encouraging me to support their team. In theory it should be an easy decision for me to support the team of my girlfriend’s family; however, Independiente are known as Los Diablos Rojos (the Red Devils) and it pains me to support a team that shares a nickname with Manchester United.

With a couple of exceptions most of the other players were in their thirties or forties and as such I was confident that if my abilities were lacking I would be able to compensate through greater fitness levels and outrun the opposition. I was highly mistaken. Within ten minutes of starting the match I was dripping with sweat and gasping for breath, whilst it felt like everyone else was playing with barely a raised heartbeat. Despite the fact it was past eight in the evening and the sun had set, the temperature was still close to thirty degrees and the humidity high. Unaccustomed to the climate my body struggled, although I managed to play on for the entire hour.

The quality of football itself was decent, with a range of different styles of display. There were those who kept it simple with short but accurate passes and others relied more on physical strength and power in their performance. Shout out to two particular players in Herman and Pedro, on multiple occasions I saw them both crash into big tackles as if it was the most important match they’d ever played; regardless of if they came out better or worse than their opponent they would quickly get up and acknowledge the other player with a smile, their sportsmanship was impressive.

I would play on a second occasion a few weeks later and enjoyed the experience equally as much with the added advantage that my body was greater adapted to the climate (combined with myself better pacing myself).

Weeks later Ailin’s family and myself were invited to dinner with a neighbour. I had torn myself away from watching Liverpool playing Tottenham on my phone to attend only to find it on the TV upon arriving at their house, much to Ailin’s annoyance. Of course this quickly led to football talk and when it was established I enjoyed both watching and playing, I was invited to play in a local five-a-side kick-about later that evening with Pablo, the father of the family.

The atmosphere quickly felt different, with everyone more relaxed regarding the game – although that’s not to say it wasn’t competitive. Before the match one guy was strolling around drinking a can of beer, another smoking a joint. As I was introduced to the other players there was – unsurprisingly – surprise at the presence of a foreigner in this suburb of the city. One guy assumed it was a joke and began firing off rapid Spanish conversation at me before bursting into laughter when I asked him to slow down in my own broken Spanish.

The style of play also differed somewhat. The level of physicality was certainly higher, with players not afraid to use their bodies, although always fairly. There was also more - let’s call it - flair on display, with a greater desire to dribble and take on the opposition rather than pass their way through; perhaps more fitting to the stereotypical image of Argentinian footballers being skilful individuals.

Pablo himself wrote a short match report on his own blog which you can see here. I won’t try to translate it myself as it won’t do justice to the prose and his use of typical Argentinian dialect. All my experiences so far have been enjoyable and I am grateful for all those who welcomed me so warmly, I will be back to play more soon.

Posted: 03/01/2022
Written by: Tom Taylor (@tomtayloor)