Blue and golden relay

My father used to take my brother and me to the CU sta­dium when we were kids. I never felt a strong attach­ment for the Pumas and that was long befo­re I stu­died in the Uni­ver­sity, but going to the sta­dium was an inti­ma­te adven­tu­re bet­ween the three of us, sha­ring the foot­ball lan­gua­ge and rituals. From tho­se days I remem­ber the ama­zing goals of Luis Gar­cía, Jor­ge Cam­pos, and the cle­ver phra­ses from the Pumas sup­por­ters that sud­denly bro­ke the crow­d’s hustle after a silen­ce that hoo­ve­red any other noise.

I remem­ber the cold weather, may­be cau­sed by the cement seats and the strong draughts. On tho­se days I have just seen a movie about Chi­vas, from the Cam­peo­ní­si­mo period. Becau­se of that, Luis Gar­cía’s goals, the color of Cam­pos and the influen­ce of The Won­der Years series, every mid­day at the sta­dium besi­des follo­wing the game, I narra­ted myself the sce­ne as if I was remem­be­ring it in a very dis­tant futu­re, as if I was living a his­to­ric moment. I don’t totally recall tho­se narra­tions but I was­n’t mis­ta­ken by thin­king that tho­se expe­rien­ces would be his­to­ric and unre­pea­ta­ble. That what we tell our­sel­ves about our pre­sent (even in a fake nos­tal­gic ten­se) is not neces­sa­rily what sha­pes and lea­ves a mark on us. The stamp is the shock, the sound of a ball being kic­ked utterly hard, the roa­ring of the crowd, the fra­gran­ce of the ate gua­va candy given away by the More­lia rival fans.

Last Novem­ber the 20th, thou­sands of peo­ple of many colors and from every cor­ner of the country mar­ched together, aching, outra­ged and fed up. When I saw this kid with the UNAM flag I wan­ted to look what he was loo­king, to ima­gi­ne what was thri­lling him, and how he sill narra­te him­self that after­noon when he held the flag along with his family, among so many peo­ple, uni­ted, screa­ming and singing.

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