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.