Racing: diary of a week in the subsuelo

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For a week now, Racing has covered the entirety of my thoughts. Sueño, I have insomnia, I talk with unknown people on the street, I suddenly imagine different endings on last Sunday, I wonder why Galván has been pateó and why happiness lasts for us so long. Galván hizo who had returned to my adolescence, to Racing de los 90, to suffering as a permanent condition. I woke up too when I cared Racing in my life.

The first night is dreamed of with something eso. It was not a clear scene, but in the sueño there was the Cylinder. And when I woke up, I realized that nothing had changed. Galván kept pawing like he pateó, Armani kept hitting the penal and with my son and my viejo we kept looking at the plate as if everything was a bad joke, a Stephen King nightmare.

That’s when, when I got up to Benja to go to school, the first thing I did was put on the Racing shirt that I had bought him on Sunday, before the game with River. “I buy it now because if we got to the champion, the exit is worth the double”, says my viejo.

When I saw him with the white shirt and the white polvo, I loved the decision that maybe it wasn’t the best day, that in the school suelen be cruel and this type of moons. But call me. I liked this act, honoring what our song says: in the good times and in the bad things a lot more.

For days I was torturing myself with the moments before the penal, talking with friends of Racing to find out how they were doing, scanning nets to read opinions and scoldings. El martes woke me up at 3:30 in the morning thinking about why Piovi hadn’t pateado. It was at Hauche or Copetti, Sino Piovi, who had released a “le break the bow” in that improvised meeting before the fateful penal. You could have broken the bow, brother, but you had to impose, grab the ball and tell the others that were gone!

In these days, in the midst of the heaviness of defeat, I dressed up with a Racing jogger not because I wanted to show it, but because it’s comfortable to be at my house or to go shopping for a chino or the greenery. That jogging, all of a sudden, enabled me to chat with other Racing friends. With the pig with the one that from path to path we debated how to proceed, against other people from other clubs that supported themselves and with the lifetime viejo of Culpina y Alberdi. It was a collective catharsis.

The martes, miércoles and jueves returned to Olé’s home –a la which had been años que no enterba– to see if any player or technician had spoken. I wanted someone to put words to this pain. And the viernes arrived late to a place because I was coming to the Gago conference. From start to finish. There’s something about his arrogance, about his canchera gesture, with whom I empathize. No sé bien qué es. Also, if I have been bothered and conformed to his words, but I understand his boredom in the face of the disgusted questions of the journalists who attend his press conferences.

I promised Benja that the youth, against Tigre, would allow him to take the field. He, this season without visitors, wants to see Racing in another stadium. I want you to live what we lived in other times: that we are great for how we react when we lose, when we win.

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