Juan Villoro
Fact: Passion weighs three kilos. I have the evidence provided by passion itself.
In 1964, Spain played the final of the European Cup of Nations against the Soviet Union. I was eight years old, and my world was worth thanks to soccer. I didn’t see that game because there was no satellite television, but relatives sent me clippings printed in sepia and white that narrated the moves of two legendary goalkeepers, Iribar and Yashin. Spain won 2-1 and lifted the cup, but what impressed me most was another record: the players had lost three kilos in the match.
Since then, I wondered if I would ever get my body to reveal that passion. I played soccer without the epic slimming down and took on the role of the fan who strives without physical wear and tear.
Why do you support a team? Colors are chosen for purely textile reasons, for family obligation, for belonging to a city, and for being enchanted by a player who will bitterly leave to cash checks in another club. In Mexico, I decided to be Necaxa, the favorite team of my friends in my street. In Spain, I became a Barcelona fan because my father was born there. As soccer celebrates opposites, every team has its nemesis. My archrivals would be America and Real Madrid.
However, sports passion admits another variant: the team you don’t belong to but respect. Chivas and Pumas have represented that in Mexico. In Spain, the great team of the disinterested fans has been Athletic Bilbao, which favors its youth players. In times of speculation, the Basque club has shown that emotional commitment and identity are stronger than money. It has lifted cups, has not been relegated to the second division, and organizes cultural activities in which the players themselves are involved, such as the exceptional Thinking Football meeting.
Last Wednesday in Aguascalientes, a match powered by the dreams of several generations was held. Necaxa celebrated its 100th anniversary against Athletic. Predictably, the match ended 2-0 in favor of the Basque team. and Necaxa confirmed they had perfected the art of losing over the course of a hundred years.
I wanted to get to the game by an unusual route. Thirty-six hours earlier, I was in Vermont aboard a plane. After several delays, the flight was canceled. With theological astuteness, U.S. law notes that companies are not responsible for “acts of God.” We were told there was a storm in New York, but the fact did not guarantee divine intervention: global warming, which forces the Earth to take showers, is a product of human predation. After hours of discussing theology and logistics, I was rebooked for Thursday, 48 hours after the initial flight. This meant missing the game.
I decided to leave Vermont. I traveled overland to Albany, arrived at a hotel at midnight, and slept for two hours. The cab driver who picked me up was named Homer. Nothing more conducive to my Odyssey.
At three in the morning, I was at the airport for a flight to Atlanta, from there to Guadalajara, and connecting by land to Aguascalientes. But the flight was six hours late. I managed to get a reroute via Detroit, but I was left on a waiting list. For 90 minutes, I prayed to the red and white gods of Athletic and Necaxa. The miracle was fulfilled. I was the only passenger to board without a reservation. But the rites of passage held other tests. In Detroit, the flight was also delayed, and I missed my connection. Arriving in Mexico, exhausted but obsessed with the game, I received a new boarding pass to go to Guadalajara, from where I would go directly to Victoria Stadium. I was about to board when a red light went on. The American company had issued the wrong pass. My name was on the list, I was still me, the ticket had been paid for…. But nothing helps if the computer doesn’t agree. Rescheduling the trip took half an hour, and the flight was closed. I crossed the ocean to drown on the shore. An incorrigible Necaxista, I missed the game.
The vicissitudes had been as improbable as my will to overcome them. When I got home, I weighed myself: I had lost three kilos!
God does not decide the Earth’s climate. Faith has other causes. I don’t say it myself, but the child who read a rare piece of news when he was eight years old.
Athletic’s visit made me know, at last, how much illusion weighs.
This was published in Spanish by Reforma on July 21, 2023.
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