"I can't explain it to you, because you won't understand"
I'm a woman, I'm a mother of girls, I don't watch football, I don't play it and surely I still don't know some rules. But I am Argentine and every 4 years I am invaded by a passion that is difficult to explain. Being Argentine and living a World Cup is knowing that in each game there will be no person willing to do anything other than cheer on the National Team: shops and schools close, as we say here "the country stops."
In those match hours, we all forget about inflation, insecurity, corruption, the destroyed economy that distances us from the world and the possibilities of growth. We all have the same feeling: wanting to show that we can, that we come from very low but with effort and above all, with "greatness and a lot of courage" we can reach the top.
In the 7 matches of this World Cup I saw everything: children insulting and crying, adults respecting the most ridiculous cabals, ambulance noises to help those who could not bear the penalties. Each triumph here was experienced as their own. It was a source of pride to see ourselves so well represented and to see that Lionel Messi could finally fulfill the last dream he needed. We feel familiar with the players. We have their figurines in the album, we leave them messages on social networks and we receive them with excessive madness in the caravan they make showing the World Cup to their people because the usual misfits are also part of Argentina, those who tarnish the joy to see the "heroes".
