Addiction

I could feel the creeping tendrils of the mania many associate with soccer slowly seep into my mind, taking up space usually reserved for more important thoughts. I had tried so hard for the last ten months to cut soccer out of my life. I don’t like soccer, I never have. I played for almost fourteen years and I don’t think I enjoyed one minute of it. When I got to college, I decided to purge myself of the game that had taken so much from me over the years. However, with my the trip to South America, it was not really possible to stay soccer-free.

I want to clear something up: I do not like soccer, but I am still obsessed with it. Soccer is a dangerous addiction; it will slink into your life and steal your heart and mind so that even if you don’t like it, you will watch and play until you can no longer stand up straight (and even then, you might still keep going). Almost every memory from my childhood up through high school has some link to soccer. Those moments in life that never change in your memories, all of mine were on a soccer field. Every minute of the day not in some school-related activity was soccer. My dreams started to take on a note of desperation that only those with addictive tendencies know: where the tint of the dream is actually the tint of the addiction and every subconscious thought while waking becomes crystal-clear thought when sleeping. All this craziness, the obsession and addiction, is the reason behind my decision to leave soccer. 

The group trip to the Nacional game in Montevideo was my first taste of soccer in a long time. As I sat through the game, I felt that familiar bond to the game take root in me again. As hard as I tried, the addiction would never be cured. So I gave in, and took whatever pleasure I could from a poorly played game. When we got back to the hotel, I watched a game, and then another one. The next day, I went and played soccer. We went two days later as well. I searched the newspaper for articles  about scores for international games and European leagues. And once again, I found myself wishing that soccer could be the only thing in the world. Those thoughts that used to be so a part of me had that I thought I had lain to rest were back again, and as strong as ever.

There is literally nothing on earth like the game of soccer, and Buenos Aires knows it. The craze that I feel is probably half of what a normal fan feels when his team plays. The clubs themselves are huge economic and political powerhouses; they control the city, it seems. They have power over who gets tickets, what players come and go, and the flow of money. Even though the clubs are something to behold, the fans are the real spectacle. Every game they come prepared to cheer for a solid two hours straight; their drums, yelling, and colors fill the stadium. The away fans sit behind barbed wire for protection and are forced to leave twenty minutes before the home fans to give them a safe head start. Children in full kits chant along the dirty words of team cheers and emulate the much older fans by flicking off the opposing team’s fans. Women are sparse in the regular fan sections, and non-existent in the super-fan sections, called barrabravas. Going to a soccer game in Buenos Aires is a crazy experience, but I felt among friends; I felt finally among people who understood my addiction and obsession.

Sources:
1. http://www.bsas4u.com/football_bsas.php
2. http://wander-argentina.com/argentina-football-which-games-to-go-to/
3. http://www.guardian.co.uk/football/2011/aug/21/argentina-football-gangs-barra-bravas
4. http://www.gringoinbuenosaires.com/barras-bravas-argentine-soccer/