Operation GBA: star player retrieval.

About two weeks ago, we played a tie-breaker game against Boca Juniors, a game which not only decided the winner of the league but also which team would compete in the Copa Libertadores (South America's Champion's League), not to mention the pressure which naturally arises from one of the most bitter rivalries in all of sports, between Argentina's two biggest clubs, Boca and River. We lost. We didn't just lose either. We lost badly. It didn't even look like we had shown up to play. After the first five minutes, from the stands we could tell the game was already lost, judging from the attitudes of the players on the field. Long story short, we lost 3-1 even after Boca had a player sent off with a (self-acknowledged well-deserved) red card.

Pretty sure this picture captures the hinchada's (fans) frustration during the entire game...

Now, I've lost big games before, unfortunately, but my team has always been able to bounce back well and learn from the mistakes made in the previous game. Logically, I expected a similar sort of reaction here. This was not to be the case.

Our first day back at practice (the day after the game), we sat in the equipment room, which basically serves as our locker room, for over an hour, hashing out issues related to the team and coaches. We then continued on to have a good practice, so I assumed all was well and the team was ready to move on and prepare for the next season which was to start that next Saturday. I was slightly wrong in my assumption... At our next practice, to which I arrived over an hour late (because I was trying to get my document situation figured out) expecting for training to be winding down, the team was just beginning the warm-up, and the expressions on the faces of the players were extremely serious, almost as though someone had just passed away. Even our coach, who normally greets my with a big smile, could hardly manage a slight grin when I went to share good news about the status of my long-awaited National Document of Identification (DNI - essential for signing me to play in the next season). Also, I noticed many of our most important players were missing. More drama had arisen among players, coaches, and now administration (drama about which I am not going to go into great detail).

Luckily, our game last Saturday was suspended due to weather. I say "lucky" because the problems from the last week continued on into this week, bringing with it more bad news. One of our best players, if not the best, (we'll call her Z) had decided she no longer wanted to play with River for various reasons. This was a girl I was hoping to see one day playing at a university in the United States on a full scholarship. Even more importantly, she's a great person and a wonderful teammate, someone the team would miss dearly both on and off the field. In reaction to her departure, the coach said something which offended another of our best players who then proceeded to leave practice less than half-way through.

Now, imagine me. I came all the way from the US to play at River, a club which had been fighting to win the most important title in women's soccer in Argentina, and just two weeks later the team is falling apart (let's not forget to mention who we play against for our second game of the new season – none other than Boca Juniors). I never really started to freak out about the situation, but I was certainly heading that direction while feelings of disappointment and disillusionment were starting to creep in. At one point, it even crossed my mind to return home to the US, a thought which was quickly pushed out as I remembered the reasons why I had come to Argentina in the first place. Obviously, winning the league is important to me, but growing as an athlete and a person is even more essential. In my experience, during the most difficult times is when I've experienced the most growth (not to say the growth was either easy or enjoyable in the moment...).

Finally, this past Wednesday, a group of girls on the team (who were able to go) and I went in two cars to go see the two players who had quit to try to convince them to reconsider their decision and return to the club. We first drove to Z's house. I was in the car with a teammate from Córdoba (another province), a teammate who lives near Z, and the president of women's soccer at River (Eduardo) who was kind enough to spend his whole night driving us around what seemed like all of Greater Buenos Aires (GBA). After about an hour on the highway, we started to go all through backroads and small towns to get to Z's house. The drive seemed eternal. As we got further and further from Capital Federal and closer and closer to Z's house, the buildings and streets got more and more abandoned and worn-down until we finally turned down a dirt road and pulled up near her house (about 2 hours after leaving the club). I couldn't actually see Z's house from where Eduardo had parked because of the darkness and a field which stood between us and the house, but judging from the surrounding houses, the area was veryyyyyy humble (for lack of a better adjective), complete with stray dogs and cats which kept us company while we waited for Z and her father.

Not a picture I took, but definitely a house similar to the ones I saw near where Z lives.

Z's father arrived first and talked to us about what he though needed to change at River, why his daughter had decided to leave. He is almost exactly what one imagines when one thinks of a factory or construction worker in Latin America: darker, rough skin, missing teeth, and tired eyes. He was slightly gruff in his interaction with us but never rude, and it was clear he was thankful we had come to see his daughter. At one point during the conversation, I noticed he was leaning against Eduardo's SUV with his arm extended and his hand resting against the door. At first glance, I didn't notice anything off, but after another look, I saw that all of his fingers on his right hand were cut off at the first knuckle. For a man who depends on his body for his work, I tried to imagine how difficult it must be for him to convince employers of his capability to complete physical labor. I then remembered what my coach had mentioned to me a few weeks earlier about Z's home life, about why she had dropped out of high school with two years left. There was a point in time, within the past two to three years, when Z's parents were struggling to even put food on the table for Z and her seven siblings, let alone worrying about paying nearly 20 pesos a day for Z to travel to and from River (a five-hour roundtrip by public transportation). I don't have many more details about Z's family situation, but from what I saw, taking River away from her would be taking away a huge source of joy as well as an escape from the hardships she faces at home on a regular basis. Even more so, Z has a very promising soccer future, one which most likely includes playing with the Argentine National Team and participate in something only a select few get to experience in this life.

An image I hope will stay with me forever is Z's facial expression as she walked up to us. As soon as she saw seven of her teammates and Eduardo waiting for her with her dad, her eyes began to fill up with tears, and she could hardly swallow the lump in her throat enough to say hello to each one of us. One of the most humble people I know, Z was shocked and overwhelmed when she realized we valued her enough to come so far just to personally persuade her to rejoin the team. I truly wish all the best for her; I would love to see her succeed and do big things, or at least be able to take advantage of the opportunities she has thanks to her phenomenal soccer abilities. She has a very special heart, and it was beautiful to see her sensitivity come out, especially as she is one of the most quiet and shy girls on the team.

Our efforts of Wednesday night were not in vain because on Friday both girls returned to the team and came to practice. On Saturday afternoon, we played our first game of the new season against Club Atlético Excursionistas and won 9-1 with both players scoring and assisting multiple times. (I also made my official AFA tournament debut, though we won't discuss that part...). This week, our team's focus turns to preparing to face Boca Juniors again, but this time with more confidently and united.

Smooshed in the subway: A rite of passage into "Porteñohood"

Monday morning I had my first real experience of riding the metro in Buenos Aires during rush hour. It would not be unfair to say that the passengers were packed in the train cars more tightly than sardines in a can. I don't think I've ever felt more suffocated than I did during that metro ride. Pressed between a metal pole, a middle-aged businessman, a barely 5-foot tall lady, a grandmother and her grandaughter, and who knows who else, I was literally unable to move. As I was right next to the door, each time the train stopped to let people off and on, I was pushed further into the crowd and also into the metal pole to make room for the exchange of passengers. Just when I would think the car was full, someone else would push his or her way on, barely escaping being crushed by the automatic car doors in the process. At one point, I was almost positive my hamstring was going to start cramping, which led to (perhaps unreasonable) fears of involuntarily kicking out at my neighbors on the train, which in turn would spark an all out brawl among the passengers since tensions were already high early on a Monday morning.

I didn't take this picture, but this is exactly what the metro was like.

Every and all personal barriers were crossed, and basically erased, on that metro ride. I couldn't tell whose arm/leg/butt was against me, and it was nearly impossible to breathe air other than the carbon dioxide exhaled by the person whose face was only inches from mine. No wonder I've already been sick twice in the past month. If one person on the subway has a cold, the four people surrounding him are at risk for infection, and the four people surrounding each one of them, and then a chain effect occurs... I don't even want to imagine the colonies of bacteria which must be thriving on the handles and seats of the subway (again, I might be slightly exaggerating, but still, it's gross to think about...). Just writing about this is making me feel sick again.

Counting down the stations, the ride seemed like it would never end. Those twenty minutes felt like an eternity, and each time the doors would open at a station, I would take advantage to try to breathe again before the doors closed to head back into the darkness of the subway tunnel. Finally, when I arrived at my stop, I pushed my way through the masses, off the train, and onto the platform. I took a moment just to pause and take a few deep breaths since my lungs could now expand fully once again, trying to fight off the feelings of claustrophobia and nausea rising in my stomach.

One might wonder, "why didn't you just wait for the next train since this one was so full?" Well, after waiting more than twenty minutes for a train to arrive, freaking out about arriving late for a demo lesson presentation with a coordinator at the language institute I am applying to work with, I couldn't risk waiting around another half hour for the next train. Yes, I did wait 20 minutes for the subway during peak times, something almost unheard of in major American and European cities except during labor strikes or under extreme circumstances. Here, porteños are accustomed to waiting long periods of time for public services, whether it's for transport, healthcare, official documents, etc. Looking around the platform as I waited, no one seemed particularly agitated or worried -- though no one appeared particularly thrilled to board an already jam-packed subway train...

Again, not my picture, but this is how full the train was.

Remember those greeting customs I mentioned so tenderly a couple of months ago? The lack of barriers or boundaries during the greeting, a kiss on the cheek, also manifests itself in a less friendly way in circumstances such as riding crowded public transport. With so many people in such a small space, a lot of pushing and shoving goes on as people fight to find their place to stand, especially if there's something nearby to lean against. One has to learn to stand one's ground in order to avoid losing the little space one has. Thus, it is quite unsurprising that folks often get into small tussles when someone pushes too hard. This time, the grandmother who was next to me on the metro almost got into an all out scuffle with a younger lady who had pushed her and told her to move further into the train to make room for those who were getting on. Understandably, the grandmother was none too thrilled and let the whole train know. The girl responded with attitude, and then things really heated up. Luckily, I was able to get off the train before any punches were thrown...

The blessing of having a job also comes with the curse of having to travel with the masses, but, afterward, I felt as though I had somehow gone through some sort of ritual of initiation into "porteñohood" by experiencing something which porteños live daily.