The Two Argentinas

"Little Spaniard Who is Coming to the World" (my translation of: "Españolito que vienes al mundo") - Antonio Machado

There is already a Spaniard who wants 
to live and living begin,
between a Spain which dies
and another Spain which yawns.

Little Spaniard who is coming
to the world, may God watch over you.
one of the two Spains
will make your heart freeze.

I'd like to write my own version of this poem, one which is not so distant from the original, but can be read in a completely unrelated context and given new meanings. If I just replace "Spaniard" with "Argentine" and "Spain" with "Argentina" with a few other slight adjustments, I could accurately describe the reality of life in Argentina—or better said, the realities of life in Argentina.

"Little Argentine Who is Coming to the World"

There is already an Argentine who wants
to live and living begin,
between an Argentina which hungers
and another Argentina which summers.
between an Argentina which works
and another Argentina which abuses.
between an Argentina which is for Boca,
and another Argentina which is for River.
between an Argentina which is the capital,
and another Argentina which is the interior.
between an Argentina Kirchnerista,
and another Argentina Macrista...

Little Argentine who is coming 
to the world, may God watch over you.
one of the two Argentinas
will make your heart freeze.

This post may be controversial. I don't want to take sides, though naturally or even unconsciously I fall into one or the other of the categories, though there are many more than the ones I included. It has been a month since Mauricio Macri assumed as president of Argentina, breaking the 12-year administration of the Kirchners. During his first month, Macri has made decisions which have elated half the population and distressed the other. I also don't want to get into details, after all this is a blog about a yankee goalkeeper in Argentina, but this was the first presidential election I witnessed outside of the United States.

Daniel Scioli (FPV) and Mauricio Macri (Cambiemos) before the head to head elections in December 2015. (photo: BBC)

The night Macri won, there were tears and cheers, tears and cheers of joy and hope from those who voted for the winning candidate and tears of despair and sadness accompanied by cheers of farewell to the exiting president from those who supported the Kircherista candidate. The silence which permeated the streets of Buenos Aires on election day was reminiscent of the silence which reigned during the World Cup final in July 2014 as Argentina lost to Germany in extra time. The cheers and honking horns and celebration were also similar to the post final bittersweetness felt by the entire nation; however, this time, only half the Argentines felt like celebrating, while the other half displayed its anger, disappointment, and melancholy while continuing to support its political leader.

Here's where football comes in. After election day, during the week leading up to Macri's inauguration and even afterward, there were manifestations from both sides, but manifestations which more closely resembled a crowd, or an hinchada, in a football stadium. Chants led by political faction leaders, cheers, drums, and applause as the crowd demonstrated their support, whether for the victor or the defeated. Boca and River were not present, but the striking difference in the colors of the masses' clothing brought back memories of superclásicos, the white and celestial blue of the Frente Para la Victoria (Kirchner's party) versus the bright yellow of Cambiemos (Macri's party). Banners, flags, and arms waving, the smell of barbecue wafting through the air as many took advantage to put food stands along the way, selling the famed choripan (chorizo sandwich) and cold drinks on the hot summer day.

Passion. If one can compare football and politics in Argentina, maybe passion is what most closely ties them together. Passion in football is what drives a fan to cry when his team loses and occasionally when it wins, to hug a stranger after a goal or to punch a rival fan without any real reason than the color of his jersey, to travel miles and miles to see his favorite players, his idols, his escape from the dreary reality of work, routine, and the stress of daily life. Passion in politics is what drives a voter to cry when his candidate loses and to cheer and dance when he/she wins, to hug a stranger after a tight election victory or to punch someone who wore the other party's colors, to travel miles and miles to see his candidate or president give a speech in person under a brutal hot summer sun only to return to the dreary and often brutal reality of daily life.

Passion is not a bad thing. It can be a great thing. It can lead to a loving relationship, a successful career, unforgettable memories, but unharnessed and without a touch of "reason", it can also become poisonous. (I hope you'll forgive me the metaphor, a tool which can often be helpful in the communication of an idea but at the same time can restrict it and make the orator seem demagogic or pedantic.) I fear that uncontrolled passion in politics is a situation which can lead to significant problems, passion without reason can blind and divide. Today if you read the news in La Nación or Clarín and then grab the opposition's paper, Página 12 or Tiempo Argentino, more than likely you will conclude that you are not living in the same country. Two realities are described, two "truths," two versions of everything that happens. This didn't begin with the change of president but is the continuation of a progressive polarization of the media and of society. It is a polarization which transcends class, gender, or skin color, though there are polarizations within those categories as well. Two Argentines see the same event, hear the same speech, read the same law, and arrive at two opposing conclusions.

Perhaps the most obvious example of this was after the presidential debate previous to the head-to-head elections in December 2015. I watched the debate with my family, though I wish I had done something more productive in that hour and a half, then proceeded to open Twitter and Facebook to see what my friends had thought, many of whom supported Macri and many others who supported the Kirchnerista candidate, Daniel Scioli. Perhaps unsurprisingly, my Kirchnerista friends decided that it had been a complete blowout, Scioli had embarrassed Macri who had successfully evaded every question posed to him by his opponent. On the other hand, my Macrista friends arrived at the same conclusion but with the roles inverted, Macri had blown Scioli, who had tried to dodge every question posed to him by his opponent, out of the water. Did they watch the same debate? Or did they already know the winner before it began? One debate, two opposing conclusions. One nation, two (or more) realities.

Back in action

After an unjustifiably long hiatus from blogging, I'm back and determined to post with a more reasonable frequency—one which is yet to be determined.

I know that in my last post I promised to talk about love, but I've changed my mind since then (don't fret my dear friends, the loooooove post will come eventually) since I have some other news to report.

Almost 8 months ago, on June 8, 2014, during a game against Estudiantes de La Plata in Buenos Aires, Argentina, I tore my ACL (anterior cruciate ligament), MCL (medial cruciate ligament), and meniscus in my left knee. I was then operated on just over 6 months ago on July 28, 2014 in Dallas, TX, USA. Despair, pain, and fear ruled my emotions, and the light at the end of the tunnel seemed infinitely far away.

Well, I'm happy to say that I've reached the other side of the tunnel, and the light is even brighter than expected. While missing out on some big games and international tournaments was certainly frustrating, through the surgery and rehabilitation process I know I was able to grow immensely, overcoming the physical and emotional hurdles which come with a such an injury.

I learned how setting and working diligently toward short term goals while maintaining the end goal in focus is essential to success. I learned how patience and trust in those with previous experience and wisdom (in this case the surgeon, Dr. James Montgomery, and the physical therapists at TOA/D1 Dallas who guided me through the process) is better than rushing and trying to do things on one's own. I learned how depending on family and friends in tough times is not a sign of weakness but instead a necessary reminder of how life is best lived in community.

Also, to everybody who encouraged me throughout these last 8 months, from family to friends (in the US, Argentina, Romania, and all over the world) to teammates to coaches to rivals and to those who don't fit into any of those categories, thank you. We tend to underestimate the power of words and their ability to influence for good or evil, but during my recovery, the messages of encouragement were invaluable to me, pushing me onwards even when things got painful, frustrating, or even repetitive and boring. So, to those who are at some point along the ACL rehab process, take this blog as just that, a word of encouragement to keep going even when you don't want to think about doing another leg raise or single leg squat.

Looking back, the months since my injury and surgery appear to have flown by, although I know that in the moment, the days seemed to crawl by at times. Now, finally cleared to participate in practices (non-contact for the first couple weeks), it almost feels as though I was never hurt, that I'm starting a new season just like the rest of my team, trying to earn my spot back on the field and working towards our goal of winning the league championship.

As of now the only thing I can report is that after a week and a half of preseason with my team (Club Atlético River Plate of Buenos Aires, Argentina), I feel just as I should: sore all over but happy to be playing again.

Football and Friendship, what more does one need?

After reading my last post, it’s very possible, and even more so for those of you who don’t play soccer or have a direct connection with women’s soccer, you have been wondering why the heck does this girl care so much about soccer? Why does she get so excited about a sport that, even though it is the world’s most popular sport, at the end of the day is just a game?

I could tell you it’s because of the competition, the adrenaline pulsing through my veins when I make my way onto the field, shake hands with the opponent and wait anxiously for the referee’s whistle to signal the beginning of the match, the emotion which takes over after a spectacular save which leaves the opposing fans in silence after they had started to cheer just a second too soon, the feeling of pure joy after winning a championship, a clásico, a hard fought game. I could tell you it's because of the life lessons soccer offers such as hard work, dedication, healthy lifestyle, punctuality, patience, and sacrifice. I could even tell you it's because of the recognition which comes with being a female athlete, but then you'd really realize I would be lying.

I'm not saying that those are not valid motives, nor that they do not contribute significantly to my love for soccer, but none of them is the main reason—I recognize that love often cannot be explained by reason, but sometimes it can, as in this case. If my love for soccer was for any, or even all, of the reasons listed above, I would have stopped playing years ago; I might not have even finished playing out my four years of college eligibility. No, if it was for any of those reasons, I would definitely not be writing this blog, living in Argentina, and playing at River Plate; I would most likely be in medical school somewhere in the US, which my parents might have preferred, but that's another story... Anyway, why am I saying all this?

This past weekend, my best friend came to visit me, another player who, like me, is not yet ready to hang up her cleats and leave the game behind. We met at my first college, the University of South Florida, where I studied and played for two years before transferring to Rice University (no it's not named after the food...). We weren't close friends from the start; it took a little while for us to realize we had a lot in common: our faith, our way of thinking, goals, values, sense of humor (okay, I would like to think that, but the reality is she's way funnier than I could ever hope to be), among many other things, but on the field, the situation was completely different. She was our starting defensive center midfielder, was named captain her freshman spring, and was a consistent figure for the team throughout her four seasons while I mainly maintained a marginal role, on the sidelines if you will, as the backup for our ridiculously athletically talented starting goalkeeper. Despite the differences in our college soccer careers, we became friends, and, since then, our friendship has continued to grow. I consider her my sister, a blessing from God, and we are united by an intimate bond which I'm sure will last a lifetime. 

Well, all this to say that, in my opinion, what makes soccer so special are the relationships which are born and cultivated through it. I use my best friend as an example but I could tell you countless stories of other footballing friendships and relationships which have influenced and molded me in some way.

I remember goofing off with my high school soccer teammates at practice and on road trips, hanging out with my sister who was also on the team and realizing she was actually not as dorky as I had imagined but really one of the wittiest girls I've even known (don't get too cocky while reading this, Vanessa...).

I remember how at Rice, despite having a miserable soccer career and experience—easily the worst two years of soccer of my life—I met friends, professors, and mentors who inspired, challenged, and loved me and continue to do so today.

I vividly remember taking off from the international airport in Buenos Aires in 2011, leaving behind my second time training with the Argentine Women's National Team. I can picture the scene exactly, looking out the window at the endless city lights illuminating the pitch black with tears rolling down my cheeks, not because of the disappointment of not being able to continue training with the national team due to complications and delays in the citizenship process but because of the pain of leaving the girls behind, especially not knowing when, or if, I'd see them again (now there are a few I see too often at River... I'm just kidding, I love them and they are a huge blessing in my life).

Even more recently, it's impossible not to mention the support my teammates at River have given me since my injury through messages, hugs, and a even huge banner held before the first match I had to miss. I know I can count on them through the whole rehabilitation process until I'm back on the field. They're my millonaria sisters ("millonario" is a nickname for players and fans of River).

It's moments like these which come to my mind when I think about soccer, even more so than images of games won or lost, than the fleeting feelings of frustration or joy, than memories of innumerable training sessions and matches. Friendships are the essence of soccer, and I thank God for having given me the opportunity to meet and learn from so many amazing people through this beautiful game.

Missing my teammates, can't wait to celebrate with them on the field again soon! (photo credit: Guillermo Larroquette)

Una relación futbolera: amor, pasión y amistad

Después de haber leído mi última publicación es muy probable, y más aún para los que no juegan al fútbol o que no tienen una relación directa con el fútbol femenino, que se estén preguntando ¿pero, qué tiene esta mina con el fútbol? ¿Por qué se apasiona tanto por un deporte que aún siendo el más popular del mundo, al fin y al cabo es un deporte cualquiera?

Podría decirte que es por la competencia, esa adrenalina que surge cuando salís a la cancha, saludás al rival y esperás ansiosamente a que el árbitro señale el comienzo del partido, esa emoción que se apodera de vos que sigue una atajada espectacular en que dejás en silencio a la hinchada rival que había empezado a gritar el gol un poco temprano, esa sensación de alegría total después de ganar un campeonato, un clásico, un partido peleado. Podría decirte que es por las enseñanzas de vida que el fútbol te otorga como el trabajo, la dedicación, la salud corporal, la puntualidad, la paciencia y el esfuerzo puro. Hasta podría decirte que es por el reconocimiento que viene de ser mujer deportista pero ahí ya te darías cuenta de que te estaría mintiendo.

No digo que esos motivos no sean válidos ni que no sean una parte importante de mi amor al fútbol, pero ninguno de ellos es la razón principal—reconozco que el amor a veces no entra en la razón, pero a veces sí, como en este caso. Si mi amor al fútbol fuera por las razones que mencioné arriba, hubiera dejado de jugar hace muchos años, capaz no hubiera terminado de jugar mis cuatro años en la universidad. No, si fuera por eso, seguramente no estaría escribiendo este blog, viviendo en la Argentina y jugando en River Plate, estaría estudiando medicina en alguna facultad de los EEUU, lo cual tal vez hubieran preferido mis viejos... pero eso es otra historia... ¿Por qué digo todo esto?

Este fin de semana me vino a visitar mi mejor amiga, otra jugadora que, como yo, todavía no está lista para dejar el fútbol. Nos conocimos en mi primera universidad, University of South Florida, donde estudié dos años antes de cambiar de universidades para terminar mi licenciatura en Rice University (no, no está nombrada por la comida sino por el hombre que la fundó). No fuimos amigas desde el principio, tardamos un poco en darnos cuenta de que teníamos un montón en común—nuestra fe, la manera de pensar, objetivos, valores, humor (bueno, eso me gustaría creer pero la realidad es que ella es mil veces más graciosa que yo), dentro de muchas otras cosas, pero en la cancha el asunto era otro. Ella jugaba de titular en el mediocampo, fue nombrada capitana después de estar solamente cuatro meses en el equipo, fue figura constante durante sus cuatro temporadas mientras que yo tuve un lugar mucho más marginado como arquera suplente durante mi tiempo ahí. Sin embargo, nos hicimos amigas y desde entonces, a pesar de los años que pasan, los kilómetros, océanos y continentes que nos separan, nuestra amistad sigue creciendo. Cuando nos juntamos, como pasó este fin de semana, es como si no nos hubiéramos separado nunca, y ya han transcurrido casi dos años desde la última vez que nos vimos. La considero una hermana, una bendición de Dios, estamos unidas por una relación estrecha y la cual, estoy segura, durará toda la vida; una relación que surgió gracias al fútbol y a pesar de las diferencias entre nuestras carreras futbolísticas universitarias.

Bueno, todo esto por decir que, para mí, el fútbol es especial sobre todo por las relaciones que genera. Nombro a esta amiga como un ejemplo, pero te podría contar de cualquier cantidad de otras amistades y relaciones futboleras que me han influenciado y moldeado de alguna forma.

Me acuerdo de cómo boludeaba y jugaba con mis compañeras del equipo de secundario.

Pienso cómo en Rice, a pesar de haber sido los peores dos años futbolísticos de mi vida, conocí a amigos, profesores y mentores que me inspiraron, me desafiaron, me quisieron y que hasta hoy lo siguen haciendo.

Recuerdo claramente cuando el avión despegó en el aeropuerto internacional de Buenos Aires en 2011, alejándome de mi segunda experiencia de entrenamiento con la Selección Argentina Femenina. Veo como si fuera hoy cómo se me caían las lágrimas, no por la tristeza de no poder seguir jugando y entrenando con la Selección, por complicaciones y demoras del proceso de naturalización, sino por el dolor de partir y despedirme de las chicas, especialmente ya que no sabía si las volvería a ver—ahora hay algunas que veo demasiado seguido en River... no, mentira chicas, las quiero mucho, son una bendición enorme en mi vida.

Y aún más reciente, es imposible no mencionar el apoyo que me han brindado mis compañeras de River a través de mensajes, abrazos y una bandera enorme desde el día que me lesioné hasta hoy, y sé que podré contar con ellas hasta que esté de nuevo en la cancha. Son mis hermanas millonarias.

Son momentos así que me vienen a la mente cuando pienso en el fútbol, mucho más que imágenes de partidos ganados o perdidos, que las sensaciones temporales de frustración o de alegría, que recuerdos de entrenamientos innumerables. Las amistades, para mí, son la esencia del fútbol, y doy gracias a Dios por haberme dado la oportunidad de conocer y de aprender de tanta gente maravillosa a través de este deporte hermoso.

Las extraño mucho, que lindo que será volver a festejar con ustedes, mis hermanas millonarias (Foto: Guillermo Larroquette)