Sovereign demonstration of everything a fan can do for the love of his shirt. The tears of sadness for the just defeat on the field of play cannot and should not wet the shocking scene of that Sabbalero town that opened the mouth of admiration to all of South America.
High front, erect body, swollen chest, firm voice, sure step… It doesn't matter if the soul is broken for a while and the heart is shattered… It doesn't matter… Shout to everyone that the heart has reasons that reason itself doesn't understand. Show your children and grandchildren the aerial photo of Fernando Nicola minutes before starting the game. Tell him it's not the Columbus court. Explain that it is a stadium located in another country, almost 1,000 kilometers away and is called "La Nueva Olla". Let it be clear that they filled it, that they populated the streets of Asuncion del Paraguay, that they even went by bicycle, that they sold what little they could sell to gather the necessary mangoes, that perhaps they did not eat, that they got wet, that they provided a supreme spectacle , unique, unpublished for Argentina. Tell him that he was compared to a great like Racing and in a match, theirs, for a world final; and also clarify that they won, that they were more fans of Columbus in Paraguay than those of Racing in Uruguay, that afternoon of the decisive match against Celtic. In case anyone asks them.
Show that picture and tell him you were there. And ask him something: that this photo and those words are transmitted from generation to generation, as did your parents or grandparents with you, because they, from heaven, accompanied you, guided you, were there, in your souls, in their hearts shouted for Columbus like you and dried their tears in defeat. It was so, those tears were not dried by their own hands, or the wind, or any handkerchief that was miraculously immune to the storm; These tears were dried by those parents or grandparents who, in the sky, watched the colossal, fantastic, impressive, dazzling spectacle that opened the mouth of admiration, respect, emotion and recognition to South America and the world as well. They went down for a moment, kissed their foreheads again, dried their tears and, although you have not noticed, they returned to say: "I love you."
Tell him that the inheritance they are going to leave may be minimal from the material, but enormous from the feeling. Tell him that in that picture you are and that in that picture is everything. Explain that you have to want like that, without barriers and without reproaches; without limits, with an open heart, although today it hurts in your soul.
Explain to them that on the court there was a team that did what it could to another that was superior and that won well. That precisely destiny wanted the most beloved, the most beloved, the one who came galloping in search of that seat of honor exclusively reserved for those chosen as the genius of Cococho Alvarez, Chiva Di Meola, Loco Gonzalez or the immeasurable Bichi Fuertes , just him, that boy who was born as humble as many of those who filled La Nueva Olla with passion, had the misfortune that what never happened happened to him: he marked a penalty at a key moment in the game, which could have given him The chance of the miracle.
Breathe deeply, deeply, do not let tears and emotion cut your throat; and continue. Tell him that there were people who asked for days at work but that there were others who escaped, who left everything, who didn't care about anything. They wanted only one thing: to turn around. It was an illusion that I didn't know about soccer issues, about brave analysis, about game realities that they didn't want to see.
And continue: tell him that people exploded and cried when Los Palmeras started with that "You don't have to tell me that I'm a race …". And that they also cried when the permissive Raphael Claus (strict at the beginning and very wide at the limit of patience when the Independent players dedicated themselves to talk and make time, in addition to playing) whistled the end. But they found, also spontaneously, a reaction corresponding to the dictates of the heart: the applause of recognition for those players who on the court did what they could and left everything. In the pain of defeat, pride arose to know that there is a tomorrow, that nothing ended with the final whistle of Claus, that Saturday must be a stumble to get back up, as the suffering Columbus did so many times and will continue to do so. No fan of Columbus will flee from his feeling, he will shine it as many times as he needs even if defeat hurts them in the deepest part of the soul.
Show that picture of The New Pot. Inflate your chest, release the pain you have in your soul and let yourself be carried away by the pride that makes your heart explode. Tell your children and grandchildren that they were there, that they amazed the world, that no one can easily forget this November 9, which was the greatest thing that was seen in 114 years of life, that they surpassed the historical deed of Cordoba de 26 years ago and they mobilized for a passion that does not feed them but that fills their hearts.
Tell him that Columbus lost the South American on the court but that he won the World in the stands. And that you were one more in that crowd. And now they come back home to tell you that in this picture is the best inheritance, so that they can transmit it from generation to generation, as did their parents and grandparents with you, who from heaven accompanied you with the cry of those who already they are in the eternal silence, that they dried their tears in The New Pot although you have not noticed and that today they are asking you – ordering! – to take care for all times and generations, that passion that has no limits or knows of defeats