Paper or plastic?
I don’t even know whether they ask you this anymore at grocery store checkouts in the U.S. Maybe this is now a quaint archaism, but it used to be emblematic of decision-making between X and Y. Other examples I can think of quickly are boxers or briefs?, dogs or cats?, smoking or non-?, window or aisle?, red or white?, Ginger or Maryanne?, etc. Arriving somewhere new often involves questions like this, and they are usually fired at you when you are least prepared and frequently when you have insufficient data upon which to base your decision.
The moment I stepped off the plane in Buenos Aires I was immediately called upon to choose: ¿River or Boca? This question, it later turned out, was about which football club I would support. River Plate (red, white, black) and Boca Juniors (bright blue & yellow) were the premier clubs, perennial winners and bitter rivals. I really couldn’t decide between them, so annoyingly stout in victory was each, so finally I decided to throw my support behind Racing (say Rassing), a much-despised and hopeless case. This is the club that was named world champion after defeating Glasgow United when I was in diapers, but which had since declined to the point of national embarrassment. I liked their jerseys.
Countless people took me aside and quietly counseled, “you cannot support Racing. It simply isn’t done. You must choose between River or Boca.” I chafed at this, but after several weeks of increasingly severe prodding I grudgingly agreed to appear to back River Plate in public places.
In spite of my red, white, and black beard, Facundo learned that I was a closet Racing fan and came over in his jersey, vertical stripes of white and celeste. “Racing is playing Newell’s Old Boys [black & red]! We need you to support the team!” I made some excuses at the hotel (owned by a River forward) and crept out with Facu. In a darkened parlor with drawn shades a small group of outcasts and losers quietly cheered as Racing prevailed and our faces reflected flickering bands of celeste.
As the season progressed, the gentle remonstrations about the impossibility of my support for Racing, even clandestine, grew more heated. Racing was doing the unthinkable: WINNING. San Lorenzo (red & blue), Rosario Central (ditto), Talleres Córdoba (navy & white), none could withstand the Racing onslaught as they drove amazingly, relentlessly, toward the Apertura cup. In the end, not even the combined bulk of Boca and River could hold them back.
I had somewhat lost track of the standings in the turmoil surrounding the financial collapse of early December. The pesos I’d saved, originally pegged one-to-one with U.S. dollars, lost 75% of their value overnight. Only through the intervention of a friend was I able to convert my pesos into dollars at par and afford a plane ticket to Slovenia. So it was on a plane between Milan and Trieste, en route to the unknown isogloss, that I wept sweet tears of joy as I read of Racing’s victory.
I crossed the border between Italy and Slovenia in dismal December rain. As I presented my passport the border guard’s stern glare reflected the grey of the sky. He glanced at my papers and demanded, Laško ali Union?
(Today, June 20th, is Día de la Bandera, Flag Day, in Argentina).
You’ve struck quite a chord here.
Both my brother and myself were lifelong Ferro fans, a very obscure, green-and-white team, currently playing on 3rd division.
I know what you mean :-)
In any case, my mother is and her father was very hardcode Racing fans. My grandpa would watch the matches, and tear his Racing Club ID in two if they didn’t win. Of course, he’d go the following week to get a new one :-)
Comment by Carlitos Yoder — Saturday 22 October 05 @ 22.54 MDT+2.00