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Jeremy Schmidt's Argentina For Real
Hola Boludos,
Instead of writing a traditional blogpost, I decided to distill a memory from this weekend in this way...
My friends and I step off the platform and begin to wander towards the stadium. We are in the leafy neighborhood of San Isidro. As we pass a highway bridge, I ponder just how the leaves contrast with the sun low in the fall sky and… and…BAAAM!!! Gunshots are fired, fireworks pierce the air, smoke rises. They appear from the center of the road below us. This group of unsightly bunch smothered in blue and black paint emerge from under the bridge roaring for their favorite teams while their stumbling friends stumble behind pounding on the drums. Once inside the field, we sit on steps which serve as seats and things fall quiet… but wait… The bunch approaches. This unwieldy group decides to sit next to us and now they are by my side! Meanwhile, on the grass below overgrown men pummel, sack, and hurl each other in the hair to get the oval ball, and every second I'm hoping I don't see a paraplegic in the making. Halfway through, for some unknown reason, the fans beside me bombard the field with white toilet paper and after a breath and a half the field is white. No matter, the jocks continue to grunt and chase after the pelota anyway with the white strips clinging to their cleats. I sit back and absorb this strange sport called Rugby as it is played in Argentina.
- comments
Marsha Wow! I got the sense of excitement, incredulity, and action asyou try to make sense of this game called Rugby in Argentina. But gunshots? Help! Is that how they start the game? No wonder you were "awakened"!!!