Initially I called him Zenón. Because the name was printed on the back of his Boca Juniors T-shirt, the classic deep blue one with the horizontal yellow bar. I guessed it must have been a present from his dad, who was lifting the five-year old kid onto a barrier of the stadium on this sunday night. In that way he could at least still see the match. And watch the real Zenón play, because as it turned out the home side had a player with that name.
It was already approaching midnight, but MY Zenón was still wide awake. His slightly older brother was present as well, also in blue of course. The entire family had come to La Bombonera, a phenomenon that turned out to be an Argentinian tradition, as I learned over the course of two weeks of football matches in Buenos Aires.
Rain or shine, kick-off at 5pm or 9.45pm, people take their kids to the stadium and make sure they grow up with the beautiful game. There was the young mother at Lanus stadium who was having her sleeping daughter on her lap whilst watching a game of her favorite team Lanus. Or the small kid at Velez Sarsfield who was crawling down the steps towards his seat, because he was intimidated by the steep second tier stand of the José Amalfitani stadium.
They wouldn’t always pay attention to what happened on the pitch. At Independiente, Huracan and San Lorenzo there is space between the stands and the pitch for the kids themselves to play football, or to just play. Papa, mama and often the abuelo (grandfather) have more important things to do. And if the children do want to watch the game, but unlike my Zenón cannot crawl on a barrier, they climb into the fence close to the pitch to see their heroes play.
Football, so much is obvious, is the lifeblood of the Argentinian soul. In a politically deeply polarized country, where left-leaning policies can go hand in hand with authoritarian tendencies, it is the one topic everyone can talk about. They might not all adore football, but everyone has his own favorite team. And most will wear its colors every day, on the streets of Buenos Aires. Because these patterns and colors are an expression of where you come from and what you stand for.,
Yes, you have the two big teams (Boca and River Plate) that have fans all over the country. Although the Millonarios are often associated with the upper classes of society, and Boca stems from the working-class neighborhood of its name in the south of Buenos Aires.
But almost every other club in the Argentinian capital is deeply connected to its barrio (neighborhood). The expression ‘you do not choose your club, the club chooses you’ is filled with life here. You support the club where you were born, or the club of your parents. Usually they are the same. And you cannot file for divorce anymore.
It is stunning to see the masses exit the stadium after a match and watch them pour back into the surrounding streets, into the local bars and their homes. After a couple of blocks you are almost on your own walking towards the nearest train or subway station. Because Huracan fans come from the nearby Parque Patricios area. San Lorenzo comes from Boedo and plays in the next-door Bajo Flores district. Velez Sarsfield has its base in Liniers and the surrounding villas (slums). Lanus and Banfield football clubs even carry the name of their neighborhood.
This is where their fans live. It’s probably also the reason there is a last-minute rush at almost every game. Half an hour before the game, most stadiums are almost empty. From the Platea Sur stand of the Nuevo Gasometro stadium I could see the stream of San Lorenzo fans swell towards the stadium in the last fifteen minutes. Why come early if you live around the corner anyway?
Only the hardcore fans, the barra bravas, come early. They warm up their singing voices under the stands, thrust forward by the drum bands playing the batucada style of music. They try new songs, have a laugh. And then enter the stadium in spectacular fashion around fifteen minutes before the match, occupying the central standing area respectfully left vacant by the other fans. They climb on the barriers, keeping their balance by holding the tirantes (banners) in club colors that are strung across the stand, in a delicate balancing act that is bound to go wrong but hardly ever does. The entrance of the hardcore fans is a wake-up call for everyone, a call to arms: the party can start.
There is one exception to this last-minute rush and it is of course Boca Juniors. Everything about this club is bigger and different than with the local competition. Boca is both a genuine working-class neighborhood and a tourist trap. The barra bravas of La 12 are both a passionate bunch of fans and a bunch of show-offs, very much self-aware of their fame and reputation. La Bombonera is both an exemplary icon of the concrete temples that are Argentinian stadiums, and a scary death trap that makes no sense it still exists in this form in this place. The entire club is a strange mix of contradictions.
In my pre-visit imagination the peculiar shape of the stadium (three huge tiers on three sides, and a very narrow wall of VIP boxes on one side) was determined because there was no more space available in the middle of the Boca barrio. But to my surprise, during a first recon visit during the week to come prepared for the sunday night match, there is lots of space. There is almost an entire ‘Boca world’ around the Bombonera, owned by the club. Because like almost all other Argentinian clubs, Boca has many sport departments, and the training facilities are around La Bombonera. If they really wanted to rebuild the stadium in this neighborhood, they could. There is even a park quite close to the arena.
Yes, of course there is the railway line behind one of the big stands, but that is not really in use anymore. The biggest space constraints are of course on the southern stand, where the entrance gates are deadbang on Brandsen street, and especially the narrow stand along the Dr. del Valle Iberluca street. If they wanted to expand the stadium on this side, which is still the plan, they would have to buy two blocks of houses.
Because this is really hardcore La Boca. Blocks of narrow streets. Shops and bars and grill restaurants painted in blue. Murals of Diego Maradona, or the famous Republica de la Boca painting. Merchandise can be bought everywhere. Because there are tourists everywhere, making pictures, queueing for the stadium tour, or looking for nearby Camenita street with its famous street art. The roots of the club are deep and genuine, but it also has a hue of Disneyworld, Boca-style. Where socialism ends and commercialism starts is quite unclear.
There is still lots of authenticity to be found at the Xeinezes, as is the nickname of the fans, of course. But you have to look much harder than elsewhere in the city. There is no make-up at Velez Sarsfield for example. What you see is what you get. A working-class area in the west of the city, far away from the tourist crowds. There are people grilling and selling choripans (the Argentinian version of hot dog) on the street, food swimming in salmonella and to be avoided at all cost by foreigners. The Pancho Estadio kiosk opposite the entrance of the main stand at least has some basic level of hygiene selling choripan as well, and serves beer in plastic cups. The last chance of alcohol until the end of the match, because there is none to be had in Argentinian stadiums.
The José Amalfitani arena itself rises far above the working-class houses around it, and is easily visible from the nearby highway and the train line. It is as Argentinian as it gets: concrete, steep stands, reduced to an absolute skeleton. There are only semi-improvised drinking booths under the stands, and an unimpressive amount of barebone toilets. The two main stands have two tiers and tower above the rest. There is no roof, the wind can do whatever it wants here. This must be an unforgiving place on wet autumn nights.
But this also has the level of authenticity that draws hordes of football lovers from all over the world to Buenos Aires. It is miles away from the slick billion dollar arenas in Europe, that all look similar: a stadium bowl, neat seats, catering stands everywhere, VIP boxes for big business and restaurants to suck even more money out of smaller businesses.
At Velez, as with the other clubs, there is none of that. They hardly even play music before the match. Strong guys walk around with big baskets selling softdrinks, so people don’t even need to leave their seat. Even those seats are sometimes as uncomfortable as possible, for example the concrete ones at Huracan in the epic Palacio Ducó stadium. In the Amalfitani, the rows and seats are even unnumbered: you can choose your own place, first come first served. Not that that seemed to motivate people to arrive early. Even at the terraces, behind both goals, it was relatively calm until fifteen minutes before kick-off, when the sound of the drums prevails and the barra bravas enter the ground.
And still these concrete skeletons feel full of life. They are the destination of a bi-weekly pilgrimage from the faithful. Soaked in the colors of the club, in every corner of the building. At Velez Sarsfield it is the beautiful deep blue. Lanus has the bourgondy red stands (they call it ‘granate’ themselves). At Huracan you can see the club logo painted in white on top of the red colors. Same goes for nearby local rivals San Lorenzo. And of course, of course, La Bombonera is in blue and yellow.
When I arrive there on sunday night, for the last of my seven matches on my first trip, there is no last-minute rush. There is just this continuous stream of fans in the many streets around the arena. Walking through narrow streets like Pilcomayo or Arzobispo Espinosa you get the feeling these are the places where the barra bravas warm up, instead of the bars adjacent to the stadium.
You cannot even get near the Bombonera without a ticket. The neighborhood obviously already is on the brink of collapse during every home game, a deluge of 54’000 fans descending on the small neighborhood. It is probably also the reason many people arrive early: When I one hour before the match finally make my way up the endless concrete stairs, a claustrophobic experience in itself, the terraces are already pretty full. This is the famous second tier of the north stand, where the barra brava of La 12 stand. The third tier hovers above us, creating another claustrophobic experience. There are no walkways here: only with perseverance and patience, by pushing and squeezing, you manage to create some space for yourself. This feels like standing front of stage at a rock concert, balancing yourself in this sea of people. Except in this case. the band never stops playing.
When the guys selling drinks push themselves through the crowds, the delicate equilibrium is destroyed and you need to be careful not to fall down the steep and slippery (because painted) steps. Except Zenón of course, who sits quite comfortably on one of the barriers. His mother hands him an energy bar, so he can stay awake for the 9.45pm kick-off.
Not that it would be easy to fall asleep in the arena. The bateria (drums) are already banging out the batucada rhythms, the crowds on this side of the stadium are chanting the songs. Zenón participates as well, moving his right underarm forward in typical Argentinian style. These people are born and raised with this.
There are fireworks on the pitch. You hardly even notice the players enter the stadium. But then, football is almost the sideshow here. Some of the fanatic fans are so busy singing and/or balancing themselves in the tirantes, they hardly see the game.
Not that they miss out on much, because the football itself unfortunately follows the rhythm of the batucada: Relentless, fast, and sloppy. There is so much energy in these games, nobody seems able to slow the match down, take time to set up a decent attack, show some real skill. Instead there is an awful lot of running with and without the ball, flying tackles which are usually ignored by the referees, and endless diving for horrible fouls, followed by divine fast recoveries when there is no whistle. It might not be beautiful, but it is hugely entertaining to watch.
The contradiction on the stands is that the energy on the pitch is not always mirrored in the crowd. The videos on social media, mine included, gave the impression the stadiums are bouncing every second of the game. But that is only true for the hardcore fans surrounding the baterias. The rest of the stadium is often relatively silent, comparable to European games. Until, yes, there are these eruptions that create the second part of the contradiction: a sound so massive, chants so unique you will get goosebumps.
When you hear ‘Boca Alegría de mi corazón’ roll down the stands of the Bombonera, the crowd on every stand on every tier bumping around in all directions, the concrete literally crumbling, you realize you are in a football city like no other. I look at Zenón and wonder whether he is too young to realize that as well… Whether, at some point in the future, he understands this feeling of being crammed between strangers, the roar of bateria in his chest, is not a given. And that football—real football—is not meant to be tidy. and comfortable, but much more like this.
