| EFE |
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| Argentine fan |
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An eerie calm befalls Buenos Aires. The normal roar of trucks and taxis fades to a lull. The shuffling masses melt away from once-bustling sidewalks. Even the air seems still as traffic jams evaporate and the streets empty out.
It's World Cup time again and all eyes are turned to Germany.
Whenever Argentina's national squad comes on the field, Buenos Aires turns into a ghost town as offices shut down, stock trading slows and classrooms idle for the 90 minutes (or more) of all-engrossing sport known here as "futbol." The World Cup is the culmination of four years of preparation, hopes and anxieties.
Here soccer is more than just a pastime. It's a national obsession in a country that won the World Cup twice and where fascination with "futbol" is only matched in its biggest South American rival, five-time champion Brazil.
Four years ago, Argentina was humiliated by a shocking first-round elimination. Today, many Argentines still wince when they recall the team's worst performance in history.
"It was terrible ... the game ended at 8 o'clock on a Friday morning," said Gabriel Del Rio, a clothing store salesman who remembers the final Argentine match in 2002 just as older Americans recall where they were when man walked on the moon. "Everyone had to come into the shop, but we just couldn't work."
Those past shocks are now giving way to new fervor.
Argentina led Group C, then beat Mexico 1-0 in a hard-fought overtime match in Saturday's second-round. Now the country is in suspense, awaiting host Germany in a quarterfinal Friday.
Roberto Fontanarrosa, an Argentine novelist who writes about soccer for the big daily Clarin, said soccer is a matter of national pride.
"We have politicians saying that Argentina is a part of the First World, but this isn't reality. In soccer, however, we're in league with the world's best and our successes inspire pride in the country."
Argentina won its first Cup in 1978 at home under the watchful eye of the military dictatorship. Then Argentina repeated in 1986 when Diego Maradona nearly single-handedly led his squad to victory in Mexico. There, in the quarterfinals, he outraced English defenders from midfield to bury the ball in the net in what many call the greatest World Cup goal.
But the roots of "futbol" go much farther back.
Soccer was introduced to Argentina in the 1800s by English and Italian railroad workers and sailors who organized neighborhood matches. Clubs spread throughout the country and in Buenos Aires, where the premier league is dominated by River Plate and Boca Juniors, founded in 1901 and 1905, respectively.
"Professional soccer is just the tip of the iceberg," Fontanarrosa noted.
Thousands of children, adults, and even old men play religiously each week throughout their lives. And in a country where a third of the people live in poverty, this is one game that requires no expensive equipment.
There is the national paralysis whenever Argentina plays.
Train service is cut to a minimum. Plentiful taxis suddenly become scarce.
Jose Luis Camano, a taxi dispatcher, said only a quarter of the taxis usually plying the streets work when Argentina plays, and to a man they have their radios tuned to the match.
World Cup merchandise sales also soar.
Juan Gonzales, manager of a small sports clothing shop in Buenos Aires, said sales of national team jerseys surged after Argentina's game with Serbia-Montenegro. Sales could jump 300-400 percent if Argentina makes it to the finals.
Many public schools suspend classes when Argentina plays and allow students to watch the matches instead. Many businesses and malls have large-screen televisions in the windows to retain customers.
Argentina's matches have been, by far, the most-watched broadcasts on television this month, outpacing the steamy soap operas that usually dominate the ratings. Meanwhile, newspapers reported a huge jump in the sale of big-screen sets.
Victories spur spontaneous celebrations, the crowds getting bigger with each triumph. Some 10,000 chanting fans rallied Saturday night around the Obelisk, a stone spire in Buenos Aires after the Mexico match.
Still, there are those even in Argentina who do not live or breathe soccer. Guillermo Doliner, a Buenos Aires resident, hasn't watched a single match.
"It's a distraction from the things that really matter," he said.
To this minority unmoved by soccer, Fontanarossa comments: "It's like someone being in Rio de Janeiro and not participating in the Carnival or being in Pamplona and avoiding the running of the bulls. These individuals are just left out."
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