Our life is made out of the choices we take each and every second. I used to love the Richard Bach books in which he talked about alternate universes. Sometimes I wonder about the choices that lead me to this life I'm living right now. What would have happened had my mom not enrolled me in a Catholic-all-girls school in the third grade? What would have happened had I not come to BYU? What if we stayed in Puerto Rico back in 2002? Where would I be now? What would have happened to me or my family? Would we be better off, or worse? There's no telling because all that matters is what is today and now.
Keane's new album, Night Train, just barely came out and I love all of the songs because of their lyrics. As is Keane's custom, the songs in their albums are connected through a common phrase or theme. This album's is Time, as in how we're always looking back over our shoulders to a time that is already gone. One song says something like, "They say life makes sense backwards, only you have to live it forward."
Today, the team that holds my heart, Rosario Central, descended to a lower division. I can't express how horrible this is for me, for my family, my city. It's been raining all day here in Utah, and to match the mood of the city, it rained in Rosario too.
My youngest brother lives in Argentina, not in Rosario though, so right after the game finished I called him to commiserate together in our solitude (our spouses can't understand what it feels like). He said his mother-in-law told him not to worry— there are worse things than losing a game or a category. And she is so right. She is. But. But it still hurts. For you see? A team is one of the things you can't choose. You either are born into one or aren't. At least in Argentina.
We should be used to losing, and —oh my!— how I wish sometimes I were born in a different team! True, I cheer for Barcelona, but it's not the same. If Lio Messi weren't playing in it, I could care less about it.
Even when I tell myself it doesn't matter, and avoid watching the games, or reading the news online, the truth is, when I look at the clock and see it's almost time for a game, my heart races, my mind flies thousands of miles south to where part of my heart is.
I confess. It's a disease; it's horrible. But in the good times? Like when we won the South American Championship in 1996? The feeling is sublime. Central now has to play in the National B, and try to make it back to National League. We've been in this situation before. I know we'll make it out again.
I truly think it's a curse that we got just by being born in Rosario. Even the greatest player in the world, Lio Messi, always goes back to it even if it's only for a day or two. Though it's not the mos beautiful, modern, or safe city, I miss it. I want to be there with my fellow Scoundrels through this dark night. But no more looking back; we have to look at the future. And now, after this, I really need Argentina to win the World Cup. Nothing else will do.
I know by now I've already missed most of my followers and readers. I figured there's plenty of blogs that offer great writing advise, so what can I add to what's already been said? But Central and Rosario are the soul of my stories. I left the barrio, but the barrio never left me. Just to give you a glimpse of what the Scoundrel band is like, you can watch this video if you want. The Scoundrels cheer even when we lose (yes, it's "we" not just the players). Tell me it's not insanity?