- December 26, 2024
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The No. 18 on Rodrigo Piñeiro’s sky-blue AFA jersey is no mistake. It’s Lionel Messi all right, even though “La Pulga” currently sports No. 10.
Piñeiro lived 27 years in Mar Del Plata, Argentina, before moving to Miami and ultimately — Palm Coast. And on this Sunday, Father’s Day, he’s sitting on a breakfast stool in Hernán Longo’s F-section home. As one of the Mexican announcers on the Univision Channel rattles off Argentina’s starting 11 for a Group F World Cup match with Bosnia and Herzegovina, Longo and Piñeiro cheer each name.
“For all those people (in Argentina), it’s like the end of the world,” Piñeiro explained. “It’s Sunday there, but if the game was in the middle of the week, nobody would work.”
His sister, Fernanda, works in a call center back in Mar Del Plata. Her usual sea of cubicles has been interrupted with a huge projector screen for employees to watch the matches. Piñeiro, 41, clutches an iPhone in his right hand and balances his six-month-old daughter, Isabella on his right knee. With each touch, he’s messaging friends and family in the Southern Hemisphere. I’m a lucky guest at this gathering of a half dozen Argentines, two Uruguayans and one Italian.
In the third minute, La Albiceleste earns a free kick deep in Bosnian territory. Messi (who else) winds in a perfect left-footed ball to start the set piece. It hangs up in the box for a few moments before deflecting off one of Bosnia’s defenders and landing in the back of the net.
“Goal!” everyone screams. No translator needed for that one. Piñeiro kisses Isabella twice on her cheek, and Hernán takes off on a lap around the island kitchen countertops, cooling down by hoisting his wife Ronina above his head.
The rest of the first half is sloppy (at least by Argentinian standards), and I begin to make out some frustration on the part of my Spanish-speaking hosts.
“I would translate,” Rodrigo’s wife, Ximena says, “but most of what they’ve been shouting have been curse words.”
I can tell. My six years of Spanish are a true indictment of the American education system, but still, I can recognize the “ce” word, the “eme” word and the “pe” word. They mean exactly the same thing as their English counterparts and are usually invoked for exactly the same reasons.
At halftime with Argentina leading 1-0, Piñeiro slips outside for a cigarette, and I join him. He explains that tomorrow is older daughter Angelina’s seventh birthday, and he relishes the two occasions touching on the calendar.
“For me it’s something special,” he says. “But most of the people in Argentina don’t care if it’s Father’s Day or Mother’s Day if there’s fútbol on.”
We discuss other cultural subtleties, about how the average Argentine is very involved in national politics and is likely to root for a First Division soccer club from anywhere — not just his hometown. Piñeiro explains governments even use the World Cup for their own devices, distracting citizens from war or economic strife.
Then, he describes a situation that makes perfect sense to a rabid American sports fan.
“My country has a great team, probably one of the best teams in the world, but the Argentinians don’t like the team,” he said. “We have a lot of good players, but everyone is a star. Messi gets tens of millions of dollars to play for Barcelona but when he comes back to Argentina to play for the national team, it’s not like the players were 10 or 20 years ago.”
Let’s call that one the Miami Heat complex mixed with a bit of post-Miracle U.S. Hockey dream-team disillusionment. But, times are different than when Piñeiro grew up. Soccer fans in Argentina are now living in the A.D.M. era — or After Diego Maradona.
“After Maradona, the people want to be on the national team,” he said. “When they call back people from outside the country, they don’t have international spirits, but the fútbol is better."
We went back inside the house, they played for 43 more minutes and Argentina won, 2-1. But no one celebrated — they seemed relieved, maybe — but not in the mood you’d expect of fans of a team perched atop group standings.
Maybe, though, there’s a barrier at play when interpreting the body language of a people who live for days like this.
“It’s a passion,” Piñeiro said. “It’s another thing.”
Editor’s Note: Ximena Alfaro is the designer for the Palm Coast and Ormond Beach Observers.
