From ecstasy to agony our history oscillates

Thus came the third. The 10th found a rebound from Lloris and pushed it after a perfect triangulation and a right hand from Lautaro. Argentina yells it, yells it out and yells it again, because the lineman’s raised flag succumbs to the referee’s index finger, which marks the middle of the field. And the cycle repeats itself. The selection comes forward. to hold on Better to do it with the ball, the ruling of the game.

There is a substantial difference with the scenario proposed by the Netherlands. In that duel, despite the tie at the last second, Argentina never showed despondency. On the contrary, in the supplementary it was a blitzkrieg and crushed the oranges, who managed to stretch out the agony thanks to fortune and poor white-and-blue aim. With France, on the other hand, there were moments of anxiety. It was only with the entry of the interceptor Paredes that the game refreshed and Scaloni’s men were fine again.

So, as things are, the 125 minutes fall. Pezzella settles in and number five hovers over the area with her death shadow. In Argentine houses it is thought that this took too long. Why is everything so hard for us? From how the hand came, it should already be liquidated.

But missing. And you have to bank. And there is a clearance. And he lands on Mbappé’s right foot. Right there, which is hell. A subtle touch to accommodate her and fire. Montiel desperately runs to cover it up. His arm gets in the way. Penalty for France. Goal for France. 3 to 3. Five to go. To pray to Diego, to believe in Leo. Penalties are manifest destiny. Or not. There is one last hit left per hit.

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NA

Otamendi sees the frontal hit coming, but miscalculates and fails. Sneaky Kolo Muani lets her bite and slips behind enemy lines. When he can already smell the Dibu, he takes out the saber. A dream kick, with the leg well back and full of fury. The Argentine goalkeeper becomes enormous, as they advise against wild beasts, and falls on Qatari soil. A sigh of 47 million moves the ball away from the area. The rapporteurs did not finish accommodating the ruff when Lautaro is already nodding on the nose of Hugo Lloris. The marker is a liar: for him, nothing happened.

Then the penalties will come, the epilogue of an anthology duel between a challenger with plenty of arguments, and a world champion who will make it clear that he is not giving up or even defeated. From that chaos, from that chess battle that Argentina had won for a long time, the third star of a brave and daring team will emerge, which walked neither ahead nor behind its world man, but at his side.

There were seven consecutive finals. Without exaggerating. From that Arab slap, to Montiel’s tears on the shirt, through the dominance against Mexico and Poland, the caution against Australia, the Dutch mess and the anti-Croat forcefulness.

“We are not going to leave them lying around,” Messi had warned when the pass to the second round was unknown. He did not say “we are not going to let them down” or “we are going to fulfill them.” No. He said “we’re not going to let them down.” Like a friend, a confidante. As this selection of pranksters, scoundrels and loyal kids speak, who run for each other when they can’t take it anymore.

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Qatar 2022 passed. Questioned, unpredictable, great. The most Argentine World Cup was won by Argentina. Everything intense, everything to the stick. From ecstasy to agony. Quarterfinals or the world final: we never played for third place. Never. Money or shit, always.

That’s how intense it was. Just like the five million people who came out to cheer their heroes in a bursting summer Buenos Aires. That commoner crowd that took over bridges, highways and avenues. How were we going to lose a World Cup in the spring? How were we going to deprive ourselves of going out to celebrate? To assemble our mugs, to flip our shirts around, to climb high up to be there, closer to Diego. Maybe we even won it just for that. To bother.