'Leo's last'

L'Hospitalet de LlobregatArgentines don't watch the match, they surrender to it, following the rhythm of cumbia as if football were going to save their lives. The Hyat hotel in L'Hospitalet, the designated place for the institutional gathering of Argentines exiled in Barcelona, is an UFO in the middle of nowhere. But if you put an empanada stand and a couple of Maradona banners in a carpeted hall, it's enough to build a country. Almost all the shirts are Messi's and all tattooed skins include some reference to Maradona. The percussion and the lololos are tireless, it's impossible to hear your own voice or understand the lyrics of the chants which, as a die-hard Barça fan as I am, seem too festive and calm for a World Cup final. I understand this by interviewing Argentinians who have taken the opportunity to dye their hair blue and paint the albiceleste on their cheeks: Alicia and Rosana, from Mar del Plata and Buenos Aires, have been here for over 15 years, and, like everyone I speak to, they tell me that their emotional voltage was sublimated against England, and that they feel so grateful because Spain has welcomed them that they would even be happy in case of defeat in the final. "Win or lose, then we'll go to the [Arc de] Triomf to celebrate". I don't think the boys dressed in Catalan national team shirts or Barça's quadribarrada think the same: it turns out there are a handful of young Catalans who have decided to come to the Argentinian gathering to feel at home, an insurmountable metaphor for the country that will need to be prepared for those who say "football and politics must be separated".

The first roar erupts when Lionel Messi's name is announced, and the first whistle of generalized censorship is carried away by a close-up of Donald Trump speaking in Gianni Infantino's ear. Now that things are serious, a more recognizable unease dampens the enthusiasm, especially with every approach of the Spanish national team. The match is so dense that the void is filled by overexciting oneself with any foul and, above all, by singing La cuarta estrella: “For the Malvinas, for Diego, for Leo's last one, Argentina I want to see you as two-time champions”. The first half ends and the objective dominance of the Spaniards on the field is incapable of penetrating the subjective bubble of the Argentine fans. The musical performances at halftime matter absolutely no one, and Justin Bieber and Shakira are swept aside by a version of Sobreviviendo, an anthem that, for the same price, allows you to shake your hips and roar anti-colonialist slogans. We look at each other among the Catalans and share a choked sigh of national envy.

The nerves of a final

The second half begins: “Vamos Argentina, Carajo!!”. The game gets bogged down and the smallest details are enough to release the accumulated tension. The truce is over, and if a Spanish player falls to the ground now it's already a matter of state. The very dense second half drags on as if the only player for Argentina were Dibu Martínez, but faith does not falter. Enzo Martínez's expulsion is clear enough for people to prefer to cover it up with animation rather than scandal, and it serves to shake off the accusations of favoritism that have been looming for some time “Then say that ArgenFifa!”. The foul at the edge of the area does indeed bring silence. The execution of the free kick, so drawn-out and fragmented that it is both tragic and comical, transforms us into spectators of a death match from a spaghetti western. Dibu stops the ball with more haste than sense: so many times have they shouted “for Leo's last chance” that we are now in the territory of prayer and destiny.But fate is cruel. Ferran Torres scores a goal as lackluster as the entire final and, for the first time all night, the drums stop. The shock of reality is harsh, but not even a minute has passed before the crowd has returned to “Olé Olé Ole, every day I love you more, I am Argentine, it’s a feeling, I can’t stop”. Messi takes the last two set-piece plays and every time the camera zooms in on him, the Argentinians believe again.