A Pagan Battle

With all of this cultural analysis and reflection, I finally had a chance to get down and dirty with Mexican traditions. I went to a football game.

I am talking about the real football, the kind you play with your feet. Paco, Ismael, and I scored tickets to one of the most sought after sporting events in Latin America, the sold-out finals of the Copa Sudamericana between the Los Pumas de UNAM (México City) and the Boca Juniors (Argentina).

As it is in most of Latin America, and the world for that matter, football is more than a sport, it’s even more than a cult, it’s a religion. In Mexico, this is heightened by the fact that they are good (see World Cup 2006 seedings). I bet you are asking yourself, well, self, how is soccer a religion? Don’t worry, I’ll tell you.

Religion. It is defined as “a set of beliefs, values, and practices based on the teachings of a spiritual leader” and “a personal or institutionalized system grounded in such belief and worship.” Without saying a whole lot more, I can delve into the depths of this pagan religion.

Rituals. As you enter the stadium, you present your ticket. The bullet-proof vest protected policemen are far less concerned with your ticket than with you. I passed through a series of checks by at least four different policemen.

You think Washington-Dulles has tough security? Similar to the airport, the first check resulted in my having to take my belt off. However, at the airport, you get in back after you pass through security. At football games, you have to check your belt at the gate entrance. Well, I wouldn’t go as far as calling it a belt check, in reality you pay an old toothless man $1 to hold onto your belt during the game. According to Paco, belts are typically used to wave around your head and hit people with during games instead of the traditional purpose of keeping ones pants up. Who knew.

Unlike Church, people show up three hours early to guarantee a good seat. Similar to Church, you dress for the part. Instead of a suit or nice clothes, everyone is decked out in gold and blue. Only Puma apparel is accepted. It is a good thing I wore my blue sweatshirt because the color was enough to deflect attention, but I was the only one in the whole stadium not wearing something Puma.

Prayer. Like for most sports ceremonies the National Anthem kicks off the festivities. However, rather than post the words on the big screen TV (yes they had a big screen, this is football people), an advertisement for one of the sponsors remained up. Unfortunately that meant that I was lost, but I pretended to sing along. After the anthem came the more important prayer: the Pumas Creed. During the anthem, some people put their arms over their chests, but most didn’t. All of the faithful, everyone in the stadium, extended one arm out hailing the Pumas and said the creed together. The words appeared on the big screen TV and the feeling of unity was mesmerizing. They did this at the beginning and ended the game the same way.

Psalms. Drums beat. There is a war cry. The troops are rallied when the faithful wave one arm around their heads whistling. Everyone knows that the time has come, as arms pump ferociously in the air, they yell, “uno, dos, tres….. Gooooooooooo-ya! Goooooooooooooo-ya! Cha-chu-chu-kah, rrrraa raa, cha-chu-chu-kah, rrraa, ra, gooooooooooo-ya!!!!!! Universidad!!” Everyone goes nuts and thrusts their arms wildly about. Who knew that hands and arms could be so expressive? As I cheered and shook my hands in fury, my pants kept slipping down. Stupid belt rule.

There are about a half dozen songs, far too complex for me to learn in such a setting, but I got the main chant down. Some songs are simply a string of profanities best sung by the old and the young. Ten year old boys scream at the top of their lungs words so profane I am embarrassed to write them. However, nothing is more awkward than listening to the 75 year old grandmother teach her seven year old granddaughter the words to “La Puta de tu Madre.”
Seats. They aren’t for sitting. They are for standing on. However, after the game is underway, there is a resounding cry for a break. After shouting and chanting and dancing for three hours prior to the game, people in the back want to sit down, so they start whistling at those in front of them. Shouting profanities and going so far as throwing things, such as empty cups, full cups, water bottles, parts of drums, whatever, at those blocking their view. A ten minute break commences, intermittently interrupted by shots on goal.

The game. I will make this short because I know many of your attention spans are coming to their peak. It rocked socks. The first half was completely dominated by Boca. They went up 1-0 fairly early on, inciting anger and impatience from the crowd. The second half however was the most exciting half of sports that I have ever seen in person. Los Pumas scored on a sweet shot and scored again when the ball broke the goal line plain; however, the referees did not call it a goal. So the score remained 1-1, but the Pumas had another 5 or 6 near goals that kept the crowd on their feet, chanting, and yelling profanities at the Boca players and the refs. The Pagan gods didn’t hand the Pumas a victory on the score board, but they were still the champions. How sweet it is to watch football.