Sunday 11:20 p.m., CDMX. Super Sunday, or at least that’s what our neighbors to the north make us believe. The world cup had 4 billion viewers; the super bowl 103.4 million, everyone under the sky of it. But I do not complain about the impact of sport, that almost medieval arena in which we can celebrate a point, a score or a goal, as if it were the birth of our firstborn. The Chiefs played against the Eagles, the underdog won. It is the first time both teams have had a black quarterback. That position was always reserved for tall, handsome, white players… oh, and if you knew how to throw the ball with that beautiful spiral that defines this game, then what better.
My point of view was that of the chilango who only cares about the celebration, the food, the drink and the result was the least of it. A gringo approached me, probably attracted by the idiotic face he gave to the television, and asked: Who are you going to? My response was the most unsportsmanlike thing I could think of. I apologize to all fans of the sport of extra yards and points. I said, I think the Kansas City Chiefs look better in that uniform than those Philadelphia Eagles.
The cultural distance, soccer and American football, Mexicans and gringos, Super Sunday versus a Thursday morning in which Mexico was risking its life against Saudi Arabia and in which nothing, and I emphasize, nothing, was more important that what was happening in Qatar and what proceeded was to shout at the TV. Let’s better listen to Rihanna and toast with the very Mexican mezcal.
The world can be very confusing. What you are passionate about seems like such bullshit to the next person that they feel capable of disqualifying what you have believed to be true your entire life. What unites some creates conflict. What if we calm down? If we let at least one sport not divide us?
