On one side of the court had yuyales and beyond the railway embankment. On the other side, clearing and tree pretty miserable. Then the other two courts, the girl and the principal. And there, under that tree, used to locate the old.
had appeared a few games ago, near the beginning of the championship, with his cap, something ragged gray jacket, white shirt closed to the neck and hand portable radio. Retired surely would have nothing to do on Saturday afternoon and approached the complex to see League matches. The boys thought it would happen first, but on the third Saturday when they saw along the side and began to consider very swollen. Because the old well could go see the other two matches were played at the same time on the court next door, but stayed there under the tree and we followed them.
was the only legitimate fan who had, apart from some kids little ones, the son of Norbert, the two of Gaona's nephew, Mosca, who landed at the site with the largest and ran through the reeds just get down cars.
-eye with the way George always iAlert while changing.
"No trains to almost ítranquilizaba Norberto. And it was true, or passing one each in a blue moon, slowly and making noises.
- the fans did not come? Iya just asked everyone to arrive, looking for viejoí. Do not come the barra brava?
And they laughed. But the old man missing for several Saturdays, sign under the tree, almost elegant, with some refinement in its upright position, right hand holding aloft the tiny radio, like someone holding a bouquet of flowers. Nobody knew him, was no friend of any of the boys.
"The old woman should not stand in the house and send it to any íbromeó here.
-On there is a friend of the referee, "said another. But they knew that the old swell for them in any way, moderately, because they had seen a couple of games clap back, when it defeated Olimpia Seniors.
And there, beneath the tree and went to throw the soda when she decided to leave his place to Edward, who was a substitute, to feel that there was more heat. It was summer and time to play that was crazy. Almost three in the afternoon and the old there, faithful, yards, watching the game. When Edward came to the court, almost reluctantly, taking advantage of stretch, when he raised his arm for permission to referíí, the Soda collapsed in the shade of the tree and was quite close, as never had been: the old man never had a cross word with anyone of the team.
The Soda could see then that was about seventy years, was skinny, fairly tall, neatly bearded, shaded. Listening to the radio with a headset and on the other hand holding a cigarette with a placid distinction.
- Are you listening to Central Córdoba, maestro? "Shouted the Soda half when he recovered his breath, but still lying on the floor. The old man turned to face him. He shook his head and removed the headset from your ear.
"No ísonrió. It seemed that the thing was there. The old man again watch the game, which was rough and empatadoí. Music ídijo then watching it again. Some
tanguito? Soda-tested.
-A concert. There are quite a classical music program at this time.
The Soda frowned. I already had a good story to tell the boys and the thing came interesting enough to continue. He got up panting, got socks and walked slowly to stand beside the old.
"But I love football," he said. From what I see.
The old man passed his head vigorously, while watching the course of the ball, paced the air, furious.
"I've played. And besides, is closely related to the art-ruled later. Very related.
The Soda looked at him, curious. I knew that it would continue talking, and waited.
"Look our old archer actually said De Leon, who studied the game from his bow, hands on waist, one whole side of the shirt covered in dirt. The continuity of the nose with his forehead. The chest expansion. The curvature of the thighs. The tension in the dorsal-stood a moment in silence, as for the Soda appreciate what he showed. Well ... That, that is the sculpture ...
The forward Soda the jaw and head slightly varied by passing dubious.
"You see now the old man pointed towards the opposite goal, which was coming from a corner-the intense flashy shirts ours, cadmium yellow and orange glaze with sweat. The contrast with the Prussian blue T-rivals, the Cardinals almost violet blue that also assumes that the transpiration, the whites live like wild strokes. Agile ocher stains, brown and sepia and Siena of the mule, vivid, worthy of a Bacon. Appreciate squint your eyes and well ... Well ... That, that is painting.
the Soda was still half-closed eyes when the old intensified.
-Note, you observe the intense race between the front of them and four ours. The jump in unison, the turn on the air, flip elastic arm swing wide in search of balance ... Well ... That, that is the dance ...
The Soda tried to stimulate their senses, but only saw the rivals came with everything, stubborn, and the ball never left the area defended by De Leon.
And hear you, hear you ... -What spurred the old man, bending on one hand the flag of the same ear where I had the headset on the radio and perhaps excited to find finally a viable partner, ... serious percussion of the ball when boot against the floor, the crack of the sole of the boots on the grass, the remains of the bellows breathing, uneven chorus of screams, orders, warnings, the insults of the boys and the sharp whistle of the referee ... Well ... So that's the music ...
The Soda nodded. The boys were not going to believe him when he told them that unusual conversation with the old, after the game, if they had some encouragement, because defeat hanging over them like a dark and unforgiving bird.
And see you at the front ... 'Said the old man now, almost getting on the court, something changed, ... front of them that rolls on the floor as if he had been stung by a tarantula, stroking his hair excessively, distorting the face, bellowing in pain falsely, theatrically demanding justice ... Well ... So this is theater.
The Soda held his head.
- What gained? Stammered indignantly.
- Did you get paid criminal? "The old man opened his eyes in disbelief. He stepped forward, just getting on the court. What do you charge? Shouted then outrageous. What do you charge, reputísima referee and mother who gave birth?
The Soda looked stunned. Before the cry of the old man seemed suddenly to have forgotten the criminal unjust, of imminent defeat and the same heat. The old man was livid watching the area, but soon turned to the Soda trying to put back a little bit confused, uncomfortable.
-...¿ that? Ventured to ask the Soda, pointing.
"And that ... "Faltered the old man, touching his cap slightly ... That's football.
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