For Latin Americans, the game provides a rare chance to stand tall against richer nations – writing its history in ¡Golazo! became a personal odyssey
My father had told me the stories . “Che, you know that we were world champions,” he would say. “We may be a small country but at least we’ve won two World Cups.” For a child this kind of fighting talk loomed large in the imagination. In Uruguay the game was everything: “Other countries have their history; Uruguay has its football” had become a national slogan. It imbued me with a sense of national pride.
During the 2010 World Cup my father and I cheered on Uruguay until our very last game, a meaningless affair for third place against Germany. Football had long become our bond; it was the language we spoke together. We loved the flashier aspects of the game: the bicycle kick, the deft back-heel and the art of dribbling. (Our defenders had to have the gall to dribble in their own penalty area, even if it ended in failure.) We wanted guile and skill to trump Anglo-Saxon notions of tenacity and courage.
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