On March 9, 1989 The National Team decided to open its new headquarters with a brand new match. The chosen opponent was the Argentinian National Team, the world champion at that time, led by Carlos Salvador Bilardo. A few days before the match, León Londoño came down to Ernesto Cortissoz with his traditional 35-centimeter cigar to confirm Curramba’s conditions for inclusion in the National Team. At the airport, Virgilio Barco’s Development Minister Fuad Char received the leader.
In bar he was taking care of everything, his strategy was already ready to bring out the joy of a town in the match against the hated rival. Cole lent his body as if it were a laboratory and exposed himself to the harshness of vinyl that afternoon.
His head stylist, Israel ‘el Chino’ Rodríguez, gave him a bold cut, making him take off his shirt without shaving off his moustache, wear shorts, and let yellow, blue, and red smear all over his body. I didn’t know this, I didn’t suspect that a character had just been born who, among other skills, was the sole survivor who was guaranteed to score five shots per match in every World Cup (a privilege granted to him by Fifa). Play matches wherever you are.
At San Salvador’s house, I eat sweet bananas with coastal cheese for breakfast. From the dining room I can see how huge ships, like floating buildings, come to the port. Breakfast with Coleta. I see a photo of her husband with yellow, blue and red, the colors of the Colombian flag, pinned to his body. He also has a flag in his hand and it can be seen that he is making a speech through his pursed mouth. Next to him is an Argentinian player (see photo). It is Néstor Lorenzo who came to Colombia thirty years later as a field assistant with José Néstor Pékerman. Lorenzo looks amazing with his curly hair and blue and white T-shirt.
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Time passes for everyone, but I comment to Coleta, it seems not so for Cole.
—No, if Cole is worn out despite all his strength; When you look closely at his face, there are strange spots.
It’s because you put vinyl on these crazy days. Vinyl on the face with the sun in Barranquilla. In this city, from November to February, in the middle of the Carnival season, God takes pity and makes the wind blow strong from Magdalena and Bocas de Ceniza, but as soon as we enter March, the temperature rises and the sun becomes a punishment. Cole isn’t afraid of anything, he’s wild as a storm, and that’s why he never thought he’d grow old.
He loses himself in joy and pain as if he were still a little kid from the San José neighborhood. This is how I see it on Saturday night, May 13th. While we mere mortals have to allow ourselves to be searched by the police, men in uniform hug Cole, ask him questions about his family, and confidently tell him that tonight will happen. The whole day passed like this. As he walks the streets of Curramberas, people on motorbikes pass by and after shouting their battle song (Vayacole, Wowcole, Wowcole!) they ask him if yes, will Junior win tonight, as if Cole had won. ability to predict the future.
As Cole and I enter the Metropolitano, which is like entering a temple with Jesus of Nazareth’s hand, donkey and all, I notice the spots Coleta named, and yes, there are some black warts. Old war wounds. I don’t ask him these things. I know Cole should be proud.
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More proof that he literally gave his all for the national cause. We have the ticket that will put us further away from the field, but no one can say no to the birdie at the Metropolitano.
He has all the keys. So, like Moses before the Red Sea, everything opens up and drops us off in a super VIP place.
—What was it like when you first came to the Metropolitano to support the National Team?— I ask Cole before going inside.. The date was March 9, 1989. In the afternoon her stylist cut her and painted her entire body completely. He went to the Metropolitano by motorcycle. Burning sun, weak skin. He arrived around four in the afternoon. At that time, people did not come with National Team uniforms.
Retailing that would fill the coffers of Adidas, Reebok and other brands had not yet been born. There was also a debate about the color of the National Team’s uniform. Colombia had discussed the tricolour. He went to the World Cup in Chile in an intense blue shirt, interrupted only by a shield, which is still a far cry from the Federation’s current logo.
Then two appeared: the sapote, white with diagonal flag stripes, who achieved two memorable successes, reaching the final against Peru in the famous tiebreak in Caracas in 1975 and qualifying for the Under-Junior World Cup. -20 In 1985, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
The yellow jersey was used for the first time in the World Cup qualifiers in Mexico, under the instructions of Gabriel Ochoa Uribe. who tries to create a psychological impact on boys by resorting to the trap of patriotism. It didn’t work. Now Maturana’s team wore red after trying yellow in the 1987 Copa América and at Wembley a year later. That’s what he did that night against Argentina.
Cole was the loudest cheerer with the tricolor flag, kneeling on the athletics track and shouting Colombia’s name over and over, as if he were a demonic man, alongside the Argentinians.
That night the National Team fielded Higuita, Escobar and Perea as centre-backs, full-back Carlos Mario Hoyos and Curramba’s son Wilson Pérez, one-brand midfielder Leonel Álvarez, three creators, Valderrama-Redín (the reckless duo from Deportivo Cali) and Alexis’. It consisted of . García. Millonarios had two arrows in front; Arnoldo Iguarán and Rubén Darío Hernández, who was the historical scorer of the national team until the arrival of ‘Tigre’ Falcao. One of the successes of this team was that it was based on Nacional, which would win the 1989 Copa Libertadores. They knew each other. The spine was known.
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Except for Rincón, ‘Bendito’ Fajardo and ‘Gambeta’ Estrada, this team would play in the World Cup in Italy. That night at the Metropolitano, América de Cali’s idol, Julio César Falcioni, would make his debut in the Albiceleste goal. The defenders were Monzón, Lorenzo, Corti and Craviotto. Midfielders Hernán Díaz, Héctor Enrique, Basualdo and a very young Diego Pablo Simeone. Forwards Abel Balbo and Mauro Gabriel Ariez. Obviously, Diego Maradona, Caniggia and other stars were missing from the squad that became the new world champions. But Argentina will always have the air of invincibility of a brave team that makes winning so enjoyable.
Until that moment, Colombia had never beaten Argentina. He hadn’t even managed to steal a point from a world champion. But in Barranquilla, dreams seemed to come true: Colombia started to win with a goal from Arnoldo Iguarán in the 15th minute of the first half. And it stayed there.
They defeated Carlos Salvador Bilardo’s team; Bilardo was once again expelled from his country due to his unique style of play, always prioritizing the defensive part over the offensive side. On the other hand, Colombia was the party.
I am tired. I was with Cole all day. The truth is, I just wanted to enjoy the stadium a bit. I’ve never been to the Metropolitano at night. I’ve never seen Junior. I’m with the fans, along with Carlos and Cole, who always want me to be around, film him and make a video with his speeches. But I just want to enjoy it.
Junior comes out, the crowd jumps, Cole screams. Cole and Junior’s relationship dates back at least sixty years and was only interrupted by his father’s deathbed request. It all started with going to Romelio Martínez and listening to the elders talk about the glory of the Quarentinha, of Heleno. He managed to see another Brazilian show his magic, the ever-bald Víctor Ephanor.
Cole is a character who never takes off his maskHe’s not like Peter Parker, who only turns into Spider-Man when he sees New York burning. This superhero lost his costume. The costume is his skin. But don’t believe that Cole lived his life throughout the game. When the referee blows the whistle to start the match, he becomes silent. As he watches the field, he becomes hypnotized and the suffering begins.
I consider myself a football fan. I’m a Cúcuta fan, but I’ve been dying since this team went back to hell after a few seasons of glory – they won a national championship and beat Boca in the Libertadores semi-finals – but neither of their matches could affect sleep or appetite. So I’m a fan of lies. Not Cole.
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The first half was wasted. In the middle of the week, coach Bolillo Gómez decided to reveal the backbone to give a warning before such an important match in which the fate of the season will be decided: Junior is not here to suck dick. Within a week, he not only eliminated Viera, Quintero, ‘Cariaco’ González, the references and talents of Junior, but also El Chino Luis Sandoval, who is currently the figurehead and top scorer of Cali. The players started drinking in desperation after losing the match. This showed not only a lack of professionalism but also a devastating lack of love for the Char club. At first the fans applauded the decision, but after half-time Cole commented with his friends on whether the best thing was to wait, ignore, after all this wasn’t the first time a team in Barranquilla would have had something happen. Tempted to enjoy its cheerful streets. This joy was not reflected on the field. Cole sits next to me, silent and glassy-eyed, as if this were a bad omen. Experience the game with despair and helplessness. Last champion Pereira made evaluations about Junior, who could not pass zero.
The players’ movement to lie on the field in tears was a clear indication that there was nothing left to do.
I felt a little guilty. Fans believe in Mufas. Coaches like Jorge Luis Pinto or Bilardo always wear the same jersey in which they won their first match. It is like a shield against failures. Fans know that football is sensitive to good and bad energy. God sit back on his old couch and watch the guys bite their nails down to their fingertips, pushing their gutsy teams to win.
I felt a little guilty. Fans believe in Mufas. Coaches like Jorge Luis Pinto or Bilardo always wear the same jersey in which they won their first match. It is like a shield against failures. Fans know that football is sensitive to good and bad energy. God sit back on his old couch and watch the guys bite their nails down to their fingertips, pushing their gutsy teams to win.
God enjoys this, it is his favorite pastime. God is sometimes sadistic and loves pain. To do this, he uses people like me who see a team on a four-game winning streak in a row to break the streak at home. Of course I feel guilty. That’s why there’s a lump in my throat when I see Cole with this sadness reliever. We begin our long journey home in silence. If Bacca had scored that goal, the atmosphere of the night would have been different, this book would have been different.
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But we don’t pull the strings. The world would be a better place if Cole had control of the wires. The world was always going to be a place where Junior would win. We came home without saying anything. I locked myself in my temporary room at the Cole museum. I had trouble falling asleep. So I started writing and that’s how I spent the night.IVAN GALLO.
Source: Exame
