My soccer welcome in Argentina wasn’t, “Hey! Great to see you! Let’s go to Buccees!” It was, “I respect you enough to invite you into my life long miserable tension.” And as a Philly boy I fit right in.
In 2003, in Rosario, Argentina, I woke up at 4 am to go watch Boca play AC Milan in the intercontinental cup in Japan. It was an intense 3 hours of Yerba Mate and whiskey ending in penalty kicks. I’ll never forget. Boca won.