![]() I’ve been told that football isn’t a religion in Argentina - it’s much more important. The pre-game build-up is just the first act of a play that takes place across Argentina every Sunday during football season. Nothing comes close to the visceral thrill of attending a football game in Argentina. Residents in the surrounding neighbourhoods will know the game is about to kick off. One reads ‘ La 12 unida jamásserá vencida’ (‘the 12, united, will never be defeated’).įirecrackers and flares flash and explode - not that I can hear them over the din of the chanting fans. To my right, three vast banners are unfurled down the three-tiered stand, shrouding a quarter of the stadium in darkness. Blue and gold smoke, Boca Juniors’ colours, drifts across the stands. The sky momentarily turns white as ticker tape is launched into the air. Armando, nicknamed La Bombonera (‘the chocolate box’) due to its unusual D-shaped design and steep tiers. The communal voices of 49,000 fans rattle around Estadio Alberto J. They’re as able as any of the stars on the pitch to influence the game. With precision timing, the hardcore fans - La Doce (‘the 12th man’) - swarm through the gates, filling the terrace. I rush to take my seat inside the stadium to watch the big entrance. They’re singing and dancing, in full carnival mood. Thousands of fans in blue and gold appear three blocks away, escorted by police in riot gear. ![]() ![]() Firecrackers explode overhead there’s a banging of drums whistling and chanting echo around the narrow streets of Buenos Aires’ La Boca neighbourhood. We hear the Boca Juniors Doce before we see them. ![]()
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