All words and images by Jonas Zöller

There’s something about Buenos Aires that pulls you in through its football. Every night seems to offer another game, another neighbourhood, another story. After two whirlwind matches across the city, I find myself heading west on a Monday evening — tired, sunburned, but completely hooked. This time it’s Vélez Sarsfield, a club that might not make international headlines, but in this city, every stadium tells its own tale.

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When the third match in four days still feels like the first love of football.

Early Monday evening. Vélez Sarsfield. After the first two big ones, I’m excited for a game that probably isn’t on many European radars. To be honest, the third match in four days is starting to leave its marks. When my Uber driver asks who’s playing tonight, I just mumble something that roughly translates to “no idea.”

Still, I can’t wait. The area around the stadium is wide and full of murals and bars. As I arrive, the first buses pull up, blue and white flags waving from the windows. Accompanied by the first trumpet chants, I go looking for someone selling Fernet—and boy, I’m ready for football.

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Finding Fernet and Football

After a couple of Fernet-Cokes in a small backyard bar—where I’m undoubtedly the palest guest of the season—I make my way to the stadium. It’s an absolute beauty: floodlights rising high above the blue outer shell. The belly of the ground leans against a highway, beneath which several five-a-side pitches are tucked away. The noise and movement around them blend perfectly with the energy that’s building inside the stadium.

Inside, hot dogs and drinks are sold, youth teams are playing near the narrow railing. The match isn’t sold out, but when the smoke from the pre-match fireworks catches in the floodlights, I feel it.

“This is exactly the kind of football I fell in love with.”

The curva is loud and cheerful, and the trumpet guy must have lungs of steel. Vélez turn the early deficit before halftime and end up winning 3–1.

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Another Night, Another City

For the rest of the game, I just listen to the chants and feel a strange calm settle over me. The beer after the match tastes like a well-earned one after work, and right there I decide to stay another week in Buenos Aires.

I just need to see more football.
And to be fair, after all these stadium visits, I’ve somehow managed to completely skip seeing the city itself.

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