Independiente Chose Me

The late afternoon light spills across the streets of Avellaneda, washing the red-and-white shopfronts in a warm glow. We’re sitting at a small café near Avenida Mitre, the kind of place where conversation hums and football talk never really stops. Across the table, photographer Lucio Cosenza stirs his coffee and smiles — the kind of smile that hints at stories tied to family, memory, and a lifelong love of Club Atlético Independiente.

“From the day I was born,” he says, almost matter-of-factly. “My membership card has the same date as my birth certificate. My dad is a die-hard fan too, and he passed it all on to me. I don’t have a single memory in my life without Independiente being part of it somehow.”

“Independiente isn’t just a club,” he says, his tone softening. “It’s something you inherit. A feeling passed down quietly from generation to generation. Its history is massive, full of glory, but what makes it truly unique is what it sparks in people. There’s something sacred in those colours, something that stays with you for life. You don’t choose to support Independiente. Independiente chooses you.”

It’s hard not to get swept up in his devotion. The way he speaks about his club feels almost spiritual, like a faith that you carry with you in everyday life. When matchday arrives, that faith becomes electric. “A home match is felt from the moment you wake up, heart racing, nerves building,” he says. “There’s something magical about the stadium, like the whole neighbourhood breathes football that day.”

And then there’s the derby, Independiente versus Racing Club, one of Argentina’s fiercest rivalries. “The derby against Racing… that’s not just a game,” Lucio says, eyes lighting up. “It’s pride, tension, passion — all mixed together. Everything else fades away. All that matters is Independiente. All that matters is winning.”

His favourite memories, though, aren’t necessarily about results or trophies. “My favourite memories are walking to the stadium with my grandad and my dad,” he recalls. “Those walks were more than just the journey to a match — they were a ritual, a story passed down through generations. Sometimes I can’t even remember the final score, but I’ll never forget those walks together.”

When the conversation turns to players, Lucio doesn’t hesitate. “If you say Independiente, you say Bochini,” he says with conviction. “You can’t think about the club without thinking of him. He played his whole career in our shirt. He won everything, but beyond the trophies, what he did with the ball was magic. He had that kind of class that made time stand still. It’s a love story between a player and his club — one that lasts a lifetime.”

As the café begins to fill with the evening crowd, the character of Buenos Aires becomes more apparent: its taxis, its laughter, and its ever-present talk of football surround us. Lucio looks out toward the street, where kids kick a battered ball against a wall painted red and white. “Football in Buenos Aires isn’t something you explain,” he says. “It’s something you live. People shape their lives around their club. Birthdays, weddings, plans — nothing matters more. Matchday is sacred. It’s pure passion. An emotional engine that brings people together, or tears them apart, but it’s always there.”

In Buenos Aires, football is like a heartbeat. And for Lucio Cosenza, that heartbeat will forever belong to Independiente.