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All images by: Pincha Analógico
Fresh from lifting the Trofeo de Campeones de la Liga Profesional, Estudiantes de La Plata once again reminded Argentine football — and the wider world — of who they are and what they stand for. A club defined not by convenience or privilege, but by conviction, resilience, and a fiercely protected identity.
To better understand what this latest triumph means and what truly defines Estudiantes beyond the silverware, we spoke with Pincha Analógico, a project dedicated to showcasing the club’s traditions, its people, and its rich history.
Estudiantes is a truly unique football club. More than a team, Estudiantes de La Plata is defined by an identity deeply rooted in values such as family, mystique, hard work, and an unshakeable sense of belonging.
It is the story of a club born in the city of La Plata—often considered small when compared to Argentina’s traditional powerhouses—but one with a huge heart and even greater ambition. Time and again, Estudiantes has stood toe-to-toe with the most powerful teams in Argentina and the wider footballing world, and time and again, it has emerged victorious.
One of the club’s most powerful mottos is “Alone Against Everyone.” It is a phrase that captures the spirit of Estudiantes perfectly. Beyond competing against the so-called “big clubs,” Estudiantes has historically fought against the media narrative, forging its own path with resilience and defiance.
That defiance reshaped Argentine football history in 1967, when Estudiantes became the first club outside the traditional “Big Five” — River Plate, Boca Juniors, Independiente, Racing, and San Lorenzo — to win a championship. Until that moment, those five clubs had monopolised domestic success. Estudiantes broke the mould.
What followed cemented the club’s place among football’s greats. Between 1968 and 1970, Estudiantes won three consecutive Copa Libertadores titles, a remarkable achievement that included an iconic Intercontinental Cup victory over Bobby Charlton’s Manchester United. In 1968, Estudiantes were crowned champions in England — a feat no other club in the world has achieved.
At its core, Estudiantes is a school of football. And like every great school, it has been shaped by exceptional teachers. Figures such as Osvaldo Zubeldía, Carlos Salvador Bilardo — Argentina’s 1986 World Cup–winning coach — Alejandro Sabella, Juan Ramón Verón, and his son Juan Sebastián Verón have all left an indelible mark on the club’s philosophy and identity.
When people speak of Estudiantes, they speak of mystique. They speak of family.
That identity comes alive on matchdays at “UNO,” the Estadio Jorge Luis Hirschi. Matches there are lived with incredible passion, especially on Copa Libertadores nights. The supporters possess a vast repertoire of chants, pushing the players forward and demanding they fight for every ball, just as the club’s history demands.
Reopened in 2019 under the leadership of club president Juan Sebastián Verón, the stadium is one of the most modern in Argentina. From its popular stands to seating areas, VIP boxes, food court, and Bistro Bar, UNO blends tradition with modernity. Its hybrid synthetic–natural grass, 360-degree irrigation system, and LED lighting make it not only functional, but strikingly photogenic.
Yet for Estudiantes, facilities and trophies alone are never enough.
“Winning the championship is not everything — it’s the only thing.”
Those words resonate deeply within the club, and nowhere was that clearer than in the recent title victory against Racing. Falling behind, digging deep, and finding strength where none seemed left, Estudiantes turned the match on its head. It was a performance that perfectly embodied the club’s identity and style of play.
This, supporters say, is Copa mystique.
Estudiantes continues to grow — not just as a football club, but as a community. Proudly family-oriented, the club embraces sharing its history, values, and achievements with those beyond its walls.
That spirit is at the heart of Pincha Analógico: a project dedicated to showcasing the club’s traditions, its people, and its rich history. It is a celebration of what Estudiantes has always been — a club that stands alone when it must, fights against everyone when required, and remains fiercely loyal to who it is.
All images by: Pincha Analógico
For Kate Carter-Larg, the Cheesy Toast Shack is a story of love, risk, hustling, triumph, tribulations, early mornings and late nights. It represents a dream that was worth putting everything on the line for. “We’d put all our savings into it, so failing was not an option,” Kate explains. “We hustled, we worked every day, we went to every event that was viable for us. We didn’t take on any staff until we were a few years in, we posted on social media every day, multiple times a day, and we shouted about our business and made people listen.”
Born in Dorset, in the South of England, the adventure of a lifetime would begin for Kate when she found herself travelling to Bali, in South East Asia. It was there she would meet Sam, her future husband and business partner.
“After a fleeting holiday romance, where we never thought we’d see each other again, he followed me down to Brighton (where I was living at the time). He decided he couldn’t live down there (distinct lack of surf) so got me to visit him in Scotland. I fell in love with it straight away, and pretty much decided to just not leave.
We had another year of travelling around a bit, including heading back to Bali to spend a few months of more beaches and surfing, before heading back to Scotland together with the idea of starting our own business.”
With only a small amount of savings between them, they knew that any kind of fixed cafe would be out of the question. “It just seemed so obvious, everyone loves a toastie, but not some dry, thin crappy Costa-style one. Instead, we wanted to do big, filthy, oozing with cheese-level toasties, with fillings that you don’t get just anywhere.”
With that idea, the wheels were set in motion. Scared, but with an unrelenting desire and determination to succeed, Kate and Sam put their life savings into everything and set off in search of their dream.
That dream would become a reality and take them all across the UK, to events, festivals and Glastonbury. They would be crowned Street Vendor of the Year, and earn the accolade of Scottish Street
Finalist. They would establish two sites, receiving visitors from all over the globe and go viral across social media. Renowned food critic, Jay Rayner, would give his seal of approval. Celebrities would come far and wide to taste their manchego with chorizo, red pepper and jalapeno chutney, or delight in their New Yorker made with sliced Swiss, pastrami, American mustard and sauerkraut. It would become a place that is now part of the family, with Kate, Sam and their two wonderful children.
It is a story that not even in her wildest of dreams could she have imagined. But it all happened. It really did. And it was a pleasure to sit down with Kate and talk about the journey she’s been on, her biggest challenges, being her own biggest critic and her proudest achievements.
We knew we wanted to be self-employed…we understood it’d be high risk and high stress, but we wanted to have a lifestyle where we could spend time together, and not have to answer to anyone else (we’ve always been quite headstrong and neither of us like being told what to do by someone else!)
We only had a small amount of savings between us, so we knew any kind of fixed cafe etc would be out of the question, so that immediately put us in the market for a food trailer. We just jumped on Gumtree and found a practically new trailer near Glasgow. A guy had bought it and then decided to not bother pursuing his burger van career, so we grabbed it and towed it back over to Fife.
We’d been looking at what was available street food-wise in Scotland, and the scene was starting to blow up. So many great options and traders, but no cheese toasties! It just seemed so obvious, everyone loves a toastie, but not some dry, thin crappy Costa-style one. Instead, we wanted to do big, filthy, oozing with cheese-level toasties, with fillings that you don’t get just anywhere.
Sam and I worked on the trailer, whilst getting everything else set up, and within a couple of months, we were good to go. We secured a pitch at a local beach and then would tow the trailer to events all over Scotland in between working Kingsbarns beach, to get the word out there about our brand and our business.
This did us wonders, as within our first year of trading we managed to secure a pitch at The Edinburgh Fringe Festival, where we got named the Best Place To Eat at The Fringe by The Scotsman newspaper.
Off the back of the popularity we experienced from being at such a huge event, we were in a position to apply for a pitch at the next Glastonbury Festival in Somerset. After doing this, our following took a massive jump, and we found we had people reaching out to us from all over the UK, saying they’d tried us and couldn’t stop thinking about our toasties.
During this time we were also doing every other event: street food markets, food competitions, music festivals, weddings….anything we could get our hands on. This eventually led to us then being offered the lease on our now main hub, in St Andrews. So at this point, we had our Kingsbarns pitch, our St Andrews kiosk, as well as multiple street food setups, allowing us to have 5 pitches across the Edinburgh Fringe Festival for the years running up to Covid, making us the biggest independent traders across the city for the Fringe.
Covid was a huge challenge at first. There were grants for some hospitality businesses, however, because we sublet our kiosk we didn’t pay rates, and we weren’t entitled to the first few rounds of grants. So trying to keep our heads above water really was a challenge, bearing in mind we had staff to think about, and at that stage, a 1 year old as well.
As initial lockdown measures eased, we were able to open up shop again, and thankfully, the rules dictated by the Scottish Government just so happened to mean we didn’t need to change much about our operational setup. We were always a takeout unit, from a hatch. We just needed to work with fewer staff on shift at once to keep numbers down, but it was good for us that people were allowed to go for a walk and meet a friend outdoors, as that matched the description of what people did anyway when they’d come to one of our beaches.
It did, however, have a massive impact on the events industry, meaning it was the first time since we started that we weren’t doing any street food at all, or weddings. This obviously meant the income of the business took a massive hit, which was certainly a negative. However, in hindsight, it made us re-evaluate how lucky we were to still have the pitches we were able to trade from.
When the grants that we did qualify for eventually came out, we used that money to invest in the business, by upgrading our equipment. We bought a decent coffee machine, a soft-serve ice cream machine, and high-quality grills. We felt if we could get our products out at a much faster speed and even better quality, then we were utilising what we could, given the restrictions put upon us by the pandemic. And just to make things that little bit extra stressful, we decided it was a good time to have our second baby.
Our biggest achievement would have to be the Glastonbury Festival. We loaded up our campervan and towed our trailer all the way from Scotland. We were located at Worthy View which is the “posh” campsite at the top of the farm, with the pre-erected tents (not that we were allowed to stay in those).
We were only allowed the bare minimum of staff passes (the cost of a ticket per staff member is factored into your pitch fee so we couldn’t afford many). We got a few friends to come down with us to work, thinking we’d get to spend a decent chunk of the festival watching music and enjoying the festival…how wrong we were! We were mobbed from the minute we opened the hatch in the morning, doing breakfast toasties to the hungover masses, all the way through the day, with a small window where it quietened off when the headlining acts were on, and then went crazy busy again through to the early hours. We came back to Scotland exhausted but with an amazing feeling of pride and achievement.
Another of those pinch-me moments was when Jay Rayner, the famous food critic who writes for The Guardian / The Observer, came to visit us. He left a glowing review and then featured us in the Guardian’s best-value places to eat around the coast of the
Abi, who’s our manager at the St Andrews shop actually asked me the other day if I ever think how wild it is that people drive so far to come to our shack and hold it in such high regard. And that this is all for something that we have created. It really made me stop and think how cool that is. We’re so well received, and people really do make huge trips just to come and try our food. It’s very humbling, although I do still find myself being my biggest critic. If I know a famous person is coming down, I panic, and worry that they’ll just think “What’s all the fuss about?” However, that has not actually happened yet!
We love how, generally, everything is received really well on social media. We know we post a lot, but it’s paid off. Every single day we get at least one customer coming down to the hatch, to say they’ve come because they’ve seen our silly/cheesy videos online and it’s made them want to visit. We get the occasional troll which always blows my mind, but I just need to remind myself that our socials are free marketing, and it’s obviously working, because we get customers and followers from all over the world. Just this week alone, I’ve posted t-shirts and hoodies to New York, and Philadelphia
Our followers and likes have taken a huge surge in the last year since we’ve really picked up our efforts online. We find now that simply posting a photo of a toastie doesn’t get the same levels of interaction as when we post videos, so it’s just about continuing to follow trends and posting videos, and just trying to make our page something a bit silly and fun.
I would advise anyone looking to set up their own business, to just go for it. We always get people asking us “Weren’t we scared it wouldn’t work?” Of course we were, we’d put all our savings into it, so failing was not an option.
We hustled, we worked every day, we went to every event that was viable for us. We didn’t take on any staff until we were a few years in, we posted every day, multiple times a day, and we shouted about our business and made people listen.
I honestly don’t know if I’d have it in me now to hustle as hard as we did back at the beginning, but I’ve also got 2 small children now who I love spending time with, so I couldn’t be towing trailers back from Edinburgh at 1 am, as I love that I can be present for them and be the one that does every bedtime and that I get to see them every morning.
If I’m not working, I try to start the day off by getting to the gym. A couple of years ago, after having my youngest daughter, I got into CrossFit, which I just fell in love with. I’m still not very good at it but it helps my headspace as well as my physical fitness.
Sam and I try and get out for a walk together; our favourite place being Tensmuir Forest, where we love to stop for a crepe from Salt and Pine. We may have to answer a few emails/go and film some videos for the pages, and before we know it 3 o’clock rolls around and it’s time to grab our girls from school/playgroup
If they’ve not got after-school clubs then they may ask us to take them to the skatepark to practice their skateboarding. If it’s not a school day then we try and get them for a surf at West Sands (if there is any) followed by live music at Dook and a few Aperol Spritz’ for us. Whatever we do, it’s hugely family-oriented. With 7 cousins living close by, and 3 sets of aunties and uncles, as well as Sam’s parents, we’re invariably hanging out with other Largs.
Every Christmas we have raclette on the menu, which is raclette cheese, served over garlic potatoes with charcuterie meats and dressed salad. You basically scrape the melted cheese over the potatoes, and it’s just amazing. It’s such a treat, and can’t help but make you feel festive.
For the year ahead, we want to keep concentrating on giving the best possible products to our customers. We feel that we’re on a really positive trajectory at the moment. Our team’s collective hard work is getting more and more recognised, with a greater following online and more customers coming to the shops. We want to concentrate on keeping this at a high level, and who knows, if the market is right, maybe even opening up some more locations.
With all our thanks to Kate Carter-Larg
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Words and Images: Joey Corlett
“Police lined the streets in riot gear, rubber-bullet shotguns visible as a reminder to keep passions in check.”
Over the coming weeks, Joey Corlett will be travelling across Buenos Aires in search of football culture in its purest form — from neighbourhood stadiums and historic barrios to matchday rituals, rivalries, and the stories that live between the stands. This is the first instalment of The Buenos Aires Dispatch: an initiation into life behind enemy lines, beginning at Huracán’s iconic home, the Estadio Tomás Adolfo Ducó.
‘Infiltrado, an infiltrator – to be behind enemy lines among the rival fanbase.’
Quoted from Christopher Hylland’s book Dame Bola, the phrase felt immediately relevant to this experience. After learning about the history of Newell’s Old Boys for my podcast The Journeymen, I’d developed a major soft spot for the Rojinegros. However, due to their poor performances throughout the Clausura, my only real opportunity to see them in the flesh while in Argentina came away from home, at Huracán. That meant embracing the role of the infiltrator.
Thankfully, the reality wasn’t quite as dangerous or thrilling as the word suggests. Buying a ticket online was easy enough; dressed in all black and keeping myself to myself, it was a relatively straightforward task to visit the spectacular Estadio Tomás Adolfo Ducó incognito.
Arriving via Bondi, it was a short, inconspicuous wander through the barrio of Barracas before the stadium’s huge curving stands began to loom large. The area buzzed with life, though it wasn’t packed. Huracán themselves had hardly impressed during the season, with only an outside shot at the play-offs, and with an equally out-of-form Newell’s side in town, this wasn’t the hottest ticket in Buenos Aires. Still, the seriousness of Argentine football culture was clear — police lined the streets in riot gear, rubber-bullet shotguns visible as a reminder to keep passions in check.
Before entering my allotted gate, I stopped to admire the stadium’s brickwork exterior. The façade evoked echoes of Arsenal’s old Highbury — classic, imposing, and steeped in nostalgia — especially along the historic tribune stand. Red and white detailing completes the effect beautifully. Inside, the visual identity doesn’t relent. The same vivid colours wrap around the ground, and when the players emerge to billowing plumes of smoke, accompanied by the relentless rhythm of the bombo con platillo and piercing trompeta, the sensory overload is complete.
Despite the stadium being little more than 60% full, the noise was remarkable. The loudest moment came when Newell’s grabbed their second goal inside 35 minutes. Two unglamorous, route-one punts weren’t dealt with, and the visitors punished Huracán ruthlessly. The home crowd responded instantly, erupting into furious song:
‘¡Jugadores! ¡La c***** de su madre! ¡A ver si ponen huevos!’ Roughly translated: ‘Players, the p*** of your mother — play with more balls!’*
I kept my head down, quietly revelling in the fact that the anger was directed firmly at their own players.
With that advantage, Newell’s ensured very little else happened in the game. With relegation still a looming threat, there was no appetite to gamble away precious points on the road. As the match drew to a close, the sun finally broke through, illuminating the estadio in golden light — a perfect backdrop to savour a much-needed away win and soak up the final traces of atmosphere.
It was a shame the ground wasn’t fuller, but the Estadio Tomás Adolfo Ducó remains an incredibly imposing and visually striking place. For any groundhopper visiting Buenos Aires, it’s an essential stop. Mission infiltrado: complete.
Words and Images: Joey Corlett
“While the city may not wear its football culture openly on its streets, inside the stadium, the passion is undeniable.“
Football in the City: A Quiet Presence
Madrid is a city synonymous with footballing success, home to some of Europe’s most decorated clubs. Yet, for all its silverware and global reputation, the city’s relationship with football on the street level feels surprisingly muted.
Spending time in Madrid, it’s hard not to notice the absence of a visible football culture woven into daily life. Even around the city’s major stadiums, there is little to signal that football plays a defining role in the urban fabric. There are no murals celebrating club legends, no neighbourhood shrines, no sense that matchday spills organically into the streets.
The one notable exception is the area surrounding Rayo Vallecano’s stadium, where football can be felt — but only within a tight radius of the ground itself. Beyond that, the presence of the game fades quickly. As a result, it’s difficult to speak meaningfully about Madrid’s football culture as a citywide experience; it often feels almost entirely absent.
Inside the Stadium: Where Madrid Comes Alive
That perception shifts, however, when approaching Atlético Madrid’s stadium. Located slightly on the outskirts of the city, the journey there already sets it apart. A 40-minute walk from the hotel provided an opportunity to observe how supporters moved toward the ground. Along the way, a small pub hosted a handful of Atlético fans deep in conversation. One supporter even broke into song, though the moment felt fleeting rather than contagious. Somewhat surprisingly, it was the passing Valencia fans who generated more noise and presence.
One of the more striking observations was how supporters of both clubs freely mingled on matchday, walking the same streets without tension. For someone used to sharper divides and heightened anticipation, this calm coexistence felt unusual. There was no edge, no friction — instead, a sense of indifference hung in the air. While peaceful, it didn’t add much to the sense of occasion.
Inside the stadium, though, the experience was entirely different. Here, Atlético Madrid’s supporters came alive. The atmosphere was vibrant and energetic, far exceeding expectations. Behind one of the goals, the ultras sang and jumped relentlessly for the entire match, reacting passionately to every moment on the pitch. Their commitment was unwavering, and a specially prepared tifo added colour and drama to the occasion. On the opposite side of the stadium, the visiting supporters made themselves heard too, contributing to a balanced and engaging atmosphere.
Beyond the fans, the stadium itself leaves a lasting impression. Architecturally, it is striking — from its sweeping roof to the layout of the grandstands, everything feels considered and imposing without being overwhelming. It’s a venue that enhances the matchday experience rather than overshadowing it.
For anyone considering a football trip to Madrid, an Atlético match is well worth attending. While the city may not wear its football culture openly on its streets, inside the stadium, the passion is undeniable. The combination of impressive architecture and tireless support from the ultras ensures that, once the game begins, the sense of occasion finally arrives — and stays for the full 90 minutes.
Words and Images Mike Carranza
Heart of this town, only great love. Yellow like the sun. Red like my heart.
Being pitchside for a Serie A match at the Stadio Olimpico felt surreal. I had spent the week working on pitches across Roma, moving from one field to another, yet seeing very little of the city itself. Rome, in many ways, had remained just out of reach.
The match between Roma and Napoli marked my third visit to the Stadio Olimpico in just five days. The first came as a tourist, led through the cavernous bowl by a guide, the stands empty as ground staff meticulously prepared the pitch. The second was a Europa League night against Midtjylland, where beers were shared and an espresso followed — as tradition demands.
It was then that I first heard it.
“Roma Roma Roma.”
The chant poured from the stands and reverberated through the concrete, echoing long after the final note. The words struck instantly: Heart of this town, only great love. Yellow like the sun. Red like my heart. It felt less like a song and more like a declaration.
My relationship with football has always been layered — built on love, pain, struggle, and fleeting moments of triumph. It is the longest relationship of my life, one that began when I was three years old. Football became a constant: a place of comfort through heartbreak and failure, success and sadness, joy and disappointment. Long after childhood dreams faded, football remained.
During my time in Rome, bad news arrived from home. The kind that settles quietly but heavily. Yet even then, I knew there was something I needed to fulfil — something owed to that three-year-old boy who dreamed only of football.
I arrived at the Stadio Olimpico for Napoli v Roma exhausted, overworked, and emotionally drained. But the moment I stepped onto the pitch, it returned.
“Roma, Roma, Roma — heart of this town, only great love.”
In that instant, the weight lifted. What remained was joy — pure, grounding, unmistakable. I felt at home. Not alone, but surrounded by something familiar and eternal. Football, in the Eternal City. My feet on the grass. Everything exactly where it was meant to be.
The day before my flight back to the United States, standing alone on my balcony, I realised something was ending — and something else was beginning. A closing chapter, followed by an uncertain next step. There was no time for fear or anxiety. No room for doubt.
The next day, I would be back on a football pitch. And there, as it has always been, everything would be okay.
Words and Images Mike Carranza
High up in the hills of Rio de Janeiro state lies Petrópolis, a city better known for its palaces, imperial history and leafy streets than for its football. But tucked into this picture is Serrano Football Club, founded in 1915 and still playing an important role in the city today.
“Serrano is a very traditional club in the state of Rio de Janeiro,” the club says. “It is located in Petrópolis, a very important city in the state and has many notable buildings from the monarchical period in Brazil. Founded in 1915, Serrano was well known in the city as a popular club that attracted all types of people to its parties and social events. We started in amateurism and won two regional tournaments in 1925 and 1945. What makes Serrano so special is the fact that it is very close to the local community, and it is a club that lives in the hearts of every resident of Petrópolis.”
That closeness is perhaps what has kept Serrano relevant for more than a century. While other clubs chase television rights and global attention, Serrano remains firmly anchored in place: a team that still matters because it belongs to the people around it.
The Garrincha Connection
The club’s most famous contribution to the wider football world is impossible to ignore.
“Regarding Garrincha, we are immensely proud,” they say. “He is one of the greatest players of all time, and his career began at our beloved club. We are very happy to be able to help in the emergence of this mythical figure for the sport.”
For a club like Serrano, this link is priceless. Garrincha’s genius belonged to the world, but for Petrópolis, his first steps belong to them.
The Joy of Football in Rio
Football in Rio carries its own atmosphere, a blend of ritual, noise and pleasure. The club describe it simply:
“The football culture in Rio is very special. We love our clubs and our stadiums very much. The thing we love most is being able to experience a day of joy and happiness in the stadiums. We are deeply rooted in the idea that the experience should be joyful.
“Another notable feature is always having a beer in the stadium, and there always has to be music coming from the fans, especially samba.”
It’s a reminder that matchdays are about more than just results. They are about moments that last, habits that repeat, and the comfort of knowing that the same voices, the same songs, the same beers will be there next time too.
Nights at Atílio
Every club has its ground, and for Serrano, it is Estádio Atílio Marotti.
“About Atílio, he is a magical stadium. It was there that we beat Flamengo, one of the biggest clubs in Brazil and the world. It was a very special night, we won 1-0 against the team led by Zico, who would go on to become world champions.
“Atílio is our home, it is a very cosy stadium that welcomes everyone equally. We always have a loyal audience of different ages.”
The story of that night against Flamengo, when Serrano beat one of Brazil’s giants, still lingers in the stands. It is these moments—a famous win, a shared celebration, a memory passed down—that sustain smaller clubs and keep them alive.
26 Years Later
This was one of those seasons. The kind you don’t forget, the kind that gets retold in bars, on terraces, and one day to kids wearing shirts a few sizes too big. After 26 long years, Serrano are champions again, lifting the Campeonato Carioca Série B1 and bringing silverware back to Petrópolis at last.
It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t easy. But it was relentless. Serrano closed the season with a nine-game unbeaten run, finding a way when it mattered most. That stretch included two tight, hard-fought 1–0 wins in the semifinals against São Cristóvão, a club woven into Brazilian football folklore as the starting point of Ronaldo Fenômeno’s career.
The final followed the same script: composed, disciplined, and full of belief. A 2–1 victory in the first leg against Bonsucesso — another historic name, where Leônidas da Silva first kicked a ball and later gave football the bicycle kick — set the tone. A goalless draw away from home in the return leg did the rest. No drama, no chaos. Just control. The trophy was theirs.
The weight of it all made the moment heavier. Serrano’s last official title came back in 1999, also in the third tier of the Rio state league. A quarter of a century later, history finally caught up.
The numbers tell part of the story:
15 matches
8 wins, 4 draws, 3 defeats
18 goals scored, 12 conceded
And the best average attendance in the division
But this season was never just about statistics. Serrano isn’t chasing global headlines or algorithm-friendly fame. They’re chasing something closer to home — the loyalty of their city, the noise in the stands, the pride that comes with being part of Rio’s football fabric. A club that lives in memory, culture, and community. A club that once gave Garrincha his start.
This year, Serrano reminded everyone who they are.
Images by Jônatas Vieira and Hugo Lage
All words and images by Pedro J Caffa
“In Murphy, football is something more: it’s identity.“
Entering the town, a sign makes it unmistakably clear: you’re crossing the gateway to the heart of football. More than fifteen professional footballers were born in Murphy. It’s no myth, no exaggeration. It might be ordinary somewhere else, sure, but here there’s a twist: the town has fewer than five thousand people. And in this province that gave the world Messi and Di María, the “Cradle of the Santafesino Footballer” —by Law 14.172— is, fittingly, Murphy.
Murphy, named after an Irish landowner in the middle of the Argentine countryside, has only one football club. Just one, for everyone. Centro Recreativo Unión y Cultura is a pitch, a meeting point, and an inheritance. Mauricio Pochettino, Paulo Gazzaniga, and a long list of players came from here, carrying the town’s name farther than any map ever could.
The year 2025 was special. The Centenary, and a perfect storm: a new leadership committee led by local idols; a squad and coaching staff made up almost entirely by homegrown players; and a fan base that doesn’t do things halfway, with “Los Pingüinos” leading the noise. All of them pushing together on a path that took Unión y Cultura back to the regional Liga Venadense final after eighteen long years.
It wasn’t enough to claim the title, but that’s another story. Sometimes epic feats have nothing to do with trophies, and sometimes trophies don’t look like cups. Is there anything more powerful than watching an entire town lift a club that is its people… or a town that becomes its club?
In Argentina, football is lived in a special way, we already know that. But in Murphy, football is something more: it’s identity. To say “Murphy” is to say “Unión y Cultura.” And it’s to feel the heart swell with hope, once again.
SPANISH
Entrando al pueblo, un cartel marca a fuego que estamos cruzando la puerta del corazón del fútbol. En Murphy nacieron más de quince futbolistas profesionales. No es mito ni exageración. Podría ser algo común en otros lugares, sí, pero acá hay un detalle: el pueblo tiene menos de cinco mil habitantes. Y en esta provincia que vio nacer a Messi y a Di María, la “Cuna del Futbolista Santafesino” —por ley 14.172— es, justamente, Murphy.
Murphy, nombrado así por un terrateniente irlandés en medio de la llanura pampeana, tiene un solo club de fútbol. Uno solo para todos. El Centro Recreativo Unión y Cultura es cancha, punto de encuentro y herencia. De aquí salieron Mauricio Pochettino, Paulo Gazzaniga y una larga lista de jugadores que llevaron el nombre del pueblo más lejos de lo que lo llevaría cualquier mapa.
El 2025 fue un año especial. El Centenario y una tormenta perfecta: una nueva comisión encabezada por ídolos locales; un plantel y cuerpo técnico con un noventa por ciento de jugadores del propio pueblo; y una hinchada que no entiende de medias tintas, con “Los Pingüinos” al frente. Todos empujando un camino que devolvió a Unión y Cultura a la final de la Liga Venadense después de dieciocho años.
No alcanzó para el título, pero esa es otra historia. A veces las gestas no saben de trofeos, y a veces los trofeos no tienen forma de copa. ¿Hay algo más poderoso que la ilusión de ver a un pueblo entero sosteniendo a un club que es pueblo… o a un pueblo que es club?
En Argentina el fútbol se vive de una manera especial, eso ya lo sabemos. Pero en Murphy, el fútbol es aún más: es identidad. Decir Murphy es decir Unión y Cultura. Y es sentir cómo el corazón se llena de ilusión, una vez más.
All words and images by Pedro J Caffa.
You can visit Pedro on Instagram here.
