Words and Images: Joey Corlett
A Club Hidden in Plain Sight
Reading through Chris Hylland’s seminal book Tears At La Bombonera, he dedicates a chapter to this club: “a short excursion to Excursionistas.” It was a passage that first introduced me to the existence of the club and the strange contrast in which it sits within Buenos Aires.
Excursionistas are based in the leafy barrio of Belgrano in the north of the capital, about a 20-minute walk from River Plate’s El Monumental. Just one block away, you’ll find Starbucks and McDonald’s, with beautiful bakeries and restaurants even closer.
Their home ground, Estadio Excursionistas, sits in surroundings that feel worlds away from the typical image of a third-division Argentine club. A golf course lies to the east, while multi-storey apartment blocks loom over the north and west sides of the stadium.
It wasn’t quite what I imagined when first reading about the club.
An Unexpected Fixture
I had hoped to visit the stadium, but the time of year I had chosen to travel to Buenos Aires meant that the lower-division seasons had already finished. I resigned myself to missing the ground.
What I had overlooked, however, was that Excursionistas had qualified for the Primera B promotion playoffs.
Earlier that day I had been touring La Bombonera. Later, while waiting for a bus back towards the centre of town, I realised I had no plans for the evening. On a whim, I opened the Futbology app to see if anything might be happening.
Refresh.
Excursionistas vs. Argentino de Merlo. Kick-off in two hours.
Suddenly, I was on my own excursion to Excursionistas.
A Slight Wardrobe Problem
On the bus journey north across Buenos Aires, there was one detail I had completely overlooked.
Argentino de Merlo plays in sky blue and white.
Thanks to my visit to Boca Juniors’ stadium earlier that day, I was wearing a blue coat with light blue shorts.
Arriving in Belgrano, the contrast with La Boca was immediate. Towering apartment blocks lined wide streets filled with cafés and storefronts. It felt like a completely different city.
Walking a few blocks towards the stadium, I spotted the queue for the ticket windows. The process was simple: tap the card, collect the physical ticket, and head through the turnstiles after a quick pat-down.
Game number eight of the trip awaited.
A Proper Argentine Ground
Despite its upscale surroundings, once inside the stadium, everything felt reassuringly familiar.
The pitch was ringed by fencing topped with coils of barbed wire. The stands were simple, functional and intimate. Whatever Belgrano might look like outside, this was still unmistakably Argentine football.
I found a seat in the tribune among a mix of supporters — young and old, men and women, and even the occasional fellow gringo groundhopper.
There were a few curious glances from nearby fans, which I initially dismissed as the usual “what’s a foreigner doing here?” look you sometimes get at lower-league matches.
Then the teams walked out.
Argentino de Merlo were wearing blue from head to toe.
The stares suddenly made more sense.
Internally I was apologising to everyone around me: “I swear I’m not an infiltrado.”
The Noise of the Popular
The popular stand was in full voice from the start.
Through the fencing, it looked like the entire barra brava had squeezed into a single terrace. Umbrellas bounced above the crowd while trompetas and bombos blasted out their relentless rhythms.
Even from the tribune, you could feel the energy rolling around the ground.
The crowd near me added their own theatre. Despite my limited Spanish, I could follow most of the jokes and jibes being exchanged.
One supporter arrived late after kick-off and was immediately greeted with a chorus of mock outrage:
“¿Dónde has estado?!” — Where have you been?
The star of the section was an older man in a flat cap who seemed to know everyone. He drifted between conversations and wasn’t shy about shouting at opposition players when they wandered too close to the fence.
The Mystery of the “Allegados”
Within minutes, Argentino de Merlo had struck the post, prompting a surprising reaction from one corner of the ground.
Normally, there are no away fans at most Argentine stadiums. But further down the pyramid, there is the curious phenomenon of the Allegados.
Roughly translated as “friends and family”, these are small sections reserved for relatives, staff and associates of the visiting team.
In theory.
In practice, as my Argentine friend and photographer Dani (@chicagoanalogico) later confirmed, it’s not uncommon for a few braver away supporters to slip in among them.
On this night, it appeared more than a few cousins and brothers had made the journey to Belgrano.
The result was a constant back-and-forth of chants and insults across the stadium — a running dialogue that the witty group around me enthusiastically joined.
A Goal Out of Nowhere
Sadly for the home fans near me, the breakthrough went the other way.
After a loose pass in midfield, Merlo’s Lucas Scarnato noticed the Excursionistas goalkeeper off his line and launched a hopeful looping effort toward goal.
The ball sailed high into the Buenos Aires night sky. As it dropped, the goalkeeper scrambled desperately back toward his line.
He failed to reach it.
For good measure, he collided with the post as the ball bounced into the net.
The reaction around me was immediate and colourful, with far stronger language than the ever-present “La concha de tu madre.”
A Long Night for the Goalkeeper
The second half brought little relief.
Excursionistas briefly pulled themselves back into the game at 2–1, but moments later disaster struck again.
A simple backpass was misjudged completely by the same unfortunate goalkeeper. Slipping as he made contact, he effectively presented the ball to the Merlo striker, who calmly rolled it into an empty net.
The scorer celebrated by gesturing to the home crowd to calm down.
A braver man than me.
Even after Merlo were reduced to ten men, the match finished 3–1 with Excursionistas clearly second best.
Authentic Fútbol
The popular stand, however, never stopped singing.
At one point the chants turned into a demand for the team to show more courage — expressed, of course, in language far less polite than that.
Despite the defeat, the evening had delivered exactly what I had hoped for: a wonderfully raw and authentic football experience in one of Buenos Aires’ most unlikely neighbourhoods.
The tie would end badly for Excursionistas. They lost the second leg 4–0, crashing out of the playoffs 7–1 on aggregate.
Hopefully, only a few Allegados were present to witness that.
There was no fairytale comeback, but there was something just as memorable: a small stadium, a passionate crowd, and a reminder that the soul of Argentine football lives far beyond the famous grounds.
