The South American Diaries: Part 10. My Last Match in Buenos Aires

All words and images by Jonas Zöller

“I take one last look into the cylindrical bowl and blend into the blue-and-white crowd.“

A Farewell Filled with Emotion

My last match in Buenos Aires. My last match in Argentina. As I head toward Avellaneda this afternoon, the thought alone makes me emotional. I think about the coming weeks in the rainforest and in Florianópolis, where I won’t have the chance to see a game, and about the past two weeks full of football in Buenos Aires — weeks that shaped me culturally and socially far more than I ever expected. From the first previa at San Lorenzo to La Bombonera, I feel like I understand the football culture here a little better now: how people build their social lives around their club, and what a complete, all-encompassing role it plays in Argentina. Above all, I think about the hospitality, humility, and helpfulness I encountered in every stadium.

Crossing the Bridge to Racing

After I cross the bridge, the evening at Racing begins almost symbolically for all these experiences. The floodlit streets around the stadium are lined with open fires where people are grilling, and the now-familiar smell of choripán follows me as I walk toward a small bar at the foot of the Estadio Presidente Perón.

Inside, the familiar routine kicks in. I’m identified as a gringo within a second and immediately approached by the bartender. He asks if I still need a ticket, we talk about football, exchange stickers, and he seems oddly proud when I order a Fernet.

By the time I head toward the entrance, it’s already dark. One last match under floodlights — somehow fitting. The way to the gate is lined with hundreds of police in riot gear, a level of security I haven’t seen in Buenos Aires until now. I can’t quite make sense of it, especially since there are no away fans allowed today.

Inside El Cilindro

Even as I step inside the stadium, El Cilindro already feels special. The wide, shallow steps of the completely circular ground are washed in blue and white light reflecting off the wet concrete. Between the stands and the pitch, small football fields are painted onto the ground, where kids are already playing two hours before kick-off.

I sit down on one of the upper steps and watch everything unfold as the stadium slowly wakes up. By now, I know the rhythms of the Argentine hinchas, yet I still disappear into the atmosphere the moment the teams walk out.

An Uneventful Match, A Meaningful Moment

A few minutes in, I realise that the match itself is incredibly uneventful, and it feels like everyone here already has their minds on the upcoming Copa Libertadores semifinal against Flamengo. The kids keep playing football, people around me are talking and laughing, interrupted only by the occasional insults thrown at the referees.

The match ends in a scoreless draw — unsurprisingly. Still, a strangely content feeling stays with me. After the final whistle, I take one last look into the cylindrical bowl and blend into the blue-and-white crowd.

Gracias, Buenos Aires.
Gracias, Argentina.