u/ShoddyChannel5187

Writing this note as the World Cup starts soon, and I feel like I need to get this off my chest before the tournament consumes me entirely.

It began in Kolkata, 1990. I was six years old, sitting in front of a television at 2:30 in the morning India time, and I watched Diego Maradona cry after losing the final to Germany. I did not fully understand what I was witnessing, but something connected that night. Organically, completely, and permanently.

Growing up in Kolkata, football was not a choice, it was the air you breathed. During every World Cup the city split into Argentina and Brazil camps, and slowly you would find the odd Germany, Italy, Spain or England fan in the mix. There is even a Bengali movie, in my mother tongue, that has a song which translates to "Of all the sports, football is the one the Bengali loves most." That was genuinely us. I never had the same fire for cricket that I had for this game. Football was mine, and Argentina was mine.

Then came the heartbreaks, one after another, each one teaching me something about loving a team that refuses to make things easy for you.

1994 broke something in me when Maradona was banned and Argentina fell to Romania. 1998 was the Netherlands, and after that defeat I kicked a ball so hard it hit a shelf lamp and shattered it. I was a goalkeeper in school and in my local community, and I used to write "Carlos Roa" everywhere. That name meant everything to me that summer.

2002 was simply devastating. Group stage exit, no explanation, just gone. 2006 gave us hope and then Germany took it away in penalties. 2010 was Germany again in the quarter finals. Maradona was the coach that year, and his passion was enormous but passion alone does not win football matches.

That same year, December 2010, Maradona came to Salt Lake Stadium in Kolkata. I stood in a queue for nearly two hours to squeeze into a jam packed stadium, and he was on the pitch for maybe ten minutes. He dribbled, he kicked, he smiled. We saw a football god in the flesh. I filmed it on my Sony Handycam with 25x zoom, and I am attaching that video below.

In 2011, Argentina played Venezuela in a friendly at the same Salt Lake Stadium. The same ground where Messi himself would return in December 2025.

By 2014 it was Germany again, defeating us in the final. I was watching around 3 in the morning, same as always. But by now most of the family members who used to watch with me in that room had passed away. The 1990 memories came rushing back, same room, same place, but now I had my wife beside me, the woman I had dated for five years before we married. She used to look at me and ask, with genuine curiosity, whether Argentina had ever actually won anything, because every time she saw me watching them, they were losing.

She was not wrong. I watched Copa finals at midnight and at four in the morning, 2007 against Brazil, then 2015, then 2016, scrambling to find a live channel, and waking up early to nothing but disappointment.

Late 2017 I moved to Canada, and 2018 was my first World Cup in North America. I watched Argentina versus France in a pub. A French supporter literally danced on my table after the quarter final. I sat there and took it, because what else do you do.

Then my daughter was born in November 2019, and in 2021 Argentina finally won the Copa. I call her my good luck charm. Then 2022 World Cup, then 2024 Copa. The wait of thirty six years ended, and it felt like winning a lottery, genuinely.

The 2022 World Cup I watched across three countries, Canada, UAE, and then the final back in Kolkata, surrounded by friends who had been on this same journey with me for decades. And in 2024, we drove from Canada all the way to New Jersey to watch Argentina vs Chile in the group stage. I was surrounded by actual Argentines and I told them my story, about being a six year old Bengali kid who found his team at 2:30 in the morning watching Maradona weep. They could not believe it.

Recently my daughter, who is six and a half now, was helping me build a Messi Lego set and she asked me, completely seriously, whether Messi ever loses, whether Argentina ever loses. She has only ever seen them win. My wife and I looked at each other and just smiled. She has no idea what it took to get here.

I cannot speak a word of Spanish. But my passion for Argentine football surprises everyone who encounters it. Recently a Brazilian acquaintance was genuinely taken aback when he realised the depth of my knowledge and love for this team. I am now in Dallas, going to watch Argentina vs Jordan, and after 35 years of watching this team from Kolkata living rooms, Canadian pubs and UAE hotel rooms, I am finally going to be in the stadium cheering for them. This one is for the six year old who watched Maradona cry at 2:30 in the morning and never looked back. Vamos! La Albiceleste por siempre

P.S : This video is from the living room of my rented place, but it perfectly captures the passion we live with. And this World Cup, I'm tension-free because we're bringing the trophy home as champions. 🇦🇷