In Memoriam - Andres Escobar

Twenty years ago today I was on my way to the US with my dad, we were going to see the second round of the World Cup. I was twelve then, and my dad and I had the most amazing relationship. I liked football before that trip, but I learned to love it during it. At the time my dad had been to every World Cup since 1978, and since I was old enough to understand the sport we watched it together. 

I remember the 2nd July 1994 very clearly because we were at the airport waiting for our flight and suddenly all the TV screens were showing the news of the murder of Andres Escobar. I don’t know why, but I went to the nearest payphone and called my mum, instinct maybe. I don’t know what everyone else felt, and it would be arrogant of me to assume anything, but at 12 I felt cheated, and I felt injustice, for once in my privileged and protected upbringing. Cheated may seem like a bizarre emotion but it was what I felt, I felt denied of someone for selfish reasons.

We got on the plane that day, somber. In hindsight the World Cup in the US was a very random event. Nothing like the current one where the locals are passionately involved. Then it was like theatre. Now they may be into “soccer” (urgh) then they didn’t know the difference between football and “football”. It was all a very amusing affair.

Twenty years later I see my team shining and yet the shadow of Andres Escobar looms. He is part of our political history, like recently people decided to write the name of the Colombian team manager in the Presidential Election ballots (ironically he is Argentinian). Because our priorities, even twenty years later, remain in the same place. I am not saying that is a bad thing, or a good thing for that matter, but ultimately what it means is that we are prepared to kill or elect where our passion is placed. During this World Cup roughly 20 people have died in Colombia (that we know of) due to celebrations, is our passion placed in the right place?

As a hardcore football fan I will either paint the town red or cry for many days after Friday. But ultimately what I am passionate about is my country, win or lose. Twenty years ago we lost a match and a human being, but it was just football for a country that breaths the stuff. Should we lose, or should we win, this is the time to become a nation once again.