Stay tough, stay safe, stay good, stay smart, and most of all, stay full of love!
My son, little “Giovanni” is the blood that pumps through my heart, and my daughter, “Brettinels,” is the sun that wakes me up with her shine. Oh, how I miss my Irish twins! I will love you both forever.
My best memory is us together as a family during the 2014 World Cup semifinals, Argentina vs. Holland. I’m Argentinean and Uruguayan. It was a hot, sunny day in Desert Hot Springs, California, with sausages and marinated meat on the grill. We started grilling at eight in the morning, and by the time the match kicked off at eleven, I’d already had my wine and whisky, while the kids enjoyed their “7-Up wine” mix. It’s a cultural thing—what can I say? “We Argentines cry when we win and cry when we lose,” but we all drink the same 7-Up. The match was scoreless through regulation time, leading to a nail-biting penalty shootout.
By now, we were all on edge, intensified by my reactions as our goalkeeper blocked the Dutch kick. I screamed, “¡VAMOS, CARAJO! ¡LA CONCHA SU MADRE!”—bad words, look them up if you must—as the last Argentine kicker approached the penalty spot. My heart was pounding, my eyes filled with salty tears, and my old Argentine jersey was stained with wine. I looked over at my kids to see how much this meant to their dad. I could see the confusion in their eyes, trying to understand how a sport could be so full of passion and suspense. Both of them, wearing their Argentine jerseys, were quiet, but I could hear their “eyes talking.” They were hoping for a goal so Dad could be happy.
Then the moment arrived. Maxi Rodríguez waited for the whistle and, without hesitation, blasted the ball as if it were his last kick. The man who brought tears to Mexican fans four years earlier now brought tears to the Dutch as well. It was in! The ball was in the net, and it was over! We were going to the final! After 24 long years, I finally got to see my beloved Argentina march into another World Cup final. At that moment, I let out the biggest “Hell yeah!” and cried like a kid on Christmas morning next to Santa Claus. I hugged my kids and told them, “This is what it means to be Argentinean! Guts, tears, resilience, and glory! And of course, red-hot Mendoza wine and chimichurri-marinated meat!” That day was a great day in our house, even though we lost the final to Germany.
Reaching that final broke the spell, and eight years later, the curse crumbled, and the great Argentina became World Cup champions again in Qatar 2022. I would’ve screamed, “Champions of the world, mother@x#,” except this time, it was from a prison cell—alone in Salinas Valley State Prison. But that’s a different story for another time.
I love you both, and I can’t wait to get out and see you as adults. I’m eager to see what it’s like to be the son and daughter of a dad who never showed regret or fault but always showed love for his two little “meatballs” of love. Stay tough, stay safe, stay good, stay smart, and most of all, stay full of love!
Love always,
Dad
“Tierra Fuerte, Sangre Gaucho, Nunca por Detrás, Siempre de Frente”
Translation:
“Strong Land, Cowboy Blood, Never from the Back, Always from the Front”
