As a child, I used to play a lot and accompany my father to the championships that I visited. While he played, I kept his money and his glasses while enjoying a delicious frozen pacifier or a soft drink. When the adults left to play, even without emerging from the court we got into, it was our turn, the children.
The first memory I have with a ball is one day rain. In front of the rented house where he lived, in the broad courtyard of the nearby grass, a big boy of ten years and a pony of four were fighting for the ball.
Then, in the field closest to the house of my grandmother, my father taught me that not very elegant kick only with the toe. With effort and not so good mood, I learned to do with the inside, instep and the back. With this new knowledge I was playing in the middle of people that I bent in stature. From a distance, thinking that he did not notice her presence, my fat uncle, former ward scorer, looked me proud.
At school, my father invited my friends to play some evenings. Offered Whole pacifiers for the winners and only half for the losers. Speaking of losers and winners is just a saying, we were all champions. The pitch was used by my father, as a good teacher, to educate, it was forbidden, for example, refer to swearing to the rest and was only allowed strong word: fuck.
a child, probably because I played a lot, was very good, the best dribble. Although skinny weakling and a half, was a very clever player, very skillful. It was the first to be called when the teams were assembled, this, of course, if I was not the one who called.
I had fun playing, celebrating a goal, making a Huachito, pulling in the puddles in its wake the rain stopped, playing at recess or in the hospital popcorn. I remember with particular affection the sand court at the hospital, I went to stage the discipline for a while, because in the late afternoon, when all fulbiteros marched back to our homes, I went home earlier by a pretty girl, very crespita and very dark-skinned, with which bothered me in school. And sometimes, very sweaty, more from nervousness than the bustle of the parties, I dared to ask for a glass of water. Interestingly, the water that invited me made me more excited, his heart racing.
in adolescence did not play well, and although he did every I have defended my game and not obviously transcended too.
Now finish a game with great effort, panting, begging for water-pity that is no longer the crespita to give me. I do not play for months, since I was in the jungle earlier this year.
So much football has given me, like that time I did that I looked skinny after scoring that wonder goal in the final of the championship, I can not go so ungrateful. It is necessary for the sport that I love and I immediately reconciled.
A Galeano, man I love you and also likes football. In this video that beat Peru the country where Hitler was born in the Olympics 38. Although we canceled two goals, won 4 to 2, to Austria and racism, because football is more than 22 crazy after a ball as they say that, quite rightly, do not enjoy the most democratic sport in the world.
Now I understand why I like poetry. I like it because I like soccer, and football is poetry.
Y "will have to excuse me, but all this has made me mourn. And on Maradona, how speak ill of a man who has made so many happy?, who am I to judge?
Then, in the field closest to the house of my grandmother, my father taught me that not very elegant kick only with the toe. With effort and not so good mood, I learned to do with the inside, instep and the back. With this new knowledge I was playing in the middle of people that I bent in stature. From a distance, thinking that he did not notice her presence, my fat uncle, former ward scorer, looked me proud.
At school, my father invited my friends to play some evenings. Offered Whole pacifiers for the winners and only half for the losers. Speaking of losers and winners is just a saying, we were all champions. The pitch was used by my father, as a good teacher, to educate, it was forbidden, for example, refer to swearing to the rest and was only allowed strong word: fuck.
a child, probably because I played a lot, was very good, the best dribble. Although skinny weakling and a half, was a very clever player, very skillful. It was the first to be called when the teams were assembled, this, of course, if I was not the one who called.
I had fun playing, celebrating a goal, making a Huachito, pulling in the puddles in its wake the rain stopped, playing at recess or in the hospital popcorn. I remember with particular affection the sand court at the hospital, I went to stage the discipline for a while, because in the late afternoon, when all fulbiteros marched back to our homes, I went home earlier by a pretty girl, very crespita and very dark-skinned, with which bothered me in school. And sometimes, very sweaty, more from nervousness than the bustle of the parties, I dared to ask for a glass of water. Interestingly, the water that invited me made me more excited, his heart racing.
in adolescence did not play well, and although he did every I have defended my game and not obviously transcended too.
Now finish a game with great effort, panting, begging for water-pity that is no longer the crespita to give me. I do not play for months, since I was in the jungle earlier this year.
So much football has given me, like that time I did that I looked skinny after scoring that wonder goal in the final of the championship, I can not go so ungrateful. It is necessary for the sport that I love and I immediately reconciled.
A Galeano, man I love you and also likes football. In this video that beat Peru the country where Hitler was born in the Olympics 38. Although we canceled two goals, won 4 to 2, to Austria and racism, because football is more than 22 crazy after a ball as they say that, quite rightly, do not enjoy the most democratic sport in the world.
Now I understand why I like poetry. I like it because I like soccer, and football is poetry.
Y "will have to excuse me, but all this has made me mourn. And on Maradona, how speak ill of a man who has made so many happy?, who am I to judge?
It is summer in Europe and nothing "to wear bikini gymnastics on the beach" or "10 tips for a perfect tail." Naa, male and no longer sell or cookies. "Get a sexy ass like J. Lo. " And to take the ass. 
