An Existential Camel in Qatar
At the beginning of the year, by some inexplicable twist of fate, I was drawn for Argentina’s seven-match team ticket — from the group stage all the way to the final. I don’t have blind faith in luck, but I do believe that sometimes I sense a premonition.
Perhaps I should have consulted other people’s intuitions, or checked an almanac in advance. Because at times, it felt like the longest night of the year. More than that — there were moments I was convinced that night would never end.
The Existential Camel
Doha offers many absurd sights, but none rivaled the camel at Souq Waqif.
It was fenced off in the crowded old marketplace square, waiting for someone willing to pay to ride it in circles within a fifty-square-meter enclosure. Its absurdity was on par with opening a bear-football experience on Moscow’s Red Square during the 2018 World Cup — pay a fee, dribble past a brown bear, score, then raise both hands to the sky and shout: “Let me hear who’s still talking about animal rights!”
I stayed in Qatar for twenty days. The camel lay lazily on the ground the entire time, as if it had never actually worked a day. It had no KPI to worry about. Life had simply tossed it into Waqif. For a brief second, staring at it, you might think it was smiling with its eyes closed.
It was a cool camel. It had accepted the square, the tourists, the inexplicable music, the staring.
We were alike in that way. We both enjoy the feeling of an unclear future.
What Is Argentina?
Lucas, an Argentine with Andrés Calamaro–style explosive curls, used to play bass in a band and somehow genuinely knows the rock legend himself.
He calls himself a non-typical Argentine, because Argentines “often think tomorrow I will save the world” — a national temperament somewhere between confidence, arrogance, and delusion. He, however, tends to hesitate. Before the Croatia match, we met for a drink and agreed not to dare hope for an easy win.
He watched seven matches in Brazil that year. It took him eight years to process the trauma of Maracanã.
At that point, I could have asked more. But why? The dusk was too beautiful to force a man into recounting a story destined for sorrow.
The Beauty of Fear
I cannot remember anything more terrifying in the past three years than watching Argentina play the Netherlands live. As the penalty shootout approached, my hands and legs trembled uncontrollably. I had to hold onto someone to stay upright.
At the same time, I was texting friends: “I’m so scared. Fuck this. I’ll never watch football again. I want to go home.” Fred, the lifelong gambler and desert gunslinger, said, “Fear is a good feeling.”
What was meant to happen unfolded magnificently — that night, and again in the final.
Before the final, I superstitiously wore the same outfit as against the Netherlands. The Argentine badge pinned in the same spot. The same earring in the same ear. I sliced myself with familiar fear. This time I had to squat — I literally couldn’t stand — peeking through my fingers during the penalties (a trick I learned from Agüero: you don’t have to stare directly at them).
But this time, fear was no longer escape. I thought: it is hard, but it is supposed to be hard.
Suddenly I understood what Fred meant. If you stop being afraid of everything, perhaps nothing bad will happen to you anymore.
Beauty Is the Highest Reason for Existence
After watching Messi live, you can only reconstruct football through imagination to console yourself. Otherwise, you’d think: “I’ve seen Messi in person — why should I return to Tottenham and suffer mediocrity?”
He dribbled past defenders in my direction more than once. That kind of grace is inborn, beyond language.
His existence shattered the narrow logic of supporting teams by nationality. Messi divided the world not by country, but by imagination — those who have it, and those who don’t. In the metro and in the stadium, fans from India, Bangladesh, Pakistan, Nepal, Sri Lanka, Yemen, Egypt sang as if they were born Argentine.
We share no blood, no common history. Yet my heart shared their joy and pain. One day, I might lose myself here.
Latin Spirit
Only this year did I fully grasp how one can feel a natural bond with another culture without kinship.
Watching Argentina live was like listening to Fanfare Ciocărlia — rhythm alone could summon something ancient from the soil beneath your feet. Latin spirit discards tragedy, resentment, and myth-making. It is life celebrating its own meaning.
I had the Argentina team ticket. Though seated at the summit of the stadium, I found myself beside the same people every match. We promised to meet again next game, to embrace again. Jose and Joe — father and son from Argentina — always sat beside me.
“You’re too effusive as an Asian,” Jose once laughed. “Maybe there’s a Latina in you.”
Let me borrow from Asturias: Latin America is the gonad of the earth.
Third World & Alien Architecture
In Qatar, you barely see white people — or women. At night outside Souq Waqif, Sudanese men blasted music through loudspeakers, forming circles to dance. Palestinian flags waved. Flutes played. They shouted “Argentina!” Hosting the World Cup in Qatar at least allowed different shades of skin into the carnival.
I realized how deeply I love the sweaty, chaotic atmosphere of the so-called Third World — its comedy and ambiguity feel freer than the sterile order of luxury malls.
Yet Doha is also a spaceship city. Lusail Stadium looks like a bathtub rising from ruins. Beyond the polished avenues: desert and half-built towers.
I felt suspended between present and future, dozing at 4 or 5 a.m. to the universal Third World lullaby — construction noise.
Angel
There are players whose presence transcends visibility. Even from ninety thousand seats away, you recognize them by their run.
Sometimes what defines us is not the trophy lift, but the rain-soaked darkness before it.
Failure is necessary. So is life.
For Mother and Grandmother
On the flight back to London, I refused reality and watched a Maradona documentary. After the 1986 victory, he phoned his mother. For the first time, I saw humility in him. La Tota wrapped him in love like a saint.
When Maradona won in Naples, he said, “I dedicate it to my mother.”
Argentines today chant for their grandmothers in the streets. In affirming the Latin mother, they shed Anglo superiority and embrace their own lineage without shame.
Praise the mother.
The Trinity
Stray cats flourish in the Islamic world. On the eve of the final, we fed one near our place. Brazil disrespected a cat at a press conference — they lost. The lesson is simple: treat cats well if you want to win.
I prayed toward Mecca before the Poland match. Argentina scored one minute later.
In Doha’s final night, I searched for the cat again. Found her hungry. Ran back for leftovers and a can. Returned. Found her again, as if by fate.
That night — perhaps not only that night — cat, Allah, and the god of football formed a holy trinity.
When I think back to December 18, 2022, it was meant to be an ordinary Sunday — hopeful, heartbreaking, triumphant, ordinary.
Perhaps one day I’ll be in La Plata, or the Caribbean, or Patagonia. Perhaps Europe or China. Life will rebuild itself elsewhere.
After all, I’m a sweet, tender hooligan.
年初鬼使神差地抽中阿根廷七场比赛跟队票，从小组赛到决赛。我对运气并不抱有盲目的信心，但我相信自己在这件事上是隐约感受到某种预兆的。
我应该问问别人的预感，或是提前查查某本黄历，因为我有时会感到那是一年中最漫长的夜晚。不止如此，有时我甚至坚信那个夜晚是永远不会结束的。
存在主义骆驼
多哈有很多让人大呼荒谬的场景，但都比不上在瓦其夫市场的这头骆驼。
它被圈养在游人如织的老市集广场上，等待着有缘人消费一把，骑上它在五十平米左右的圈地里溜达。其荒谬程度，好比在2018年的俄罗斯世界杯，莫斯科红场上开设一个棕熊足球场，付费后可以尝试带球过熊，进球后双手指天大呼「让我听听谁还在提动物保护！」
我在卡塔尔待了20天，这头骆驼一直懒洋洋地趴在地上，似乎从未营业过。它不需要为业绩担心，这是一只被生命随便扔进了瓦其夫的骆驼。有那么一瞬间，盯着它看，你会觉得它在闭眼微笑。这是一只很酷的骆驼，它接受了广场、游客、莫名其妙的音乐与目光。
我们很相似，都喜欢前途未明的感觉。
什么是阿根廷
阿根廷人 Lucas 留着 Andrés Calamaro 似的爆炸卷发，作为乐队前贝斯手的他，居然真的认识这位阿根廷摇滚巨星本人。
Lucas 自称一个非典型阿根廷人，因为阿根廷人“常常觉得明天我就会拯救这个世界”，一种介于自信、自大与自负的国民性格。而他总会需要考虑再三，我们在踢克罗地亚前约着喝了一杯，并一致同意不敢奢求轻松赢球。
那年在巴西，他看了七场球，然后用八年时间去化解马拉卡纳创伤。
话说到这份上，我本可以问更多的事情，但是为什么要问呢？黄昏太美了，不该逼迫一个男人去讲述一个注定悲伤的故事。
美好的恐惧
我不记得近三载人生中，是否经历过比现场观看阿根廷踢荷兰更可怕的事。越接近点球的瞬间，原来手和腿是会不自觉颤抖的，需要扶着身边的人才能站直。
同时我在打字，在和朋友们忏悔「太害怕了，他妈的再也不看球了，想回家」。人生大赌徒荒野大镖客 Fred 说「Fear is a good feeling」。该发生的，波澜壮阔地发生了，在今夜，也在决赛夜。
决赛前我迷信地穿上和看荷兰一样的装束，把阿根廷国旗小徽章佩戴到同一位置，耳钉戴在同一只耳朵。我用相似的恐惧切割自己，而这次，甚至得蹲着（站不起来了）从指缝间偷窥（这招是跟阿Kun学的：原来可以不用直盯盯地看点球！）阿根廷与法国互射十二码。
但这次，伴随恐惧的不再是逃避，我想「it is hard, but it is supposed to be hard」
我突然感到 Fred 的话中隐藏着某些千真万确的东西。如果你对一切都不再害怕了，那么坏事也就不会发生在你身上。
美是万物存在的最高理由
一个人在看过梅西现场踢球后，只能通过想象重构足球、宽慰自己，否则你会觉得「我都看过梅西现场了，为什么还要回到白鹿巷受这些平庸的苦」。梅西数次在我的方向带球过人，那是与生俱来、无法用语言表述的内容。
他的存在，让世界杯告别了以国家划分主队的狭隘观点，梅西把全世界球迷区分成富有想象力和没有想象力的人。地铁里，球场里，来自印度、孟加拉国、巴基斯坦、尼泊尔、斯里兰卡、也门、埃及的球迷，想象像纯正阿根廷人一样唱歌跳舞。
一个和我们没有血缘关系、没有共同经历的人民，但我的心和他们一起分享着欢乐和痛苦，总有一天我会迷失在这里。
拉美精神
胡子把巴西当作他的第二祖国。直到今年，我才深刻地体会到和另一种文化之间，虽然无亲无故，也可以产生天然的连结。
一次是在听罗马尼亚铜管乐队 Fanfare Ciocarlia 时，无需借助任何外物，只凭借节奏与音符，土地婆婆好似从双腿上冒出来带领着人群舞蹈。
看阿根廷现场也是如此，丢掉悲情戏码、丢掉苦大仇深、丢掉恐惧与造神，拉丁精神是以生命的意义狂欢。
我买的是阿根廷跟队票，虽然位置在山顶，但每次身边坐的都是同一群人，大家也都约好下场见、下场再一起拥抱。我身边一直坐着Jose和Joe，一对来自阿根廷的父子。Jose说「You’re too effusive as an Asian, maybe there’s a Latina in you」
让我化用阿斯图里亚斯的一句话：拉美是大地的性腺。
我想也许巴尔干精神与拉丁精神区别不大，事实上二者是一回事，那精神照亮了很多人。也许巴尔干精神能受得住更多的酒精，仅此而已。
第三世界与外星建筑
卡塔尔看不见白人（也看不见女性）。每天晚上晃荡在瓦其夫市场外的广场上，苏丹大哥们拿着大喇叭播放民族音乐，围圈跳起“烫脚舞”，挥着巴勒斯坦旗帜的队伍吹着笛子高喊“阿根廷”—— 把世界杯放在卡塔尔举办唯一不那么坏的点在于，你可以看到更多不同的肤色参与的狂欢（以男性为主）。
我发现我原来是如此热爱腥臊的第三世界的气息，广场上的喜剧性与荒谬、嘈杂与暧昧比超市与奢侈品百货里的秩序感来得自由。
但另一方面，多哈是个在外星上拔地而起的超现实城市。金碧辉煌的卢塞尔体育场被 Lucas 调侃为一个废墟上的浴缸。效仿香榭丽舍的卢塞尔大道上，电子大屏幕林立，四栋巨大的 Lusail Plaza Tower 伫立在大道尽头，颇有震慑力。但再延伸出去，则是荒无的沙漠和在建的新楼宇。
我感觉自己好似在一架宇宙飞船里，在现在与未来间来回穿梭。夜空清亮，卢塞尔上空的月亮不像月亮，更像是块铺在浴缸上等风吹干的床单。奔波看球的夜晚，四五点休息是常态，我于是在第三世界国家的标志性声音——压路或施工声中入睡了。
天使
永远感谢天使，他无数次临门一脚、轻轻一挑，拯救阿根廷不止今日。从08年对尼日利亚、14年绝杀瑞士、美洲杯决赛、欧美杯。
他在场上左路奔跑的时候，有着和梅西不二的神奇。有些球员，即便从九万人的球场山顶望去，你看不见他的样貌和号码，但那阵奔跑与轻巧的灵气一定是他。
迪马利亚有一篇流传很广的自述「穿过冰冷雨夜」，雨水可以教会我们一些东西。有时候，定义我们的并不是闪闪发光的捧杯瞬间，而是光芒来临前的至暗时刻。
我想到索飒在拉美笔记「丰饶的苦难」提到：拉丁美洲人在20世纪初提出了一种“暂时失败者”的哲学，弘扬精神与目的，以对抗物质和结果至上的美式成功学。
失败是必须的，生活也是必须的。成功学指导下，他们已丧失了惊叹的能力，忘了怎么做梦，忘了一个天使对苍穹的凝视有时会变成梦。
献给母亲与祖母
在飞回伦敦的飞机上，我拒绝回到现实，打开马拉多纳的纪录片。迭戈在1986年夺冠后和母亲的一通电话被记录下来，我第一次在他身上感受到谦卑、羞涩， La Tota 像圣母般将迭戈用爱与温暖包围起来，他丢掉了不可一世，那么柔软轻盈、自由不羁、天真烂漫。
在那不勒斯夺冠后，马拉多纳说「我将它献给母亲」。这和阿根廷社交网络上近期最热的「Abuela La La La」有着一脉相承之处，球迷们围着一位76岁的奶奶，开始唱歌跳舞庆祝球队的胜利，以至于街头上奶奶辈几乎「无一幸免」，被年轻人围追着歌颂。
当他们因着自己的语言、宗教而回望欧洲父系血统时，他们告别了盎格鲁撒克逊人的白人优越意识，并毫不羞愧地肯定了自己贫贱的拉丁母亲。歌颂母亲！
三位一体
伊斯兰世界普遍满地长猫。决赛前，我们在住处附近的广场上偶遇这只美女猫，并且开启了逢猫必喂之路。巴西新闻官将猫扔出新闻发布会后，巴西悻悻出局，他们还不理解一个朴素的真理，要对猫咪好才能赢球。
不出所料，伊斯兰世界也长满清真寺。我在阿根廷踢波兰的下半场开场前，向着麦加方向祈祷；下半场开场一分钟后阿根廷进球。
我于是特地跑去参观了卡塔尔国家清真寺。脱下游客黑色罩袍后，舒了口气，真主我尽力了，彩色的女性、衣不蔽体的女性可太美了！
在多哈的最后一夜，我散步经过广场企图再寻找那只猫的身影，无果。在临过马路前，最后回头一望，好像在某个角落里看到一个黑影，这才戏剧性地和她重逢。她饿坏了，而我身上的猫粮几乎弹尽粮绝，便一路小跑回住处打包了些剩菜，再去超市买了个罐头，第二次前往广场寻找她。好像心有灵犀似的，在一个树丛里又找到了她。
当晚，我十分需要英格兰国家队的联系方式，求教如何将一只卡塔尔猫带回伦敦。当晚，又或许不只是当晚，猫咪、真主和足球之神即永恒的三位一体。
当我回想2022年12月18日，当时，我们准备过一个开心的周日，一个满怀期待的周日，一个伤心的周日，一个圆梦的周日，一个与往常一样的周日，一个跌宕与感激、恐惧与坚定、狂喜与悲伤的周日。
未来，也许我在拉普拉塔，也许在加勒比或更远的里约，又或许在巴塔哥尼亚针叶林，在欧洲或中国，我的生活将得以重建。
After all, I’m a sweet tender hooligan.