Esto es Chile

Several nights ago I experienced something that I have never seen before in my life.  It was also something that I never will see again in my life. This is because it was something that only happens every few years, and you have to be in the right place at exactly that point every few years to be able to experience it.  Had I not been here in Chile at exactly this moment, I would have missed it forever, and never would have known that such a thing could happen.  The experience:  being in Chile when “La Roja” (the Chilean national soccer team) won a spot at the FIFA World Cup in Brazil in 2014.  

Now, being the poor homeschooled kid that I was, I never developed the normal, healthy admiration for competitive sports that most adult people develop around puberty.  I still don’t follow sports very much, and I don’t expect that I ever will.  I believe that sports bring out the worst in people and encourage feelings of “otherness” that turns friends into enemies.  Two people can be good friends until they find out that one is a Redsox fan and the other is a Yankees fan.  Patriotism to a particular sports team becomes almost a personal identity, one that is so strong it can separate people and cause hatred.  Such holds true for soccer, the most popular sport world-wide.  Make the sports team big enough, however, and the same loyalty that can cause otherness seems to unite people of a nation like no other propaganda could ever accomplish.  A war was won on this night, and every Chilean in the city was sharing in the excitement of their victory over the Ecuadorian menace.  

I didn’t see the game, personally.  But I certainly heard it.  Furthermore, I knew exactly the moment that the results were final, marked by the valiant roar of the Chilean population throwing their arms and voices in the air to celebrate.  Everyone was on their balcony screaming and chanting, “Chi-Chi-Chi-Le-Le-Le,” and “Viva Chile, Mierda!” (literally translated, “long live Chile, Shee-yit!”).  Cars driving by on the heavily-trafficked Avenida Providencia honked their horns and waved Chilean flags out of the window.  The blast of vuvuzelas came from all directions and most of the nearby balconies.  For those of you reading who have never heard a vuvuzela in person, they are fucking loud.  About as loud as a car horn.  No wonder issues of noise pollution were such an issue at the last World Cup.  

The most real and exciting part of this whole experience was seeing the fireworks coming from the national stadium where the game was played, less than 4 miles away.  Fireworks hold a very special place in my heart.  They remind me of hope, love, celebration, and they correspond to quite a few cherished memories that I have.  Just to see fireworks alone is always a special thing.  This time, however, I couldn’t help but succumb, seeing the red, white, and blue of the Chilean Flag, to the feeling of being a part of something historical, even if I didn’t participate in the sport or its following.  When I look back on my time in Chile, I can remember the magic of being here at this time and being a part of this monumental event.

 

I may not follow sports very closely, but I’ll be damned if I won’t be watching the World Cup in 2014 while wearing my Chilean flag t-shirt.