batintin
Enthusiast
Silver Level
Hello everyone. I want to share this text that I wrote one day after the death of Alcides Ghiggia, hero of the Maracanazo, in 2015.
Sorry if there are any grammatical errors, English is not my native language.
I hope you enjoy.
MARACANAZO II
The written day arrived and Roque, Matías, Eusebio, Schubert, Obdulio, Víctor, Julio, Óscar, Juan Alberto and Rubén were eager to meet again with the man with whom they had lived unforgettable moments, indelible smiles, but, mainly, the most greatest day of their lives, the one who marked them with fire forever and who also marked an entire country.
They knew that this was the day. The Almighty had warned them and destiny was unchangeable. There was no more theatrical way for that story to end and, they say, that two artists, also united by an incredible date, back in the 17th century, had been in charge of writing that destiny. So the result had to be extraordinary.
The expected man arrived at the right place, he was already at the door. It was there that he encountered a great problem and a great man. He told him that he had been the cause of multiple suicides, seas of tears and immeasurable disappointments of millions of people. Someone with that course was not worthy to go through that door, not even to go to Purgatory. That is why he invited him to enter the elevator and go with a being with a long tail and a weapon similar to Poseidon's, but more evil.
The words were relentless, the long-awaited man did not know what to do. He was brave, courageous, but in this case whoever faced him was divine and against that he was exempt from fight and protest. Until the Almighty made his appearance and, showing true implacability, ordered:
"Leave it, Pedro, leave it." Alcides is not to blame, he just did his job. Make him enter —Pedro meekly complied.
Alcides was already inside and his ten companions, dressed in light blue, went to receive him, generating a bunch of emotional and sublime hugs. They were bound together forever, more than ever, literally.
Moacir, Augusto, Juvenal, Joao, José Carlos, Danilo, Tomás, Jair, Albino, Ademir and Francisco, with white shirts painted yellow and green, went to rebuke them amid so much revelry. The 22 saw each other, recognized each other, and there was a tense atmosphere, which was only the quick response to an incredible moment. They only managed to hug each other, until Moacir, better known as Barbosa, added fuel to the fire:
—Don't brag so much, some Aryan boys wearing the Flamengo jersey surpassed their feat in Belo Horizonte.
—Yes, but your team would not have had the performance it had three years ago without my goal. Actually, I know that I didn't just take away a World Cup, there were two. One because of football, the other because of the mental,' Alcides said mercilessly.
Not a fly flew. Silence was present, it was almost the same as that experienced in Rio de Janeiro 65 years ago. Only The Voice was heard.
"It's him, it's him, one of the three greats who fell silent at the Maracana," Sinatra said, in strange Spanish. Karol Wojtyla also saw it, and the trio, so different, but united by one thing, talked for a while until the start of the game.
Dressed in light blue, with the shorts on and the plugs ready, Alcides went to occupy the extreme right of the 2 - 3 - 5 of the Uruguayan team, the same pyramidal system as the Brazilian team.
The tallest made a new miracle: the green grass that the players walked on was surrounded by the stands of the Maracaná, painted in light blue as it has been since 1950, thanks to the goal of someone who was attached to the right wing of the Charrúa attack. 200,000 spectators returned to exploit the stadium. Carlos Solé was ready to shout the Uruguayan goals again. Flavio Costa was already standing on the edge of the lime line of the local bank and Juan López was a few meters away in his visiting ditto.
The climate of Brazilian superiority was no longer lived now, the tie this time was not enough, it seemed that the lesson had been learned. Jules Rimet already had his speech prepared, but this time in Portuguese and Spanish and he hoped to say it at the end of the contest. There were no newspapers that said "brazil Champion", "The Cup will be ours", or anything like that. No one celebrated early.
The musicians present, this time, had the score of the Brazilian and Uruguayan anthem. The eastern managers did not think of a worthy defeat, but of a new triumph.
65 years later they were all back and everything was ready again. The Brazilians dreamed of revenge, that this game would be one of the 99 that had not happened the first time. Obdulio Varela once again asked that the team not play "defensively" and recalled again "that the outsiders are sticky." The Englishman George Reader gave the order again and the ball moved.
Alcides and company returned to leave everything on the field, there were once again strong emotions, but the game is over and to find out the final result, we will have to wait our time. Only then will we find out if there was a celestial Maracanazo, and if Alcides Ghiggia once again wrote a golden page in history.
Sorry if there are any grammatical errors, English is not my native language.
I hope you enjoy.
MARACANAZO II
The written day arrived and Roque, Matías, Eusebio, Schubert, Obdulio, Víctor, Julio, Óscar, Juan Alberto and Rubén were eager to meet again with the man with whom they had lived unforgettable moments, indelible smiles, but, mainly, the most greatest day of their lives, the one who marked them with fire forever and who also marked an entire country.
They knew that this was the day. The Almighty had warned them and destiny was unchangeable. There was no more theatrical way for that story to end and, they say, that two artists, also united by an incredible date, back in the 17th century, had been in charge of writing that destiny. So the result had to be extraordinary.
The expected man arrived at the right place, he was already at the door. It was there that he encountered a great problem and a great man. He told him that he had been the cause of multiple suicides, seas of tears and immeasurable disappointments of millions of people. Someone with that course was not worthy to go through that door, not even to go to Purgatory. That is why he invited him to enter the elevator and go with a being with a long tail and a weapon similar to Poseidon's, but more evil.
The words were relentless, the long-awaited man did not know what to do. He was brave, courageous, but in this case whoever faced him was divine and against that he was exempt from fight and protest. Until the Almighty made his appearance and, showing true implacability, ordered:
"Leave it, Pedro, leave it." Alcides is not to blame, he just did his job. Make him enter —Pedro meekly complied.
Alcides was already inside and his ten companions, dressed in light blue, went to receive him, generating a bunch of emotional and sublime hugs. They were bound together forever, more than ever, literally.
Moacir, Augusto, Juvenal, Joao, José Carlos, Danilo, Tomás, Jair, Albino, Ademir and Francisco, with white shirts painted yellow and green, went to rebuke them amid so much revelry. The 22 saw each other, recognized each other, and there was a tense atmosphere, which was only the quick response to an incredible moment. They only managed to hug each other, until Moacir, better known as Barbosa, added fuel to the fire:
—Don't brag so much, some Aryan boys wearing the Flamengo jersey surpassed their feat in Belo Horizonte.
—Yes, but your team would not have had the performance it had three years ago without my goal. Actually, I know that I didn't just take away a World Cup, there were two. One because of football, the other because of the mental,' Alcides said mercilessly.
Not a fly flew. Silence was present, it was almost the same as that experienced in Rio de Janeiro 65 years ago. Only The Voice was heard.
"It's him, it's him, one of the three greats who fell silent at the Maracana," Sinatra said, in strange Spanish. Karol Wojtyla also saw it, and the trio, so different, but united by one thing, talked for a while until the start of the game.
Dressed in light blue, with the shorts on and the plugs ready, Alcides went to occupy the extreme right of the 2 - 3 - 5 of the Uruguayan team, the same pyramidal system as the Brazilian team.
The tallest made a new miracle: the green grass that the players walked on was surrounded by the stands of the Maracaná, painted in light blue as it has been since 1950, thanks to the goal of someone who was attached to the right wing of the Charrúa attack. 200,000 spectators returned to exploit the stadium. Carlos Solé was ready to shout the Uruguayan goals again. Flavio Costa was already standing on the edge of the lime line of the local bank and Juan López was a few meters away in his visiting ditto.
The climate of Brazilian superiority was no longer lived now, the tie this time was not enough, it seemed that the lesson had been learned. Jules Rimet already had his speech prepared, but this time in Portuguese and Spanish and he hoped to say it at the end of the contest. There were no newspapers that said "brazil Champion", "The Cup will be ours", or anything like that. No one celebrated early.
The musicians present, this time, had the score of the Brazilian and Uruguayan anthem. The eastern managers did not think of a worthy defeat, but of a new triumph.
65 years later they were all back and everything was ready again. The Brazilians dreamed of revenge, that this game would be one of the 99 that had not happened the first time. Obdulio Varela once again asked that the team not play "defensively" and recalled again "that the outsiders are sticky." The Englishman George Reader gave the order again and the ball moved.
Alcides and company returned to leave everything on the field, there were once again strong emotions, but the game is over and to find out the final result, we will have to wait our time. Only then will we find out if there was a celestial Maracanazo, and if Alcides Ghiggia once again wrote a golden page in history.
I missed the point