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I'm an Argentine who's lived in the US for 13 years. I was in Buenos Aires for the World Cup final, and it was a dream come true.

Conz Preti   

I'm an Argentine who's lived in the US for 13 years. I was in Buenos Aires for the World Cup final, and it was a dream come true.
  • I'm an Argentine who has lived in the US for 13 years.
  • I planned to see my family for the first time in four years and wasn't thinking about the World Cup.

"Let's go to Argentina for the holidays," I told my American husband in June.

It had been four years since we had headed down south. I had a high-risk twin pregnancy that didn't allow me to travel in 2019. Then in 2020, the pandemic halted travel, and for a while, we didn't feel comfortable putting our twin babies on a plane.

But as they neared turning 3, I realized that no one in my family had met them, and that was a heavy weight in my heart.

I bought our plane tickets without really thinking about the World Cup; it's usually played in June and was moved to December this year because of the extreme heat of Qatar in the summer months. The planets aligned, and my family and I were in Buenos Aires the day Argentina played — and won — the final match.

It is a day I will never forget.

The game was intense

I've always suffered watching Argentina play soccer. It's hard to explain to someone who didn't grow up watching players like Diego Maradona or Lionel Messi. The world loves them, but they are ours. The whole country has always wanted them to win because of how magnificent they are when a ball hits their feet.

My American husband asked me as I was crying watching the penalty kicks in an earlier game between Argentina and the Netherlands why I even watched the games if I was going to be bent over sobbing with every kick.

"You know people enjoy watching sports, right?" he asked.

I know, but I can't help it. The love I feel for my national team is indescribable.

The final match was — hands down — the best World Cup game ever played. Argentina led by two goals for most of the game, and my family was already planning to go out and celebrate on the streets. Then, France quickly tied it up. It went to overtime, where Messi scored again, and we got our hopes up, just like when Argentina defeated England 3-2 in 1986. But France had other plans, and the score was tied again, forcing the match to end in penalty kicks.

When the referee blew the whistle marking the end of the game and the start of the kicks, I felt my blood pressure drop and everything get a little fuzzy and dark. A door caught me from hitting the floor, and I held on to it as everything came back into focus — I had almost fainted from how stressed I was.

Argentina won, and we were able to celebrate

I dread penalty kicks, but Argentina's goalie saved two shots from France and made us the new champions of the World Cup, something I've been waiting for the past 36 years. I'm 39, so it's been something I've been wanting to see almost my entire life.

But when I walked back into the room where my family was watching the game — I was watching it from outside the living room for good luck and because I can't help but pace when I watch Messi play — I realized this would be a core memory.

Seeing my dad hug my son and celebrate this monumental moment together was — and still is — bigger than anything I could describe. This is what soccer is for us. It's generational; it transcends any logic.

Before our team was handed the shiny golden cup, I packed my parents' cars with my children, my husband, and my parents and drove honking the horn nonstop until we found hundreds of people celebrating on the street.

We danced, we chanted, and my son wore his Messi shirt, which I hadn't washed in a month — for good luck — in a sea of little kids wearing the same jersey.

I still can't believe it's true that we won, that we are here, and that my kids were able to experience the magic of fútbol and history in the making.



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