They Play Soccer.

On Sunday, Cuzco's beloved Cienciano matched up against arch-rival Universitario from Lima at the Estadio Garcilaso de la Vega, a circular stadium that is one of the easiest landmarks to point out when standing atop Cuzco's surrounding mountains. Cienciano paints the town red, and game day, which happened to be a final celebration of Carnival, brought red flares, fireworks and heaps more water fights. We made our way through the celebrations amidst vendors selling red Cienciano jerseys and the traditional Peruvian snow hat decked out to support the local team. Annie and I donned Kirkwood (red) t-shirts and made our way through the crowd, getting a few direct hits with shaving cream and water balloons. Go Cienciano. 

The lines around the stadium to get in were like the diagrams we draw of an atom with many electrons on many orbitals; they seemed to form perfect circles without an end, so we just had to smile and try to get a spot so we could flash our tickets and enter the stadium. They only give you the stub--no grand, etched-in-gold ticket to keep for a memory. The stadium is said to hold 30,000, but I have no idea what seats they are counting; we walked into our section to find the concrete steps that serve as bleachers overflowing with people and many more standing in the aisles. We just sat in the aisles, scrunched between those standing, those thinking they should continue going down the steps for perhaps a magical space to appear and those who had marked their territory and were ready to see red rule. 

They don't really pretend to have sportsmanship at these games. They face the fact that one team is the bad guy. Therefore, the police come out and, with their shields, create a tunnel for the opposing team to come through. This blocks the food and water coming from the stands. Whistles apparently are the same thing as when we in the States boo; the whistles are almost emasculating cat calls, so I guess it works. An opposing player that lies on the field injured creates an atmosphere like each head turned when someone absolutely stunning walked by; no room for polite claps here. 

People come here to see the sport, and they don't pretend that there is something else to see. They come here to see head balls bounce into the corner of the net, bicycle kicks act as the defense's last breath to get the ball out, goalies grow wings to save a shot and footwork that makes our heads spin. And there aren't any distractions from this; you can't really ooh and ahh over your seats or the stadium or the food or the Build-A-Cienciano conveniently located by the hot dogs. You ooh and ahh over what happens on the field. Concrete and $.33 Pepsi in a styrofoam cup get a little too uncomfortable for you to focus on anything but the men speeding by, pushing each other and juggling their feet, and we loved it. The attention was on the skill and the team, not how grand of a setting we were in. You buy a ticket because you want to be amazed by the human body's capabilities, and that is where your eyes stay.

Cuzco was ahead, 1-0, until the last few minutes when Universitario got a free kick on goal and made it. I swear, you could go grocery shopping in what was thrown at the celebrating huddle of Lima men--corn, bread, soda, cookies--as they celebrated their goal to close the game with a tie. South America soccer might be the real thing. I say this because it is truly about the sport; there are no gimmicks, no cover-up to think we are going somewhere fancy when really it is time to show guts and glory on a simple pitch. The fanciest thing about going to a game is the footwork on the field, and I believe that is the way it should be.