Estadio azteca

I've been trying to figure out this Andres Calamaro song for years and tonight I think I've cracked it. The song is called Estadio azteca, named for the soccer stadium in Mexico D.F. where in 1986, Diego Maradona scored with La mano de dios. Each time I hear this song, I think it's about something more than soccer- about age and disappointment, maybe, or human suffering on some level. After parsing the lyrics and google image searching, I'm pretty sure it's just about soccer.

--

Prendido
a tu botella vacía,
esa que antes, siempre tuvo gusto a nada.

Stuck to your empty bottle, that which before had the flavor of nothing. Here, it's tempting to think that Andres sings about a broken relationship, or maybe his own relationship with alcohol. After reading Fever Pitch: A Fan's Life, I think he's talking about the one-way, obsessive relationship people have with soccer teams. You're stuck to the trickle of nothingness that is your team. Knowing that it was never something meaningful, you come back to it over and over.

--

Apretando los dedos, agarrándole, dándole mi vida,
a ese para-avalanchas.

Clenching my fingers, squeezing it, giving my life to that avalanche-stopper. On first blush, avalanche-stopper is a clever turn of phrase- a play on umbrella, an umbrella that's useless because it can't shield you from the weight of life? No. After a quick image search, an avalanche-stopper is flag that's held up at Boca Juniors games.

--

Cuando era niño,
y conocí el estadio azteca,
me quedé duro, me aplastó ver al gigante.


When I was young and saw the Estadio azteca, it made me hard, it crushed me to see the giant. Again, it's possible to read this figuratively about aging- a young person crushed by his discovery of the immensity of life. However, el gigante likely refers to El gigante del norte, the soccer stadium in Salta, Argentina.

--

De grande me volvió a pasar lo mismo,
pero ya estaba duro mucho antes...


As a grown-up, the same thing happened to me again, but I was already hard from before. Yeah, because you're the same child now who freaked out at Estadio azteca. You never grew up- you're still totally emotionally involved in soccer, which, I guess, is one way of being hardened by life.

--

Dicen que hay,
dicen que hay,
un mundo de tentaciones.

They say there is/they say there is a world of temptations-- but who cares about this world if you only really love soccer?

--

También hay caramelos
con forma de corazones...


There are also candies shaped like hearts. When you're frozen in time as a prepubescent soccer fan, then yes, love is on par with candy.

--

Dicen que hay,
bueno, malo,
dicen que hay mas o menos.


They say there's good and bad, in-between. Duh. They are right.

--

dicen que hay algo que tener,
y no muchos tenemos...


They say there's something to have and not many of us has it. Maradona's talent? Victories in every World Cup?

--

For me, this song was always been about growing up- you realize that something you loved isn't anything at all, that you were crushed by it's impression, that the impression is fleeting and can't be held onto. But you hold onto it anyway. That's what I want this song to be about.

The closer I listen, the more I think it's just about soccer. In the same way that Argentina never grows up, Andres Calamaro wrote a serious, emotionally-invested song about his stadium experience. Even then, the song is powerful- the unquestioning love he feels for his team, the awe at the stadium, the constant disappointment. I know this feeling very well, actually. It's exactly how I feel about the Seattle Mariners.

So yes, it's a song about sports. Is the song somehow smaller because of this? 

To love, to truly love anything the way Andres Calamaro loves soccer, is gigante. To hold onto it like it's your life is the kind of commitment few of us can make. It's good and it's bad and it's somewhere in between: these things we love but can never possess.