River: In the Bad. Emotional depth at River Plate

Words: Gonzalo Alfaro

Images: Gonzalo Alfaro

For years and years they spent
Talking rubbish to the crowd.
We just want to see River
When the bad times come around.

And now they say nothing,
You can’t hear a single sound.
We’ve shut their mouths,
Every rival all around.

The terraces aren’t enough,
The tickets never last.
We’ve shown them what River are
When the bad times come to pass.

I’ve been living in Italy for almost two years now and live matches are played here as late as one,two, or even three-am and missing them has not been an option.

The last year for River Plate cannot be explained or described by any known words to human kind, but all I’ve felt was pain.

So I’ve been wondering, why? Why do I expose myself to this torture once or twice a week? Why should I be there for a team that doesn't give me back anything?

Why do I throw away an entire day just to see 11 humans kick a ball in the wrong direction, not run far enough to return to their position or just don’t feel like putting down a strong foot to protect our goal?

WHY?

I think I might have found the answer, but it’s not only in these pictures, it’s not a single response and it is a universal story but the only way to arrive is by doing something that’s not usually found or proposed in modern football culture, slowing down.

©Gonzalo Alfaro/ Terrace Edition. Club Atlético River Plate.

It was December of 2024 and I was in Argentina for work. After almost a month of non-stop friends and family gatherings, an opportunity landed in front of me.

I had the chance of taking my little brother, Francisco, to his first match in El Monumental thanks to a friend (thanks Kundo).

This opportunity was special because of two reasons, security in River’s stadium has improved exponentially over the last 10 years, due to management of the club and the unfortunate prohibition of away fans in Argentine football (if not my loving mother would’ve never let me take her 11 year-old son to a match).

On the other hand, getting tickets to a River match can be impossible due to availability or prices.

The day was chaotic, after a total of 120km driven we arrived at El Monumental and the air was already filled with joy.

Thousands take part in a pilgrimage to their sectors, seats and groups of stadium-friends, in Red, White and some in Black.

We peaked at the green pitch, a sensation that in every visit to a stadium feels like the first one, and we headed to the incredible window in the hospitality room that River offers, where you can see the Players about to go out for their warm-up.

Francisco, at this point had lost his mind, nose to the glass window and shouting to Armani, Acuña and Mastantuono as if they were capable of hearing his exclamations of joy.

The little guy has many times expressed his desire to become a professional footballer, a dream many fans share.

The idea of living a life completely immersed in a club, kicking a ball around with friends and getting to know stars, stadiums and clubs you’d only been able to know so far on TV.

The teams finally exit the tunnel and as they do, we run towards our seats.

And so we arrive at the magic moment, that instant that has given me back the illusion to keep choosing this damned sport to change my mood for bad or for worse, but always with the hope of winning.

Once seated I see, blessed by the sun going down in the most gentle way with the cool breeze of the Rio de la Plata, a classic scene at El Monumental, my brother's face transforming.

This moment will forever be a tattoo in my mind and I sure hope it stays that way.

Fran has always been a gentle soul with a contemplative look and extremely sensible look in his eyes.

On the other hand words haven't been his weapon of choice.

For the first time I saw his face emote without control as the teams warmed up in the stadium with people still arriving but almost nearly full.

I saw him fighting the feelings, but going through them. Confusion, happiness and while hiding his face inside his River kit and with the progressive falling of tears he said “No sé que me pasa” - “I don’t know what’s wrong with me”.

Seeing a loved one cry be it of sadness or happiness is always moving, but this time I genuinely had no answer for him.

The truth is that in that moment I understood that neither did I understand what was happening to me, what happens to me, what will happen to me.

Because in the end this is not a decision we make as football fans, it’s not an arbitrary or logical idea why we land on the doorstep of a club looking for shelter and trust that they will carry us to safe port.

It’s more than love. Love for a tradition, colours, friends and family with whom we share it and those with which we argue about it, its nations, continents and history finding a new space for debate, dialogue and confrontation. It’s the minutes we spend travelling, in front of a TV or listening to podcasts about it.

It has never been clearer to me what THAT thing is that makes me stand by River when the bad times come around. It’s the first time my dad took me with my grandad to get my first River kit and I preferred to wear it tucked in.

It's that time my aunt took me to the popular for the first time. It’s the hope of one day taking my son to a match. It’s everything I cannot even imagine now but I hope to one day have.

Football is more than life, it’s a lot of lives, lived together.

Gonzalo is on Instagram: @casacadelmedio

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