Football bears a curse that is also the salvation of players, coaches and fans left downcast after a defeat. It is an activity where it is not enough just to win, rather you must always win, every season, every trophy, every match. Writers, architects, musicians can put their feet up for a while after producing a great novel, a wonderful building, a timeless record. They can take a break or work on a side project. Amongst the first group, with whom I am best acquainted, there are those whose reputations are now assured to the end of their days thanks to a single admired work written fifty years ago. With football, in contrast, there is no respite or enjoyment. The fact that you may be one of the all-time greats or have won a title the year before counts for little. You can never sit back and say the job is done, rather there is always the requirement (and the players place this demand on themselves) to win the next match too, as if starting from scratch, in the same way each game begins nil-nil. Unlike other fields of life, in sport (but above all in football) nothing is accumulated or treasured, in spite of the trophy rooms and the increasingly revered statistics. Having been the best yesterday counts for nothing today, let alone tomorrow. Past joy does nothing to assuage present anguish, where memories are no consolation, achievements provide no satisfaction, and of course the crowd shows no gratitude for the happiness it felt two weeks before. Nor, however, do the suffering and recriminations last for long, and from one day to the next they can be replaced by euphoria and idolisation. Perhaps this is why football is a sport that incites violence, as Cabrera said, "not for the fighting, but for the suffering". However, it must be acknowledged that it also has a precious quality not normally found in other walks of life: it encourages people to forget, which is the same as saying that what it never encourages is a grudge, something one only learns in adult life.

Football bears a curse that is at the same time the salvation of players, trainers and fans saddened by a defeat. It’s an activity in which it’s not enough to win; rather you must win all the time, every season, every tournament, every game. A writer, an architect, a musician can take a break after creating a great novel, a marvelous building, an unforgettable record. They can do nothing for a while or work on something less intense. Among the first group, the ones I know best, some have been declared great and remained so until the end of their days thanks to a single respectable work written fifty years earlier. In football, on the other hand, there is no room for rest or recreation; having an extraordinarily historic trophy or earning a title the previous year doesn’t mean much. What has already been accomplished is never considered as important as the need (and the players are the ones who demand it of themselves) to win the next match as well, like starting from zero all over again, an analogy of the initial result of every game. Unlike other activities in life, sports (but especially football) does not accumulate or store up anything, despite rooms full of trophies and ever more coveted statistics. Being the best yesterday doesn't count today, much less tomorrow. Past happiness does nothing to relieve present agony; there's no room here for the compensation of remembrance, the satisfaction of past achievement, or of course the thanks of the public for happiness sought two weeks ago. There isn’t even much time for regret or indignation, which from one day to the next may be substituted by euphoria and adulation. Maybe that's why football is a sport which incites violence, as Cabrera used to say: it’s not about the kicks, but about the agony. On the other hand, we must recognize that there is something indefinable and which is not seen in other areas of life: It inspires forgetfulness, which means it never brings bitterness, something we only learn as adults.

Football is blessed with a curse which, ironically, is also a saving grace for players, coaches and fans alike, all of whom are as sick as the proverbial parrot after a defeat. This is, after all, an arena where it is not enough simply to triumph; your team has to win everything, every league, every cup, every game. A writer, an architect or a musician may well rest on their laurels having written a great novel, designed an amazing building or recorded an unforgettable album. They might decide to take a year or so off, or end up producing a lesser piece of work. Among the former, the group I am most familiar with, are those who are deemed to be great almost by royal decree and who will remain so until the end of their days thanks to the one masterpiece they wrote fifty years ago. As far as football is concerned, on the other hand, there is no time to relax, to take things easy. The fact that you have a long, successful history or you won something last season counts for little. You are never thanked for having “done what was asked of you” but required - and it is the players who are the first to demand this of themselves - to do even more next time, as if you had to start from scratch every time, like the scoreboard at the start of each game. Unlike in other walks of life, in sport (and above all, in football) things do not accumulate, nothing is ever banked for later, despite what the trophy cabinets and increasingly pored-over statistics might suggest. The fact you were the best yesterday means nothing today, not to mention tomorrow. Past glory cannot alleviate present-day pain, memories bring no relief, neither does the sense of satisfaction for a job well done, nor, it hardly need be said, do the fading cheers of a grateful public from two weeks back. Hurt and indignation, it should be added, do not last that long either; both are rapidly replaced by euphoria and sanctification. Perhaps, as Cabrera said, this is the real reason that football is a sport which incites people to violence, not so much as a result of the kicks and punches that are received but due to the tremendous suffering and heartache it provokes. Nevertheless, the fact that there is something truly inestimable about football that is rarely found elsewhere in life should not be overlooked: it encourages forgetfulness, which is the same as saying it never bears a grudge or fosters resentment, something which is only learnt later in adult life.

Soccer endures a curse that also happens to be a blessing to players, coaches and fans left devastated after a loss. It’s an activity where one win is never enough, but where winning must always be the end goal, for every season, tournament and game. A writer, architect or musician can take a bit of a break after producing a great novel, a splendid building or an unforgettable album. They can afford themselves the luxury of doing nothing for a while or of simply doing something less demanding. Among the ranks of writers, with whom I am most familiar, there are those who have achieved greatness by decree and enjoy this status until the end of their days, thanks to just one estimable work written fifty years ago. But with soccer, there is no place for rest or enjoyment; having an exceptional historic record or walking away with the championship title the previous year is of little good. Enough is never enough, and the pressure and expectation to win the next encounter is high (with the players themselves espousing these sentiments), as if one were always starting from zero, an analogy to the initial score of every match. Unlike other activities in life, in sports (but in soccer above all), nothing is accumulated or amassed, despite trophy halls and statistics that are increasingly lauded. Having been the best yesterday does not matter today, much less tomorrow. Bygone happiness cannot compete with today’s anguish. Here, there is no compensation in recollection, no satisfaction in past achievements and, clearly, no appreciation from the public for happiness procured two weeks ago. As a result, sorrow and indignation are both short-lived, since from one day to the next, these emotions can come to be replaced by euphoria and sanctification. Maybe this is why soccer is a sport that incites violence, like Cabrera said: not because of the kicking involved, but the anguish. On the other hand, one has to admit that soccer possesses something invaluable which is generally absent in other realms of life: an incitement to forget, which is to say that what is never incited is resentment—something that is only learned as an adult.

Soccer bears a curse that is also a solace to players, coaches and fans dismayed by defeat. It’s an activity where it’s not enough to win; one must always win, during every season, every tournament, every game. A writer, an architect or a musician can rest a bit after completing a great novel, a wonderful building or an unforgettable recording. They may do nothing at all for a while or else do something less challenging. Among the former, those most familiar to me, some have attained long term recognition, as if by decree, on the basis of a single praiseworthy book written fifty years ago. In soccer by contrast, there is no time for rest or recreation, a victorious pedigree or last year’s championship is of little use. Past success is never relevant, the next encounter must also be won (the players demand it of themselves); always starting from scratch, every match an analogy. Unlike other activities in life, in sports (and especially in soccer) nothing is accumulated or amassed notwithstanding trophy rooms or ever more treasured statistics. Having been yesterday’s best counts for nothing today and less tomorrow. Past joys can’t ease today’s anguish; rewards derived from memory do not exist here nor does satisfaction with what has already been attained or, of course, public appreciation for the happiness afforded two weeks ago. On the other hand, the shame and indignation which so quickly take the place of euphoria and hero-worship also vanish overnight. Perhaps that’s why, as Cabrera claimed, soccer is a sport that incites violence, not because of its kicks though, rather, because of its anguish. Nonetheless, we need to recognize that it contains something indiscernible, something rare in other spheres of life: it incites oblivion thus never arousing rancor, something learned only on attaining maturity. "

The curse contained in football is also the salvation of players, coaches and fans when plunged into the despair that follows a defeat. Here is an activity in which it’s not enough just to win, but where you must keep on winning – in every season, every tournament and every game. Writers, architects or musicians can relax a little after having created a great novel, a marvellous building or an unforgettable album. They can just do nothing for a while, or at least something less involving. Among the first of these groups, who are the ones I know best, are some individuals who have had greatness bestowed upon them until the end of their days as a result of one esteemed novel written fifty years earlier. In football, however, there is no place for rest or fun. It means very little to have an incredible list of achievements or to have won a title only the year before. It is never acknowledged that expectations have been met, simply demanded that the next match must also be won (something the players also demand of themselves), as if there was always a need to start over with a clean slate, an analogy drawn from the score at the beginning of every match. Unlike other activities in life, sport (but above all football) never accumulates or stores up success, in spite of its trophy rooms and ever-more-valued statistics. To have been the best yesterday is not good enough today, let alone tomorrow. The happiness of days gone by cannot serve to assuage the current anguish, for here there is no consolation in memories, nor is there satisfaction for the once-achieved, nor of course gratitude from the public for the happiness that they were given two weeks earlier. Nor, for the same reason, does the pain and indignation last very long, since from one day to the next it can be converted into euphoria and idol-worship. Maybe that is why football is a sport which incites one to violence, as Cabrera said: it is not because of the kicks, though, but rather the anguish. In turn we should acknowledge that there is something invaluable about football which doesn’t tend to arise in other areas of life: it promotes a short memory, which is the same thing as saying that what it never incites is rancour, a quality which we teach ourselves as adults.

Football is burdened with a curse that is, at the same time, the salvation of players, coaches and fans saddened by a lost game.. This is an activity where it’s not enough to win; one must always win -- every season, every game. A writer, an architect, a musician can nap a bit after finishing a great novel, designing a marvelous building, or cutting a memorable record. They can be unoccupied for a time or do something of lesser calibre. Among the first group – with which I’m most familiar – there are those who’ve gone on to being good writers by decree and to the end of their days, thanks to just one admirable work written 50 years before. In football, on the contrary, there’s no room for rest or recreation -- an extraordinary track record or winning last year’s title are of little use. One is never considered as having lived up to one’s promise; rather, one is required (and players demand it of themselves) to win the next game as well, as though one were eternally beginning again from zero -- an analogy of each game’s starting score. Unlike other activities in life, sports (and, above all, football) do not accumulate or store up anything, notwithstanding the rooms full of trophies and the ever more highly-valued statistics. To have been the best yesterday no longer matters today, to say nothing of tomorrow. Past happiness is powerless before present anguish. There is no such thing here as the compensation of memories, satisfaction from past achievements, nor – of course – gratefulness from the stands for the satisfaction received two weeks ago. Therefore neither is there, for much time, sadness or indignation; these can be replaced from one day to the next by euphoria and veneration. Perhaps this is why football is a sport that incites people to violence, as Cabrera said: not because of the kicking, but because of the anxiety. On the other hand, it must be admitted that there is something priceless about football that doesn’t often arise in the other spheres of life: it encourages forgetting, which is like saying that what it never encourages is rancour – something only learned in adulthood."