London Went Dark: The Night the English Went to Sleep While Argentines Celebrated

LONDON.- “Today is England’s turn,” said an Englishman as dozens of Argentines crossed paths heading to the match. The city began to pick up pace around five in the afternoon. Emotions mixed in the streets, but above all, something akin to anger toward Argentine fans emerged. There was no abundance of “good luck”: what was most visible were looks of contempt, and even some smug smiles.

This time, La Malafamera, the Albiceleste meeting point party, had to change venues to accommodate the more than a thousand Argentines looking for a place to cheer on the national team. Inside, the singing never stopped for a second. The bar served fernet nonstop, the bass drums kept sounding, and hands kept waving. All of this was happening in London, but the scene could have been exactly that of a cheering section in any Argentine club stadium.

But there was something that remained constant throughout the entire match, even after England’s goal: there was no panic, not at all. There were no fearful glances, but rather nervous ones. Something was known in advance: the national team could (and wanted to) come back.

With the disadvantage, people began to move: some changed places, others went to the bathroom, others looked up a bit and spoke to that God who appears in every important match. Above all, there was trust. The chanting lowered in volume for the first time all night, but it didn’t stop completely: it seemed more like a pause to catch a breath than a surrender.

Enzo Fernández’s goal arrived: a relief and an exaltation rarely seen. The reaction shot to both possible extremes, jumping or dropping to the floor. There were desperate shouts, with a taste of a final, and more tears than usual. The second half made the complicit glances among people begin to say, without words, what everyone was thinking: we’re going to score another one. And so it was. Hugs between strangers were abundant. Although among Argentines living abroad, one is never quite a stranger. It would seem that passion, unity, and intensity multiply by a thousand when the country is so far away. There were those who cried without letting go of their fernet glass, and those who ran off to find a friend they had left at another end (for superstition) before the match ended.

When the crowd went out into the street, they found a London empty and silent. As if those packed pubs had vanished, and somehow everyone had already gone home. The contrast was surreal: inside, a country tucked into a London basement; outside, a country that decided it was time to sleep.

“And 32 years later…” people began to say in the street. With an endless songbook up their sleeve, someone got a speaker, and they sang and danced for two hours straight. “I feel an overflow of love for my country and immense pride in being Argentine, even more so being far away. There is good will among everyone for these events to go well, and you can see how foreigners are struck by our way of cheering and celebrating,” says Rosario, 27.

There was something, beyond the result, that turned out almost as striking as the match itself: during those two hours, a piece of London stopped being London. There was no negotiation or permission involved. Argentines, far from their country, turned an English corner into an Argentine pitch, in the territory of a historic rival and on the very day of its defeat.

Some tourists, sitting in a food joint, watched the scene as if they had a movie in front of them: they took photos, filmed, and didn’t quite understand what they were seeing. Meanwhile, the only ones left in the empty streets were garbage trucks and some fast-food places. The lines to buy something to eat did have England shirts, and also silence.

The few English who approached the Argentine throng did so with a good attitude, and with something positive to say about Messi: “If he wins this Cup, it can never be argued again that he is the best in the world.”

That corner, for two hours, belonged to no one but the Argentines. On the other side of the city, meanwhile, what abounded was sadness, because, once again, it’s not coming home.

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