I would like to dedicate the title of this post, which makes no sense, to Xtal. More on that later, in a different, but equally absurd post.

Now that the dedication is over, I would like to embark on a journey of ever-expanding footballing horizons. It is time to learn about more teams! More leagues! It is time for additional favorites and alternate heroes.

I believe I will begin this journey in the warm climes of Argentina, where the legendary Boca Juniors and River Plate await. Two teams with truly excellent and kind of baffling names, and a strange name is a quick way to my heart.

However! A strange name isn’t enough to completely win me over. It’s just one of several metrics I’m secretly working on to help me separate chaff from wheat. Comrade Argentine Ivancho wouldn’t let me forget that these two teams are the Argentine equivalent of Manchester United. Read: dull bullies that foreigners root for because they’re famous and win a lot. Well, Ivancho, I said, who is your team?

The answer: Independiente.

This sent me back to my secret metrics. It’s a bonus to root for a team in solidarity with a friend who has a real connection. I might join Ivancho; Independiente are currently bad and no doubt could use my well wishes, which are unusually potent. On the other hand, it’s also a bonus to whimsically choose the arch rival of your friend’s team. This might be a little more fun. I’d kind of like to rile Ivancho up. This being a slow process, I have not yet looked up Independiente’s rival: I assume they’re called Dependiente and locked in an Manichean struggle that transcends the notional boundaries of sport. (I also imagined, and originally decided not to share, that this imaginary team could be sponsored by the Argentine equivalent of Depends adult diapers- a meta sort of cross-marketing experiment).

The above nonsense made me double back to what I knew a little about. Namely, Argentina’s two most famous teams, and the Boca Juniors’ icon Juan Roman Riquelme. Jonathan Wilson (the Inverting the Pyramid dude) called him “the last of the old style playmakers,” a phrase whose eulogic tone I found attractive. The autumnal quality also suits a great player who once seemed bound for huge stardom and has since faded from the big stage, and found his place as an example of something that has passed. He has a morose aspect as well; outside of Argentina he’s kind of a connoisseur’s player, there’s a definite aesthetic at work.

So, I’ll start with him, and the famous clubs, and from there go into the inviting weeds of Independiente.