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I’m Pulling for Argentina to Lose, Without Hatred

The essay argues that football rivalry, including a Brazilian’s desire to see Argentina lose, is not xenophobia or political failure, and should not be confused with the moral duties of democracy, anti-racism, or Latin American solidarity.

Por que não torço para a Argentina
Outras Palavras · By Ricardo Queiroz Pinheiro · 15 July 2026 · read the original in Portuguese →

Defender a integração latino-americana (ou mesmo admirar Messi) não obriga nenhum brasileiro a torcer pelo país vizinho. Afinal, futebol também é feito de rivalidades e tensões – e ignorá-las não faz ninguém mais democrático…

Defending Latin American integration, or even admiring Messi, does not require any Brazilian to root for the neighboring country. Football, after all, is also made of rivalries and tensions, and ignoring them does not make anyone more democratic.

Publicado 15/07/2026 às 12:10 - Atualizado 15/07/2026 às 13:57

Published July 15, 2026, at 12:10 p.m. - Updated July 15, 2026, at 1:57 p.m.

Estou em Buenos Aires em plena Copa. A cidade certa num momento estranho, uma dessas ironias que só os afetos do futebol produzem. Buenos Aires fervilhava e esperava, ansiosa, o jogo da noite de ontem: Argentina x Suíça.

I am in Buenos Aires in the middle of the World Cup. The right city at a strange moment, one of those ironies only football’s affections can produce. Buenos Aires was seething, waiting anxiously for last night’s match: Argentina vs. Switzerland.

When my partner and I planned this trip, I did not even connect the dates with the tournament. The idea was different: to take advantage of my birthday and a work trip of hers so we could spend a few days together. We began in Uruguay and then crossed over into Argentina. The World Cup entered the itinerary by chance.

The irony took shape as the matches went on. First, I watched Uruguay get sent packing by Spain on a big screen in a bar in the pleasant Cordón neighborhood. I suffered with the hermanos who bequeathed us the Maracanazo.

Days later, it was Brazil’s turn to be eliminated. Argentina remained alive, and I was in Buenos Aires precisely as the World Cup was entering its final stretch. The day after Brazil’s failure, in the lobby of the building where I am staying, a sweet old lady teased me affectionately. We laughed.

This Saturday, after that strange match against Egypt, Argentina took the field against Switzerland. Before that, Norway and England were fighting for the other place in the bracket. The combination could still have put Argentines and Norwegians face to face in the semifinal. The city was already beginning to get into the mood of the match, and I followed it all here, in the midst of the Argentine fans, silent.

The sentence now seems to demand a justification far more complicated than it actually has. There is no hatred of the Argentine people, no refusal to recognize the quality of their players, no difficulty admitting Messi’s greatness. The explanation is much simpler: Brazil and Argentina are football rivals. Rivalry includes wanting to beat the other side and, when your own team has already fallen, wishing that your main rival will lose too. Argentina cannot become four-time champion and draw close to Brazil’s five. Period.

From what I have felt and seen here in Buenos Aires, no Argentine thinks it necessary to root for Brazil in order to prove that he is democratic, Latin American, civilized, or committed to world peace. He may recognize that Brazil played well, praise a Brazilian player, lament the technical poverty of the current national team, or speak with us cordially. At match time, however, he roots against us. This is considered absolutely normal. As it should be.

There are excesses. Some call us monkeys. That is racism and a crime, not rivalry. There is also, in part of the porteño imagination, a claim to European superiority belied by Argentina’s own history. This exists and needs to be said. But it does not define all Argentines, and it would be neither fair nor useful to turn the problem into an indiscriminate accusation against an entire people, still less while standing on their own ground.

My relationship with Argentina, in fact, begins much earlier and extends far beyond football. I like Silvina Ocampo and Julio Cortázar, I followed Beatriz Sarlo’s intellectual intervention, I admire Ricardo Darín, and I listen to Luis Alberto Spinetta. Argentine culture is part of my formation and of the things that interest me. None of this obliges me to root for its national team, just as rooting against it does not diminish my interest in the country, its history, or its cultural production.

In Brazil, part of the public has created a kind of sentimental and moral tribunal around Argentina. It is the reverse of the haters, though it ends up in dialogue with them. Rooting for Messi came to be presented as a sign of greatness. Rooting against him became envy, resentment, crude nationalism, or the inability to admire another’s talent.

Some people add yet another political layer: the good Latin American, the consistent democrat, the defender of regional integration should support the Argentine national team. The argument would be weak under any circumstances, and it becomes even emptier in today’s football. There is no Ardiles in the Argentine side today, someone capable of publicly confronting the contradictions between football, the 1978 title, and the dictatorship. Nor, in Brazil, is there a Sócrates, who turned the pitch into a space for political and democratic intervention.

Football does not correct Milei or disarm Bolsonarism. An Argentine victory does not strengthen the Latin American left, just as a Brazilian defeat does not weaken the far right. Solidarity among peoples does not require uniformity of support, and the defense of democracy does not depend on the result of a match. Regional integration will not be greater because a Brazilian has put on the Argentine shirt, nor will it be lesser because he celebrated Argentina’s elimination. To turn this into a political obligation is demagogic and mawkish rhetoric.

I can admire Messi, recognize the greatness of Argentine football, like Buenos Aires, and treat Argentines with respect without, for that reason, rooting for their national team. Rivalry is not xenophobia. Condemning racism does not require sporting fraternity. Defending Latin American integration does not oblige anyone to wear, even symbolically, the shirt of Brazil’s chief adversary. What impoverishes the discussion is the demand that admiration be converted into support, and that a football preference become proof of character.

A short while ago, Buenos Aires came to a halt. I was in the middle of it, respecting the celebration, hearing the shouts coming from the windows, and following the match in silence. I did not root for Switzerland. I rooted against Argentina. I will root against them again in the semifinal and, if need be, in the final. Without hatred, without guilt, and without apology. Rivalry is also recognizing the stature of the other side and, even so, wanting them to lose.

I dedicate this text to Sócrates Brasileiro and Osvaldo Ardiles, two footballers who honored the shirts they wore and showed, each in his own way, that football and politics are inseparable.

I am pulling for Argentina to lose, without hatred.

Originally published in Opera Mundo and reproduced with the author’s authorization.

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Y done · S save · G great · B bad · N not for me