07/06/2022
“The soccer culture in Colombia is insane. Everybody and their mother, literally, had an Atletico Junior tattoo. We weren’t the best team—we were kinda like the Oakland A’s of La Liga Aguila, making do with a smaller budget and sometimes overachieving. Then one Sunday the “Yankees” came to town.
Deportivo Cali, league juggernauts, had just won the league title and our stadium was ROCKING from the start. In the first 25 minutes, we hit the post twice and their goalie made two ridiculous saves. It was so chaotic. The energy built with every near-goal. I’d never felt such palpable angst at a sporting event. Everyone was screaming, pleading and begging for a goal. We were living and dying here! I had never needed a score so badly.
Finally, our midfielder stole the ball, carried it upfield, and rainbowed one magnificent cross towards my favorite player, Vladimir Hernandez. He began to twist and contort his body to reach the pass and that’s when everything slowed down.
“Wait, omg. He’s going for the BICYCLE KICK?!” I thought. I’ve watched sports forever and I’d never felt time slow-mo like that. For a split-second the entire stadium went silent.
His bicycle kick screamed into the top corner. GOAL.
We EXPLODED. It was less of a “Yeah, we scored!” and more of a “OMFG WHAT IS HAPPENING!?! ” It was pandemonium. It was miraculous. AND it was against the “Yankees.”
I pretty much lost my mind. I blacked out from euphoria and when I came to, I was shirtless, hugging random Colombians. There is one voice I remember that penetrated that incredible madness though.
“Que lindo! Que lindoooooo!” he cried. He was right, it was beautiful.
It was one of the best moments of my life.”
-Nathan G.
Communications
Year-long program in Colombia
