gooooooooooooooooooooool!

Oh the beautiful game, and the dizzy delirium of living it today in Argentina. The joy of watching the boys clock up six sweet scores, with almost effortless precision. By now, I am one eighth Argentinian myself, having lived four of my thirty two years in the land of dulce de leche and Diego. And if what I experienced today is the equivalent of just one eighth of the heart-clattering ecstacy that pounded in the average Argentinian chest today, I have no idea how anyone survived.