A Friday night in Brooklyn at a swanky bar is attended by a Dominican wearing proudly a Barcelona Scarf.
It’s wrapped around his thick neck even inside the place, and as he’s perched against the bar and chatting with his mates – “bromeando” – the scene is innocuous but also full of drunkenness.
It is I and a close argentine friend who notice that the man at the bar, at 3 am and indoors, is wearing this Barcelona scarf. The way he wears it, he is asking to be spoken to.
So we dart over, and I enlighten him about the fact that the team who he wholeheartedly supports is more South American than Spanish, and, for that matter, Catalan. He nods in agreement, but is at first defensive; he doesn’t want to be lectured, so I tell him I mean not to lecture but to “hablar paja, no mas, hombre.”
Of course, it is brought up that the attacking trident of Messi, Suarez, and Neymar is a South American Wonder Trio. A trident that rivals, and eventually overthrows, the trident of Neptune himself.
The Dominican chortles.
Then I tell him that the greatest Dominican player in over a century is currently plying his goal scoring craft at Barcelona’s greatest rivals: Real Madrid.
The Dominican says: “Fuck that guy. Fuck him.”
And it was at that moment I realized he was a true “hincha.”