A poem to Football

I just realized that I have barely written here about one of my passions:  Football.

To remedy that situation, I am officially opening right now the label Football in my blog, where I expect to write down a bit about my love for this game, love inherited from my father and brother, love nurtured by my culture, love enriched by friends from many countries who share it, love that grows with any episode worth to be over-interpreted.

To open this label, nothing better that: A Poem to Football (by Walter Saavedra).

(please forgive me for the translation, I did the best I could, but it is simply impossible to replicate its beauty from Spanish to English)

"How are you going to know what love is,
if you never became a club fan?
How are you going to know what pain is,
if a defender never broke your tibia and fibula?
or being in the "wall" and the ball hit you just there!
How are you going to know what pleasure is,
if you never ran an Olympic Lap as a visitor.
How are you going to know what tender is,
if you never curled the ball hitting it with the outer of your boot
leaving the ball spinning in below the net.
Listen to me, how are you going to know what solidarity is
if you never went to defend a partner kicked from behind?
How are you going to know what poetry is
if you never dribbled.
How are you going to know what humiliation is,
if you were never thrown the ball between your legs,
How are you going to know what friendship is
if you never returned a triangulation,
How are you going to know what panic is
if you were never taken in bad position
during a counterattack
How are you going to know what is to die a bit
if you never picked up the ball from you own goal.
Tell me mate, how are you going to know
what solitude is
if you never stood below the three posts
12 steps away from someone who wanted to shoot you and kill your hope
How are you going to know what mud is
if you never jumped to someone's feet to trow the ball to the side,
How are you going to know what selfishness is
if you never dribbled one more time than you should
while the 9 was alone waiting for it
How are you going to know what art is
if you never ever created a rabona.
How are you going to know what music is
if you never sang from the ultras,
How are you going to know what injustice is
if you never got red card by a bias referee.
tell me, how are you going to know what
insomnia is
if you never went to second division.
How are you going to know what hate is
if you never scored in you own goal.
How, how are you going to know what crying is,
yes, crying,
if you never lost a World Cup final
through a doubtful penalty over the time.
How are you going to know, my dear friend,
How are you going to know what LIFE is
if you never ever played Football"