A Pilgrimage to Uruguay

When Marcelo Bielsa was unceremoniously sacked by Leeds United, the prospect of having a second team to support acted as the light at the end of the tunnel. That team was confirmed six months ago, when El Loco became the new manager of the Uruguay national team. My preparation for life as a fan of La Celeste brought great excitement, as I discovered a squad boasting a number of elite-level players still approaching their primes (Ronald Araujo, Jose Gimenez, Fede Valverde, Manuel Ugarte, Rodrigo Bentancur and Darwin Nunez) and when Uruguay won the Under-20 World Cup within a month of his appointment, it was clear to me that Bielsa had the tools he needed to achieve incredible things in what was likely to be the final act of his esteemed managerial career.

By the time World Cup qualifying began I was completely obsessed, yet the Uruguayans didn’t seem to share my excitement. The Great Man’s squad selections were roundly criticized, and his decision to end the international career of 36-year-old Luis Suarez condemned. He was called a liar by the media and a ‘smoke-seller’ by the fans, and despite collecting four points from three difficult opening fixtures, Bielsa was under pressure as I headed to South America for one of the biggest matches of his career: the Superclassico against Brazil.

The trip of a lifetime began with three nights in Buenos Aires with my best friend Lewis, and we certainly made the most of our short time in the Argentinian capital. It felt like a cross between stag do and honeymoon as we explored exotic lands and enjoyed romantic steak dinners together, then drank and laughed until nearly sunrise. By the time we hopped over the Rio de la Plate we were drained of energy and bloated by beer and meat, but matchday excitement provided a second wind. A sauna to cleanse our ailing bodies was an unconventional opening to our pre-match routine, but we soon reverted to type; seeking out a bar on the walk to the ground. It was 4pm, five hours before kick-off, yet none of the bars we passed were open, so we arrived early at the Italian bar next to the stadium which my new friend James had arranged to meet us in. James and I had bonded over our mutual love for El Loco but we’d never actually met, and somehow it felt fitting that our first greeting came 7,000 miles from home. Accompanying James was Nic, a fellow Bielsa disciple from Rosario, Steve, James’s work colleague, and Simon Rix from the Kaiser Chiefs. Beers were sunk and stories exchanged until it was time to head off to the stadium, and we said our goodbyes after we all bought Uruguay scarves to battle the bitterly cold wind.

Lewis and I entered the Olympic end of the Estadio Centenario, and what a stadium it was. Untouched in almost 100 years, this was the only FIFA accredited monument in world football and you could feel the history as you walked in. It was so enchanting to be experiencing the same surroundings as the fans who attended the first ever World Cup Final in 1930; just as one might pinch themselves, I couldn’t stop touching the brickwork to check that it was real. We took our seats directly opposite Bielsa’s technical area shortly before a ‘Mexican Wave’ swirled around the stadium, and when the teams emerged I couldn’t help feeling this was the night Uruguay’s long wait for a victory over Brazil would come to an end. It had been 22 years since their last Superclassico victory, and 22 being the number of El Loco (in Argentinian betting phraseology) had to be a good omen. The scene was set for a massive night.

Things started going wrong for Brazil when their anthem failed to play over the PA system, which set the course of the evening. Brazil got nothing out of Uruguay, they were completely shut down by a Marcelo Masterclass that stuck two fingers up at the people who wrongly assume Bielsaball is an exercise in outscoring the opposition. Despite controlling possession in the first half the visitors could do nothing with it, and on the odd occasion that the midfield pairing of Valverde and Ugarte was bypassed, there was a brick wall called Ronald Araujo to prevent them from even attempting to test the goalkeeper. Uruguay were struggling to convert attacks into chances too, thus it took until the 43rd minute to finally see a shot at goal, and boy was it worth the wait. Excellent wing-play by Maxi Araujo created a chance for Darwin Nunez, who planted a bullet diving-header past goalkeeper Edison from ten yards. The bulging net sparked a cacophonous noise as the Centenario screamed ‘GOOOOOOL!’, and Nunez and his comrades hopped over the advertising hoardings in front of me to celebrate with the joyous fans. Uruguay had the half-time lead they deserved.

Funnily enough, the atmosphere hadn’t been anything like you might expect. Songs had been as infrequent as goalmouth action, but it was still a passionate and captivated crowd who roared every attack, contested every decision, and whistled every time Brazil made a mistake in possession. Those mistakes increased in the second half as the Samba Boys lost their way and lost their will to keep fighting the relentless nature of Bielsaball; every Uruguayan was winning their one-on-one battle that Bielsa’s man-marking system is famed for. Brazil had also lost their talisman Neymar to an ACL injury, nevertheless, the knowledge that any one of Rodrygo, Vinicius Jnr, Gabriel Jesus, Richarlison, Guimares, or even the anonymous Casimiro could conjure up a piece of magic to turn the tide weighed heavily on everyone’s mind, until the 70th minute, when Nunez fought off two defenders to put a goal on a plate for River Plate’s Nic de la Cruz. The little number seven had worked tirelessly to help Nunez defend from the front and was a deserving scorer of the goal which took La Celeste to the brink of a historic result.

With a two-goal lead Uruguay’s full potential was unlocked. Bielsa showcased his famous 3-3-1-3 formation by dropping Ugarte into the middle of a back-three, and his team grew in confidence until they were showboating and drawing ‘ole’s’ from the home crowd for every pass. There was a scare when Rodrygo’s free kick crashed off the top of the crossbar, but the result was never truly in doubt and when the final whistle blew there was an outpouring of emotion on the pitch and in the stands. Substitutes and staff streamed on to the pitch to form a massive bouncing huddle with their teammates, though one person missed the celebrations of course. Marcelo Bielsa had disappeared straight down the tunnel, too humble to attract any attention on himself despite being just as happy as every man, woman and child in Uruguay.

I was bouncing off the walls the next morning, and Twitter was now awash with praise for El Loco in a perfect example of the fickle nature of football fandom. ‘Thank you eternally, Marcelo Bielsa’, beamed the previously pessimistic Uruguay Football ENG account. ‘Marcelo Bielsa is creating something special!’ proclaimed the previously non-believing Warriors of Uruguay account, and the official AUF account subtly acknowledged the overcoming of doubt by declaring, ‘URUGUAY NOMA!’; noma meaning ‘it’s cool/all good’. Indeed it was. Uruguay were second in the Eliminatorias table, only trailing World Champions Argentina who they faced in the next match.  

An incredible trip ended with another surreal event: participating in a rock-star’s birthday night out! It was Simon’s birthday and we basked in the glory of Bielsa’s victory all night, resulting in me drunkenly forgetting to set my alarm. Miraculously, I was woken at 6am by a customer trying to call me, which saved me from missing my 7.50am flight and the heartache and hassle that would have followed. Spiritual musings led me to wonder whether my loyalty and devotion to the celestial El Loco had somehow been rewarded from above; I’d always said I’d follow him to the ends of the earth, and now I had.

Rocco Dean - Author of Marcelo Bielsa vs The Damned United, Marcelo Bielsa vs The Premier League, The O’Leary Years, and League One Leeds. Order from our shop