How an Italian-Argentine Became a Fan of the USMNT
When your parents are from Italy and Argentina, soccer is inherently in your blood. The sport isn’t introduced to you as a baby - it’s just part of you.
Myself, my older brother (Daniel) and our younger bro (Leonardo) were born in Argentina. And while very young in 1978 – there are faint memories of that ride we took in the back of our uncle’s pickup the night Argentina won the 1978 FIFA World Cup.
Our mom, born in Santa Fe, Argentina, had taken off the yarn-weaved covering from a sofa pillow, which featured two light blue stripes separated by a white one - the colors of country’s flag.
Our dad, born in Carovilli in the province of Isernia in Italy, tied a few Argentina flags onto make-shift polls.
We then jumped on the pickup, waving the flags, screaming and chanting as our uncle drove the streets of Buenos Aires, beeping the horn amid a sea of revelers celebrating Argentina’s first World Cup title. I don't know that I actually remember it all, but I have the images of that night painted in my head, perhaps because the stories of that night were so often told at home.
Two years later, the five us moved to the United States, where our younger sister, Ashley, was born. My dad’s parents – who had brought him from Italy to Argentina when he was little - had since moved to Akron, Ohio, where some members of their immediate families had relocated to from Italy.
It was a big change for all of us.
We grew up as American kids - playing little league baseball, basketball, and of course, soccer. Meanwhile, our parents ensured we never forgot our heritage. We ate pasta at Nona and Nonos' house every Sunday, and milanesas and empanadas at home on a regular basis.
At home, we had to speak Spanish because they knew we otherwise would forget the language - accepting that only English was spoken in school or among our friends.
And, they kept the stories of our time in Argentina fresh, like when they took us to River Plate games, or the time we went to see a teenage phenom by the name of Diego Maradona playing for Argentina Juniors.
The 1982 World Cup is a distant memory, but I remember running around with my cousins at the Italian festival in Akron when Italy won it.
The 1986 World Cup is the one I first remember paying attention to. We watched many of the games at the Carovillese Club. You can imagine the excitement when Maradona led Argentina to another World Cup title.
Argentina again reached the final in 1990, and although they lost, our family didn't know anything but success: Argentina and Italy had been in each of the past four World Cups Finals, winning three.
And when the 1994 World Cup came around, we finally had something to tie us back to our country of birth: the world's biggest sporting event was in the United States and we had tickets to all three of Argentina's group games.
But first, we went to watch the United States play Switzerland in Michigan (this was a couple months after we watched the US play for the first time in Cleveland). We were a group of 10 or so that drove the 3.5 hours from Akron to Detroit, a trip that showed us what it was like to have emotions for your country.
We were approaching the Silverdome when some of our friends saw the huge Switzerland flag hanging from two crane's off the side of the road. They didn't know much about soccer, or what the tournament was really about, but they felt compelled to jump out of the van - on the highway (traffic was crawling) - and run up and down waving their American flag, urging cars to honk in support. They were not going to be shown up, not in their country.
We drove back to Akron that night, and the next day we drove - with our parents - to Boston to watch Argentina play Greece and Nigeria.
We were in awe of the Argentina fans - the colors, the songs, the emotions they displayed in supporting the national team, and representing the country. All six of us were decked in light-blue and white - and our parents encouraged us to join in the masses, to learn the songs and feel what it was like to be an Argentine.
Argentina won both games, and we got to see Maradona score his last goal with the national team, against Greece, and then play his final game with the national team, against Nigeria.
The third game was in Dallas, Texas, but not everyone could make it. Me, Dani and a friend made the 24-hour drive and got there a few hours before Argentina was to play Bulgaria at the Cotton Bowl. We didn't find out until we entered the stadium that Maradona had been suspended.
In losing the game, Argentina was sent to play the next round in Los Angeles instead of back in Boston. For us, that meant the end of the line - we couldn't keep driving all the way to California.
I tried to re-live the scenes in 1998 in France, going to three Argentina games and one USMNT game. But it wasn't the same without my family. And by that time, MLS was in its third season and I knew more of the American players than Argentina's, especially since two of them played in our backyard with the Columbus Crew (Brian McBride and Brian Maisonnneuve.)
The next year, Dani and I drove to Washington D.C. to watch a friendly between Argentina and the USA at RFK Stadium. We were as surprised as anyone when Joe-Max Moore scored the late game-winning goal for the U.S. - and the two of us cheered. What had just happened?
We caught ourselves realizing that we had now been in the U.S. longer than we were in Argentina. We had put our two countries against each other, and came across cheering for the winner - which on this day, was the U.S.
And then we realized it wasn't a bad thing. Our dad always loved Italy because that's where he and his family is from, but he was with us on that pickup to celebrate Argentina's win, and then brought us to Argentina's games in 1994. It was ok to be from one country, yet support the country where you were raised.
We've never lost our support for Argentina, or even Italy. But as soccer kept growing in the U.S., and the U.S. Men's National Team kept returning to play in Columbus, the hook was firmly in place. The USMNT was now my team.
