contact therapy
(From Soccer in Sun and Shadow, by Eduardo Galeano)
Enrique Pichon-Revière spent his entire life piercing the mysteries of human sadness and helping to crack our cages of silence.
In soccer he found an effective ally. Back in the forties, Pichon-Revière organized a team among his patients at the insane asylum. These locos were unbeatable on the fields of the Argentine littoral, and playing was their best therapy.
“Team strategy is my priority,” said the psychiatrist, who was also the team’s coach and top scorer.
Half a century later, we urban beings are all more or less crazy, even though due to space limitations nearly all of us live outside the asylum. Evicted by cars, trapped by violence, condemned to isolation, we live packed in ever closer to one another and feel ever more alone, with ever fewer meeting places and ever less time to meet.
In soccer, as in everything else, consumers are far more numerous than producers. Asphalt covers the empty lots where people used to pick up a game, and work devours our leisure time. Most people don’t play, they just watch others play on television or from stands that lie even farther from the field. Like carnival, soccer has become a mass spectator sport. But just like the carnival spectators who start dancing in the streets, in soccer there are always a few admiring fans who kick the ball every so often out of sheer joy. And not only children. For better or for worse, though the fields are as far away as they could be, friends from the neighborhood or workmates from the factory, the office or the faculty still get together to play for fun until they collapse exhausted, and then winners and losers go off together to drink and smoke and share a good meal, pleasures denied the professional athlete.
Sometimes women take part, too, and score their own goals, though in general the macho tradition keeps them exiled from these fiestas of communication.
