My dream is to return from Russia with love — not as a root vegetable
HOLA TO all my friends in Inglaterra and welcome to part two of my World Cup diary.
Well, let me tell you that the atmosphere after our first game with Japan was not muy bien.
I make Carlos Sanchez sit at the back of the autobus on his own to reflect on his loco handball which led to sending off and cost us tres points.
To the rest of the team I tell them to wake up and smell the coffee — which in our case is medium roasted arabica beans from the region of Quindio in the mountains of Colombia.
I think a refreshing cup of café con leche is good for the boys because they were much focused in training and looking forward to the partido segundo against Poland who played against Senegal with the athleticism of a bunch of babushkas.
I spent the week evading requestos for interview from many journalistas. In my six years as Colombia coach I have given only one interview and that was to a friend of my cousin Pablo in lieu of a batmitzvah present for his daughter. I like to do my talking on the pitch — or more actually on the touchline, shouting at Cuadrado to track back and at Quintero to go easy on the tricks and make some passes
José Pékerman (left) coaching Juanfer Quintado (right) and
the dreaded cassava for once. I tell anyone who asks me that if you want to know how Pekerman is thinking you need to part with a few pesos and buy the JC.
I have to say I was nervous on Sunday morning. I do not want to lose the game and return home to be portrayed as a root vegetable in the Colombian media (perhaps a cassava, no?).
But there was good news about the calf of James Rodrígues and I believed our golden generation (we prefer to call them the yellow generation) would finally outshine the afro of our most famous player, Carlos Valderrama. Fortunado, Poland were nearly as bad as Panama. I tell my defender Mina: “Whenever Poland striker Lewandowski moves, follow him, because this means it is half time!”
James was, how you say in English, in flames, and Falcao play absolutely blind.
I was sorry to see Poland depart, with their tasty sauerkraut and pickled cucumbers, but I prefer to see our 30,000 ultras singing songs of victory than chasing our bus back to the training camp. Suddenly, instead of flying back to Colombia with the tail behind the feet, I am dreaming of an open autobus parade through Bogota and concert by Shakira, followed by dinner with el presidente. But for now I need to make preperaciones with the squad. So until next time, hasta luego misa amigos.
*As not dictated by José Pékerman