It seems to me see the blond monkey devouring world almanacs and learning the name of all rivers and capitals of the world, to please you. The name was known and the location on the map of all the mountains, rivers and largest cities on the planet. Never learned to say, strangely, the name of the stream that passed through the backyard of his house. The monkey lost mathematics, religion, English and Spanish. But it drew 9.0 in geography.And so on I’ve seen the parade of those ghostly apparitions, but above all, it seems to me seeing you, firing bursts of rage through her green eyes turned into balls of fire.You should know something, breast Lucy. I’ve come here to grant him the reason.

That blessed the Argentine soccer World Cup put on the edge of madness to the gang of teenagers fulbolmaniacos you had by pupils. Nobody was interested in the things that you tried to teach us how liberating campaign in South America, led by Simon Bolivar and Jose de San Martin, the conquest of the Inca Empire to blood and fire part of Francisco Pizarro, the Punic Wars between Rome and Carthage, the high production of milk and cheese of Holland notwithstanding their geographic difficulties, the first and second world war with the consequent division of German not sine Lucy! Nobody paid attention to you. We were all distracted with the dribbling of Cubillas, Rivelino, Bettega and Ardiles. With the wells of Tomasewsky, Fillol and Leao. With goals from Lato, Paolo Rossi and Kempes. With the strength of the Brazilian Dirceu and the Dutch twins van de Kerkoff. Who would have thought in military uniform and sword of Jose de San Martin if another Argentine devoted to less important things like playing football was the most famous Argentine in the world at that time? I am obviously referring to Mario Alberto Kempes, a matador without sword that equally filled with goals the goals contrary and happiness and pride his compatriots face.We were in full fury of the world.