“You only support Argentina because your husband is Argentinian.”
I have heard that comment more times than I can count. And every time I do, I smile.
Because while my husband certainly strengthened my connection to Argentina, the truth is much more unexpected.
I fell in love with Team Argentina before I fell in love with an Argentinian.
It all started with one player: Lionel Messi. The GOAT.
Like millions of people around the world, I was captivated by the way he played. There was something magical about watching him play for FC Barcelona. His brilliance was obvious, but what drew me in even more was his humility. He never seemed larger than the game itself.
Without even realizing it, I began following his journey. And because Messi played for Argentina, I started following la Albiceleste too.
Long before I ever met my husband.
Long before I had ever visited Buenos Aires.
Long before I could have imagined that one day my own family story would become intertwined with that beautiful country.
As an American, I have always rooted for Team USA. I still do. When the United States wins, I celebrate. When they lose, I feel disappointed. But somewhere along the way, another team quietly found a place in my heart. Argentina.
So, when tournaments rolled around, I often found myself cheering for both teams. People sometimes act as though supporting one means betraying the other. I have never believed that. Because the human heart has room for more than one love.
Then life surprised me. I met Lucas. An incredibly patriotic man from Buenos Aires who would eventually become my husband.
People assume that he introduced me to Argentina. The reality is that he introduced me to Argentina in a completely different way.
Fùtbol had opened the door, however Lucas invited me inside.
Through him I experienced the warmth of Argentine families, the traditions, the food, the language, and the deep pride people have for their country.
The team I once admired became something much more personal. It became family.
When Joaquín was born, our worlds blended even more beautifully. He grew up surrounded by two cultures. Two languages. Two countries to be proud of.
Today, he proudly carries both sides of his heritage with him. Sometimes that means cheering for Team USA. Sometimes that means wearing sky blue and white.
Or sometimes it means asking the barber to shave three stars into his haircut.
One of my favorite memories happened when Joaquín received his second passport, so that he could go play in the FC Barcelona Kids World Cup in Barcelona, Spain.
The woman helping process everything smiled at him and jokingly asked for his autograph. “Just in case it is worth something one day.”
We all laughed. But I secretly hoped she might be right.
Dreams have to begin somewhere. Sometimes they begin with someone believing in you before the rest of the world does.
Even our dog became part of the story. When we brought home our little black-and-white Shih Tzu, there was never much debate about his middle name.
We ended up naming him Panda Dibu after Emiliano “Dibu” Martínez. Because by then, Argentina was not simply a fútbol team we watched. It had become woven into the fabric of our family’s everyday life. And, while it is difficult to admit, Dibu is now my favorite player and I no longer follow FC Barcelona, I follow Aston Villa.
Then there are all the little moments…
The face paint.
The jerseys.
The early morning kickoffs.
The World Cup celebrations.
The Copa América victories.
The photos that fill my camera roll.
People often see those moments and assume they know the story. But they do not see the years before Lucas. They do not know that my admiration for Argentina began with a footballer who inspired millions around the world.
And they do not realize that what started as admiration slowly transformed into something much deeper. Today, my love for Team Argentina is not because I married an Argentinian. It is because that country became part of my journey. Part of my family. Part of my memories. Part of my son’s identity.
Looking back now, I realize I did not just fall in love with a country. I fell in love with a style of play. A culture. A language. A people. And eventually, a man who called that place home. And somehow, that made the journey even more beautiful. Sometimes the teams we cheer for become part of the families we build.
