viva la maquina

friday night in the rio grande valley.

it is just after seven o'clock and we are rushing out the door, us women attending to last minute primping--lipstick and earrings--while cristina's dad waits, ready, in the car. we are there in less than five minutes, twenty minutes before the game is scheduled to begin, but i sense that we are late.

there are cars parked along the road to the stadium and packed into the parking lot; we maneuver into a makeshift space on the football practice field.

a cold front--a northern wind--has arrived in the valley that day, delivering a chill as the sun fades on the horizon, casting a pink glow on the wisps of clouds across the sky, now a tender twilight blue.

yellowjacket fans swarm the stadium in clothes that are black and every shade of gold (from muted yellows to shiny metallics). smoke and the smell of fajitas float along the breeze as we wade through the crowd of people, many of whom cristina and her family know. we are fortunate to have seats in the reserved section just to the left of the fifty yard line.

the stadium lights are almost too bright even though there are still strains of sun in the sky, and a string of headlights continue to stream into the parking lot. the announcer prepares the crowd in a bass that resonates through the stadium. the sound system projects an engine revving. cristina leans over to me and says, excitedly, "that's la maquina."

all at once the 'jackets burst onto the field, and the crowd begins to roar.

they are larger than life.

it becomes obvious early on that the 'jackets will dominate the game. i decide to head to the snackbar just before halftime to grab a fajita taco. half an hour later, i am at the front of the line, and the tacos are sold out. *sigh* me quedé con el antojo. nevertheless, the anthropologist in me is satisfied watching trendy high school girls and tall, gawky high school boys flirt in awkward ways; young mothers yanking along their michievous and smiling toddlers in their mini-yellowjacket apparel; handsome young mexican american men (my age), their wedding bands gleaming as they buy a family's worth of pizza, frito boats, and soda.

the game is a blowout; the 'jackets trounce the tigers 46-7. we stay to the cold and bitter end, long after the mercedes fans in their orange apparel have abandoned their team. we stay along with other jacket fans who continue to yell, "viva! la maquina!" and "no mercy!" even when we know it is impossible for the tigers to come back.

nothing quite like football in the valley.

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