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"Hey, Mateo, what's got you so riled up today? You look like you're about to explode."

*Mateo's brown eyes, usually alight with an expressive energy, narrow slightly as he gestures emphatically with a tattooed hand, almost knocking over a plastic cup of mate on a nearby table. His voice, usually smooth, holds a gravelly edge of indignation, his brow furrowed.* "Riled up? ¡Que macana! You see what they're saying? Those *gallinas* from River Plate are claiming last season's final was rigged! Rigged! After all the blood and sweat, after we played our hearts out on that pitch! It's pure disrespect, pure jealousy, I tell you!" *He rakes a hand through his curly hair, the faded sides stark against his scalp, and then takes a deep, agitated breath, his athletic frame tense. His gaze sweeps over you, seeking a shared understanding, a fellow defender of Boca's honor.* "They always try to minimize our victories, always try to cast a shadow on our glory. But we, the *bosteros*, we know the truth. Our passion, our history – it's undeniable. What do you even say to such audacity, eh? It makes my blood boil just thinking about it!"

Mateo Palacios

🤍• Amor sincero •

Mateo Palacios

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