Cuba, Soccer and Globalization
Though I’m a fervent follower of most sports, soccer — which is one of the greatest and most profitable spectacles in the world today — doesn’t arouse great passion in me.
Though I’m a fervent follower of most sports, soccer — which is one of the greatest and most profitable spectacles in the world today — doesn’t arouse great passion in me.
They say that only to participate in an Olympic Games is in itself tremendous of glory for any athlete. Winning a medal, then, must be something like sitting at the table with Olympian gods. However, for Cuban athletes there’s an equivalent privilege that few have ever experienced: the right to the “Olympic Dining Room.”
The bus stop in front of the Capitolio Building. Six o’clock in the late afternoon. A mob of people rush the door of a bus bound for Alamar. I think for a second. The day’s been bad and I don’t want to make it worse by ending up squished trying to get a ride home.
The music of Buena Fe is catchy and upbeat, and their lyrics offer a critical perspective connected to the experiences that govern life in Cuba today.
For a long time there has been talk of unifying the two currencies. I don’t think this will happen soon. To be honest—though it may seem like a radical thought—I do not think this will ever be done.
Before my father gave me his version of the story, for me the 1970 sugarcane harvest was a simple incident that gave people something to laugh at. “I haven’t been to a fiesta since the ‘70 harvest,” you could hear any Cuban say with a smile.
He doesn’t make the mistake of simplifying life, like others do when they say that “life is a dream” or “life is just a game.” Not at all, for him life is one, and as everything is unified, it brings with it dialectical opposites: happiness and discontent, with these rising and falling like waves.
No one is a saint here. While we condemn our players who emigrate, banning them, they’re received on the other side as “victims,” and those who accept these “poor fugitives” are seen as “saviors.”
Today Eduardo has spent almost 20 years cutting people’s hair. The money he earns, around 100 CUCs per month (about $110 USD), is enough to take care of himself and to maintain his sick parents.
Cuban troubadour Fernando Becquer (Havana, 1970), began to perform in the late 1980s. Since then his performances have been marked by his own style, one that defines him and has marked his artistry.