This American dream begins in small-town Murphy, Santa Fe. That’s Santa Fe, Argentina, at a little club where the old folk played bochas, a kind of boules, and they had one of the few colour television sets. It was 1978, Mauricio Pochettino was six years old and he can see it perfectly, still feel the meaning of it all.
“I lived in a prefab with my grandmother and my older brother because my parents were off working the land, then at the weekend we would go to the club,” he says. “There were three courts and I remember standing there, hanging on to my dad’s pocket, watching the World Cup. The ticker-tape at River [Plate], that image engraved. Passarella, Ardiles, Luque, Bertoni, Kempes, Fillol, Tarantini … my heroes.”
