Ninety Minutes of Belonging
On joining a Copa América watch party without a jersey, an invitation, or perfect Spanish
On joining a Copa América watch party without a jersey, an invitation, or perfect Spanish
No one invited me to the watch party. No one had to.
I walked toward the area near Parque de la 93, found the large screen and the crowd, and took a place among people who wanted the same thing for the next ninety minutes. Colombia was advancing through Copa América. Each time I returned, the gathering seemed larger.
A public screen creates its own permission. You stand where you can see. You react when everyone else reacts. You learn the shape of the crowd by joining it.
The crowd at Parque de la 93 · Bogotá, Colombia (Michael Holland)
I thought about buying a Colombia jersey. There was a large Adidas store on Calle 82, around the corner from Centro Comercial Andino, and I remember the official shirts costing more than a hundred dollars. I went into other stores too, looking for something less expensive, at one point deciding that even a yellow T-shirt that looked enough like a jersey might do. The imitation shirts I found looked cheesy to me. So I arrived without the uniform.
As Colombia kept advancing, shirts and flags multiplied around me. Before the final, people were lining up early outside bars and restaurants. On the morning of the game, I crossed Autopista Norte and walked through another part of the city. It was only around nine, but people were already lining up outside bars and clubs for watch parties later that day. I photographed the Colombian Football Federation building along the way.
A bar already dressed for the final · Bogotá, Colombia (Michael Holland)
By the time I returned for the final, the public viewing had become a party. Vendors moved through selling beer and food. People carried sparklers. The screen glowed above a crowd that had been preparing for hours.
The crowd, hours before kickoff · Bogotá, Colombia (Michael Holland)
I found a good view. Then someone stood in front of me.
I was annoyed. I shifted, tried to see, and resented the person blocking the screen. The gathering did not turn me into a more generous version of myself. It did not even make me less particular about where I stood.
The gathering did not turn me into a more generous version of myself.
Still, when the match moved, the crowd moved. I didn't need perfect Spanish to understand what everyone wanted. For ninety minutes at a time, participation was enough.
Then the screen went dark, the crowd began to separate, and I had my own route back.