Soccer endures a curse that also happens to be a blessing to players, coaches and fans left devastated after a loss. It’s an activity where one win is never enough, but where winning must always be the end goal, for every season, tournament and game. A writer, architect or musician can take a bit of a break after producing a great novel, a splendid building or an unforgettable album. They can afford themselves the luxury of doing nothing for a while or of simply doing something less demanding. Among the ranks of writers, with whom I am most familiar, there are those who have achieved greatness by decree and enjoy this status until the end of their days, thanks to just one estimable work written fifty years ago. But with soccer, there is no place for rest or enjoyment; having an exceptional historic record or walking away with the championship title the previous year is of little good. Enough is never enough, and the pressure and expectation to win the next encounter is high (with the players themselves espousing these sentiments), as if one were always starting from zero, an analogy to the initial score of every match. Unlike other activities in life, in sports (but in soccer above all), nothing is accumulated or amassed, despite trophy halls and statistics that are increasingly lauded. Having been the best yesterday does not matter today, much less tomorrow. Bygone happiness cannot compete with today’s anguish. Here, there is no compensation in recollection, no satisfaction in past achievements and, clearly, no appreciation from the public for happiness procured two weeks ago. As a result, sorrow and indignation are both short-lived, since from one day to the next, these emotions can come to be replaced by euphoria and sanctification. Maybe this is why soccer is a sport that incites violence, like Cabrera said: not because of the kicking involved, but the anguish. On the other hand, one has to admit that soccer possesses something invaluable which is generally absent in other realms of life: an incitement to forget, which is to say that what is never incited is resentment—something that is only learned as an adult.