Love, Pain & Hope...

My first genuine World Cup that I was awake and experienced emotions for was in 94'.

We were mesmerised, and thought we had it won after two matches.

Until, I woke to my Dad cursing and my brother close to tears. Diego was also crying, he said his legs had been cut by FIFA.

All of Argentina's belief had also been cut to the ground. The side was a mere shadow after that, two straight losses fumbled us out of the Cup.

98' was not as tragic. We cruised throughout the group stage, with a relatively fresh squad. The first World Cup without Diego, the #10 lay on the shoulders of Ariel Ortega. Someone Arjen Robben may have modelled part of his game on.

In the end, the #10 Ortega let us down, he got himself sent off Pepe style, and almost immediately the Dutch went downfield with a diagonal ball to Dennis Bergkamp. The rest, is…

Although I did throw a few chairs around Club Marconi, we felt comforted by the fact we sent England home in the second round. It was enough pride to carry through the pain of the quarter final defeat. The squad was also young enough to provide hope that the next WC, would certainly be ours..

2002. The Black World Cup.

We flew into this world cup. We dominated qualifying. However, as a nation, Argentina was struggling. There had been a massive financial collapse, and it was very uncertain times.

I was 17. I had friends and teachers all asking me what was going on over there. I also heard the uncertainty through my family, and my parents conversations with loved ones in Argentina.

However we Argentineans are extremely proud, so despite the uncertainty, we clung to our football. There, we could be .proud

With the best squad we have had in the last 20 years, we crashed out first round, and the arch enemy England got their revenge.

Complete Humiliation.

2006. Romans Cup. And, a kid called Messi.

After the 2002 devastation, hopes did not start as high for 2006.

But, by the end of 2005, Roman had scored an outrageous goal against los Brasileros, and a kid called Messi was also making a splash in Europe. Optimism was growing.

I'd started to watch every chance of Messi I could. I was adamant he had to be a starter. WIth him and Roman, just maybe, it could be ours.

It all went perfectly. The Serbia exhibition was inspiring, and then we were pushed by the Mexicans, but the quality came through. The whole world was raving about our own unique style.

We were even 1-0 up against the Germans. Ayala's goal, the goal that gave half an hour of belief, that it was our time.

And then the brain snap of the century. Pekerman took off Riquelme with his last substitution, and put on Julio Cruz, leaving us with the greatest bench in World Cup history.

Aimar, Saviola, Crespo, Riquelme and that kid called Messi.

2010. Belief, in a false idea.

Diego. We have Diego again. That was our plan.

And Diego's plan, 'I have Leo'.

We Argentines are also emotional. It was enough of a plan to get my brother and a best friend to fly over the the coldest, noisiest World Cup in recent history. We watched every match. All of the Leo/ Diego erased any doubts of how were were actually going to win.

The day we crashed out was strange. My brother and I had sat down, with tickets on the half way line, beaming with Quilmes inspired enthusiasm.

We then did not say a word for the next 90 minutes.

It's a strange feeling being there at the World Cup. You make friends with other fans. You bump into each other at each game. You feel like you're part of the team. You follow them around to each city, they applaud after each victory.

And then it was over so quickly.

I remember a young Argentine father comforting his young toddler who could not stop crying to the left of me. And another young man like myself, with red eyes staring at the blankly at the empty pitch.

Also, the players left without thanking those who had felt like we'd been there the whole way, on the pitch with them. This hurt.

I fell in love with Diego again that World Cup. His anguish during the last match could be seen. I could see his hurt. I loved that he hurt for the team. But he wasn't the man to lead us to victory. He was a fan. Like myself.

I also fell out of love for Messi. In my pain, I directed most blame to him. That was unwarranted.

It is a team game. Always has been, always will.

No one ever won it alone. Not even Diego.

And now 2014.

That kid called Messi, is carrying all our hopes.

So far, he has delivered. Exceptionally.

But it is a team game. Always has been, always will.

No one will ever win it alone. Not even Leo.

Tomorrow, we need the other 10, more than the number 10.