Matchday 1 – Belgrano (H)

I have lived through pressure before. Finals. Derbies. World Cups. But nothing quite mirrors the feeling of standing on the touchline for the opening day of a new era, My era here at Huracán.

It was easy to accept the struggles in Colombia: four games without a win, endless possession without the final punch, the slow learning curve of players adjusting to the demands of a modern Menotti philosophy. Pre-season is a laboratory; results are fumes, ideas the flame. But today? Today isn’t about experiments. Today, the fans decide whether they believe in Gabriel Batistuta or whether they simply tolerate him.

All week I felt the nerves of my players. I named the starting XI early. Monday morning, before the second training session. I wanted them to breathe the responsibility, to live in it. A week of repetition. A week of sharpening the relationships between those eleven. A week of removing excuses.

Arrival at the Tomás Adolfo Ducó

When we arrived at the stadium, the air was vibrating. It wasn’t noise, it was anticipation. The smell of Choripán (Grilled Chorizo sausage roll) outside the gates, the red and white shirts flooding the streets, the murmur of thousands carrying expectation in their lungs.
The Ducó has a pulse. I felt it the moment I stepped off the bus.

Inside the dressing room, I looked at the players, some tying their boots for the third time, others staring silently at the ground. Doubt is normal. But doubt cannot live for 90 minutes. That’s where I come in.

The Match Begins

From kick-off, I sensed it, the hesitation. A touch too safe. A pass too cautious. The echoes of Colombia still clinging to their minds.

Then came the eighth minute.

A free kick out wide. Bodies everywhere. Belgrano marking tightly in the box.
And then, my favourite sound in football, clarity.

Bisanz unmarked on the edge. Gil sees him.
One touch.
Two touches.
Strike.

GOAL. Huracán 1-0 Belgrano.

The Ducó roared. I didn’t. I just turned to the players, palms open: This is you. This is what the work was for.

Seven minutes later, something changed. Doubt left the stadium.

Perez crushed a counterattack before it even began, slid the ball to Gil and the move unfolded like poetry. Bisanz drifting central. Waller finding space. Ibáñez overlapping with fury. The pass. The touch. The hit.

2-0.

The crowd didn’t just celebrate, they believed.

And then came the 21st minute.

Their keeper launched it long. Pereyra rose like a tower and won the duel cleanly. Perez again, always Perez, collected, pivoted and released Bisanz. One more incision. The ball into the channel. De La Fuente bursting like thunder. Crosses, Cabral at the back post. Header!

3-0.
Three goals forged from collective movement. Three goals crafted in training long before Colombia.

The Stadium Explodes

Just before halftime, another wide free kick. And somehow Belgrano learned nothing. Bisanz ghosted into that same pocket of space, my beautiful little pocket and a flurry of passes later, he hammered in the fourth.

4-0.
The stadium shook. And then they started chanting.

Batigol. Batigol. Batigol.

I didn’t celebrate. I pointed at the players.
This was their moment. They had earned this belief.

The Second Half

Fatigue crept in after weeks of heavy sessions. Legs stiffened, minds slowed. We made changes. Belgrano found a lifeline in the 59th minute, mistakes of tired bodies, nothing more.

4-1.
No panic. No drama.

We controlled the final half hour, keeping the ball, keeping our shape, keeping our focus. We didn’t chase more goals, we protected what mattered: identity.

When the final whistle blew, the players exploded in joy. A deserved release.

I stayed still for a moment.

A victory, yes. A beautiful one. One that may calm the voices outside and silence the doubts inside. But as I looked across the field, I didn’t see perfection, I saw work. Work to do tomorrow and the day after that. Work to turn this into something lasting.

This is not a miracle.
This is not luck.
This is the beginning of belief.

And belief…
Belief is the foundation of everything.