I met with my staff this week, my team behind the team.
We spoke not just about fitness, fatigue, and numbers on a screen, but about trust.
Who can we rely on when the schedule becomes cruel?
Who has truly bought into the system?
Who has the mentality, not just the ability?

We agreed: rotation was necessary.
Four games in twelve days had drained even the strongest of legs.
We would rely on experience, on old heads who had been through battles before.

Six changes.
A risk.
But a calculated one.

Pereyra, at 35, rested. In came Martín Nervo, 34, a veteran warrior making his first appearance of the season.
De La Fuente finally gets a break, Guidara replaces him on the right.
On the left, Alanis comes in for the exhausted Ibañez.
Ojeda replaces the ever-present Pérez.
Waller and Miljevic start in midfield.
Up front, Eric Ramírez takes the striker role, giving Sequeira time to recover.

Six experienced players coming fresh into the XI.
No youth yet.
Not for this kind of storm.

We arrive at the Tomás Adolfo Ducó.
Inside the dressing room, I can feel it, uncertainty.
Not from the players, but from the walls themselves.
The murmurs from the crowd seep through the concrete.
“Why so many changes?”
“Is Batistuta overthinking?”

But this is leadership: trust the plan, even when others don’t.

Kick-Off in the Rain

The rain pours sideways.
The pitch slows.
The ball sticks to the mud.
Our idea flowing, expressive, positional football, is suffocating in the weather.

Argentinos start strongly.
We are second to balls, slow in duels, unable to move the ball cleanly.

Thirty minutes gone before our first real chance.
Up to that point, we had held them off, but I could feel the tension tightening like a rope around the stadium.

Forty minutes, disaster.
A sloppy pass from Ojeda, intercepted.
One ball through the middle,
Galíndez rounded.
0–1.

The hush in the stadium is heavy.
Nervo, playing his first minutes, reacts half a second too late.
And at this level, half a second is everything.

But football is chaos wrapped in opportunity.

44th minute:
Ramírez wins the ball deep, fair, clean, determined.
He drives forward, sets it to Bisanz, who cuts inside, squares it perfectly to Miljevic.

1–1.

Relief.
Breathing room.
Hope.

But hope can be cruel.

Argentinos respond immediately.
Another moment of hesitation from Nervo, punished again.
1–2 just before halftime.

I stare at him.
He knows.
I know.
Do I crush him by removing him now?
Or do I show trust, even when he wavers?

Halftime.
I keep him on.

Second Half The System or the Mind?

But as the minutes pass, the truth becomes loud.
It’s not just Nervo.
Waller.
Cabral.
Their influence drops.
Legs slow.
Confidence draining.

55 minutes:
I make three changes.

Zabala for Nervo.
Babino for Waller.
Urzi for Cabral.

Five minutes later:
De La Fuente for Guidara.
Pérez for Ojeda.

Thirty minutes remain.
I tell them:

“Be brave. Be positive.”

And they are.

But stepping forward leaves space behind.
Too much space.

76th minute, Argentinos slice through us on the counter.
1–3.
Fans begin to leave.
Some shake their heads.
Some mutter.

Is it doubt?
Is it fear?
Is it frustration?

Perhaps all three.

I stand there, motionless.
Not doubting the system, never the system, but wondering who among this rotation truly carries the spirit and who only carries the shirt.

A Flicker of Hope

87th minute.
Bisanz, tireless, relentless, wins a tackle wide.
His cross finds young Babino,
the boy we trusted.
The boy with no fear.

2–3.

Too late?
Maybe.
But important.

Five minutes added.

We attack.
We push.
We dominate the closing stages.
But the whistle arrives before justice can.

Our first defeat.

Still top.
But only by one point.

---

Lessons in Victory, Lessons in Defeat

As I sit in my office after the match, the rain still tapping on the windows, I find myself deep in reflection.
These ninety minutes have taught me as much as the first three victories combined.

Some players rose.
Some players fell.
Some showed they can be trusted.
Others showed they can’t, not yet, not under this demanding identity.

Experience matters, yes.
But experience without conviction becomes fragility.
Strength without belief becomes hesitation.
In Menotti’s football, hesitation is fatal.

Do I now look to youth?
To the energy and fearlessness I saw in the Under-20s?
Is it time to inject raw hunger into this evolving system?

These are the questions that linger.
Trust must be earned, not gifted.
And today, I learned exactly who is ready to fight for Huracán’s new identity and who may need to step aside.

The defeat hurts.
But the lessons?
They are priceless.