My chairman called me into his office today. Abel Poza. A good man, honest. But honesty is sometimes accompanied by pain.

“Gabriel,” he said, “I have some bad news. The AFA have contacted the club following an investigation. They have handed us a transfer embargo until 31/12/2026.”

I just stared at him.

It is the 25th of February, 2025.

Nearly two years.
Two years without signings.
Two years without reinforcements.
Two years with what I have now.

“Gabriel, I’m sorry,” Abel continued. “This was before your tenure.”

That didn’t make it better.
I walked out of the meeting stunned, almost hollow. Confusion wrapped itself around me like a fog.

My mind raced — youth, fatigue, trust issues, the season ahead… and now this.

I gathered my staff: Luca, Ariel, Jorge, Diego. My trusted lieutenants.

I told them the situation.
They looked at me with the same shock I had felt.

“What do we do, boss?”

“Nothing,” I said. “We press on. We double down. The identity, the system, this is what will carry us. We have youth players. We will need them even more now. And the old guard… my warriors… I will squeeze every drop left in their legs. The rest of this season and all of the next will belong to these players.”

But another thought struck me —
Trust.
My bench.
The ones who hesitate. The ones who doubt.
What now? I may need them all.

I sent the staff to run training while I observed quietly from the sidelines, studying every movement, every gesture. So much to consider… but the Primera División does not wait. It does not care for our troubles.

Vélez at home next. Second in the table. A clash of philosophies, of will.

Who has the fire I need?

Milton Ríos.
That boy trains like every drill is life or death. Every session he hits an 8.0.
Cabral, Ibáñez, Pérez — they train well too, with intensity.

I spoke to the analysts. The numbers encouraged them: strong metrics across the board. But then they pointed out one issue — we shoot a lot, but our xG is low.
Are we rushing?
Panicking?
Snatching at moments?

I gathered the staff again.
We tweaked the tactic.
Small changes, subtle adjustments.
Football is a game of tiny margins.

One change today — Eric Ramírez starts instead of Sequeira.
Eric was sharp in training.
I need goals.
Sequeira is vital for the system, but chances… the chances… they keep slipping away.

I would have scored them.
But I was Batigol.

Vélez arrive at the stadium and the atmosphere is thunderous. Our home is full every match now. People come to watch us. To watch our football. Our identity.

We kick off.
As always, we take control.
They chase shadows.

Sixteen minutes gone, Pérez wins a tackle, Waller receives, sees the run, lofts a perfect ball over their defence. Bisanz sprints through, alone, calm, clinical 1–0!

A tight first half follows. Both sides fight, both sides suffer. At halftime I tell the players to stay focused, to continue. They nod — tired, but hungry.

Then 52 minutes — a short corner from Vélez. We are slow to react. Too slow. They work it inside and score. 1–1.
Another lapse.
Another mental wound.

I call Ríos to warm up.

On 60 minutes, I make three changes:
• Ríos for Pérez — Gil drops into DM.
• Guidara for an exhausted De La Fuente.
• Alanís for Cabral.

Two subs remain.

Ten minutes later, Ramírez begins to fade. Wanchope replaces him. Experience over youth. I trust that man with my life.

And it pays off — seconds later, Gil wins the ball, gives it to Ríos, the boy, who slides Ibáñez through on the overlap. Ibáñez strikes — 2–1!

We’re alive again.

I make my final change.
Bisanz off.
Sequeira — the eternal team player — goes wide.
Fifteen minutes left.
We’ve struggled this season late in games.
Fatigue. Mental strain. Pressure.

And then… disaster.

Galíndez, my veteran, my leader… takes too long on the ball. Pressed. Dispossessed. Open goal.
2–2.
My heart sinks.
Mistakes. Always the mistakes.

And then, as if fate wants to punish us further — 93rd minute, another short corner, another slow reaction, another goal.
2–3.

I kicked the water bottles. I couldn’t help myself.
All three goals… avoidable.
All three goals… mistakes.
We lose.
And with the loss, the weight of the embargo, the fatigue of the squad, the cracks of doubt… they all feel heavier.

No win in five after starting the season with three straight victories.
We fall to fourth.

In the dressing room, I let my frustration out.
Not at the system.
Not at the effort.
At the concentration, or lack of it.

A bad week at Huracán.
A painful week.
A week that asks more questions than it answers.

But tomorrow…
I will go watch the youth teams.
They excite me.
They have no fear.
And they may just be the ones who carry us through the storm.