There are weeks in football where everything feels heavy. The embargo. The pressure. The headlines. The goals we concede. The goals we should score. But then there are mornings like today, when a 17-year-old phenomenon walks into the dressing room, the youngest scorer in Huracán’s history, and reminds you what belief looks like.

Cabral was ruled out with a minor injury, nothing dramatic, but enough to force my hand. Alanis came in.
Axel Borja, promoted from the youth after 10 goals and 4 assists in 11 matches, finally earned his chance on the bench.
Babinho, Rios, all the youth… I need them. With the embargo, with the demands of what I ask, I need their hunger.

And up front, of course, Chiquichano, the boy who set the country on fire this week.
He starts again.
He has to.

Today, away from home, away from the constant noise of Tomás Adolfo Ducó, we could breathe. But we could not hide. Not from ourselves.

We made a subtle tactical shift: Perez becoming a half-back in possession. More security, more structure, same creativity.

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Kickoff

1st minute.
Our first attack. Down the left, Ibáñez drives, crosses, Alanis strikes, rebound falls to Bisanz 1-0.
Simple. Clean. Ruthless.

A perfect beginning.

We controlled the rhythm, shaped the pitch how we wanted, Perez dropping between the centre-backs giving us a spare man, an anchor, a brain. Everything flowed.

22nd minute.

Bisanz wins the ball on the halfway line. One touch past the defender. Through ball to De La Fuente, Cutback.
And then
CHIQUICHANO.
2-0.
A rocket.
The type of finish born in youth football cages, not academies.

He is 17 in age only.

But football is never kind for long.

30th minute.

Ibáñez goes down after a brutal tackle. Only a yellow.
I’m furious.
He cannot continue.
Alanis drops to left-back, and Axel Borja, the kid who has been terrorizing youth defences, comes on to replace him.

Another debut.
Another moment of trust.

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42nd minute – Pure Poetry

It was the best goal of my tenure.

Galíndez → Pereyra → Paz → Alanis → Borja → Waller → Bisanz → Gil → De La Fuente → slipped ball through → Bisanz finishes.

3-0.
A masterpiece.
If Menotti saw this, he would smile.

But then… football’s cruelty reappeared.

43rd minute – 3-1.
Waller misplaces a pass. Defence asleep. Through ball. Goal.

44th minute – 3-2.
One minute later.
A quick throw-in, no focus, no shape, and another tap-in.

In two minutes, the poetry turned into a horror story.

We staggered.
We were saved only by halftime.
Saved like a boxer saved by the bell.

I told them only one thing:
“Calm down. Focus. You got complacent.”

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Second Half

55th minute.
Alanis fading.
Waller rattled.
So I turned to the youth.
Rios and Urzí on.
Fresh blood, fresh legs.

De La Fuente and Bisanz continued destroying their left side. I instructed the team:
“Play down the right. Attack them where they bleed.”

But football punishes lapses.

70th minute.
A hopeful cross, nothing ball, should be cleared.
Striker unmarked.
3-3.

I bury my head in my hands.
Always the lapses.
Always the punishments.

Final changes:
Paz off, Chiquichano off—
Miljevic and Giménez on.

I needed control.
I needed one moment.
But we drifted.
The fourth never came.

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Full-Time – 3-3

Forty-two minutes of dominance.
Three goals created from our identity, from our conviction.
Then two minutes of switching off, and another lapse late on, and we leave with one point instead of three.

The table after 10 games:
3 wins, 5 draws, 2 defeats.
4th place.
20 scored, 17 conceded.
No wins in 7 matches.

We haven’t won since Boca.

Six games left in the Apertura.

These players… they make my heart soar, and then they break it in the same afternoon.
But I believe in the foundation we are building.
I have to.
The youth is rising.
The system is ingrained.
The mistakes… we will fix.

But not today.
Today, I leave the pitch thinking about what we could have been… and what we might still become.