By Gabriel Batistuta
The first week of November arrived carrying the weight of a long, unforgiving season. When I walked into La Quemita for the first time back in January, I carried big ideas, firm convictions and a quiet belief that Huracán could become something greater than a club searching for itself. Now, ten months later, we stood on the edge of history. The Copa Sudamericana final awaited us, Flamengo, giants of Brazil, the kind of opposition that tests your tactical courage, your emotional stability, your identity.
But before that… we had one more act in the league.
Closing the League Season – One Last Push
Newell’s Old Boys away. One final 90 minutes to define our domestic campaign.
I rotated slightly, legs were heavy, minds were drifting toward Paraguay and the final. But the players responded exactly as I needed.
In the 20th minute, Waller made it 1–0.
Seven minutes later, Bisanz doubled our lead.
Newell’s pulled one back shortly before Ramírez restored our cushion in the 44th.
A professional, composed performance.
A 3–1 win.
And with it, a second-place finish in my first season in charge.
Next up in the Clausura playoffs?
Atlético Tucumán.
The same team that knocked us out of the Apertura.
Football offers no coincidences… only challenges returned.
But before we could think about revenge, we faced a 20-day pause before the Sudamericana final. I gave the squad a week’s rest—earned, needed, deserved.
And then the universe tested us again.
Injury Chaos… Again
BREAKING NEWS:
Matías Tissera – Broken Shoulder – Out for the Season
Loan terminated; sent back to Ludogorets.
Another striker gone.
Another plan torn up and rewritten.
But football often writes its best stories from chaos. Ramírez, scorer of two in his last two appearances, would now be the man I placed my trust in. Sometimes destiny chooses the players for you.
One evening, as I studied Flamengo’s patterns with my staff, a knock sounded at my office door.
Fabio Pereyra entered.
He spoke quietly but with conviction: at 36, after a season full of injuries, he would retire in three weeks.
I saw myself in his eyes.
A warrior accepting the truth that his body could no longer serve his spirit.
I shook his hand and promised him he would always have a home at Huracán.
Paraguay – The Final Awaits
We flew to Paraguay the night before the match.
The General Pablo Rojas Stadium, a boiling cauldron ready to host a continental war.
I brought the players out onto the pitch. I wanted them to see it before it owned their emotions. I thanked them. For their sacrifice. For their belief. For following me through every storm: the winless pre-season in Colombia, the injuries, the tactical overhauls.
The next day, as I exchanged team sheets, I read the names:
Arrascaeta. Jorginho. Allan. Pedro. Samuel Lino.
A constellation of stars.
But I believed in my constellation too.
Meza—who started the year as my No. 2 and became undroppable.
Paz and Carrizo—warriors in central defence.
Ibáñez and De La Fuente—our tireless engines on the flanks.
Pérez, Gil, Miljevic—a midfield that grew into maestros.
Bisanz, Cabral—fire and creativity.
And Ramírez—unexpectedly leading the line on the biggest night of all.
THE COPA SUDAMERICANA FINAL
We walked out into a stadium without a single empty seat.
The pressure didn’t choke us—it fed us.
The opening minutes were madness.
Four shots on target split between both sides in under two minutes.
In the 7th minute, we thought we had our moment, Cabral forced an error, squared for Ramírez, whose saved shot fell to Miljevic. A tap-in.
1–0… or so we thought.
VAR: Offside.
It didn’t break us.
It sharpened us.
On 30 minutes, Bisanz crossed low, Miljevic stepped over and Ibáñez arrived like a missile, smashing the ball into the top corner.
This one counted.
1–0 Huracán.
Halftime.
Eight shots each.
Intensity, heart, belief, everything I wanted.
64 minutes: corner punched out, Pérez to Miljevic, cut-back to Cabral.
2–0.
The bench exploded.
Then came the moment that felt like destiny reaching out its hand.
Meza gathered a corner and immediately launched a long ball toward Cabral, not a counterattack, just a desperate attempt to relieve pressure.
But football sometimes rewards bravery.
Cabral controlled, ran, drew the keeper, and slid the ball across.
Waller. 3–0.
Chaos.
And then… my heart softened.
Ten minutes left.
A warrior on the bench staring at the pitch, days away from retirement:
Pereyra.
He deserved to feel this moment on the grass, not from the shadows.
I sent him on.
The final whistle.
The eruption.
The tears.
The embrace of players who had lived every emotion together.
Huracán. Copa Sudamericana Champions. 2025.
A Manager’s Reflection – The Journey That Changed Me
When I lifted that trophy, I didn’t see metal and ribbons, I saw every mile of the road that brought us here.
The winless preseason in Colombia that had outsiders laughing at us.
The early tactical confusion as the players tried to understand what I demanded.
The injuries—Ibáñez, Pérez, Tissera, the heartbreak of losing Chiquichano.
The nights we survived by sheer will.
The second leg comeback in Brazil, a night that altered our belief forever.
The players who rose from being squad fillers to heroes—Waller, Miljevic, Meza, Ramírez.
This trophy isn’t simply the club’s first international title.
It is proof that identity, courage and conviction can take a team further than anyone thought possible.
I came to Huracán to build something real, something lasting.
In Paraguay, we didn’t just win a final
We became a team with a soul.
Five Players in the Team of the Tournament
Ibáñez, Carrizo, De La Fuente, Gil, Miljevic.
Five warriors who gave their all, week after week.
Fully deserved.
Fully earned.
Clausura Playoffs – The Final Heartbreak
Three days later, no rest, no time for emotions, we faced Tucumán again.
I kept the same XI. They deserved to go again.
We were slow, drained, still living in Paraguay.
Tucumán took a 1–0 lead.
I feared the worst.
But then, the reaction:
68′ Waller. 1–1.
77′ De La Fuente. 2–1.
We were minutes away.
Seconds away.
Then in the 93rd minute—
2–2.
A punch to the stomach.
Penalties.
Our curse.
We missed one.
They missed one.
Sudden death.
We scored.
They scored.
We missed.
They didn’t.
We were out. Again.
At the first hurdle.
Again to Tucumán.
The season ended not with a roar, but with a sigh.
What a Season
From January to November, this club lived through a lifetime of emotions:
A opening stage first place finish.
A closing stage second place league finish.
A Copa Sudamericana title.
A squad transformed.
A belief born.
Yes, we stumbled at the final domestic hurdle.
Yes, there is work to do.
But 2025 will be remembered forever at this club.
And for me…
It was the year Huracán stopped being a project and became a family.
We will return stronger.
We will defend our crown.
And we will keep chasing the dream, together.
The Gaffers Lounge 
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