The days of Jorge Olguín

"The universe (...) is composed of an indefinite and perhaps infinite number of hexagonal galleries."

(J.L. Borges "The Library of Babel")

 



Jorge Mario Olguín was one of those solid football defenders with certain ductility, able for the header, and not bad for the free kick: starting in San Lorenzo de Almagro, Olguín quickly crowned his career as world champion with the Argentina's national team in 1978, being still young. 
Later he signed for Independiente, club where he kept showing his quality as classy defender, usually with the "4" on his back, and sometimes also playing in a more central position, as "2".
 




For some reason Jorge Olguín always was deemed a melancholic man, rather laconic and extremely serious, not too verbose or expressive with the media, he always looked like a mysterious person, or at least a bit strange.
 
Or at least a bit strange.

His communication with the coaches or with his colleagues was as minimal as concise: absolutely correct on the field, his behavior never aroused any sort of polemics, and he never was sent off; even more: he never received a single yellow card during his whole career.
 
After the world cup Spain '82, and the ruinous participation of Argentina, the days of Jorgue Olguín entered a dark cone of shadows, his career started declining suddenly for unknown reasons, same as his performances, and he started appearing among the substitutes in his team more frequently.
 
More frequently.

Somewhere in the mid 80s, and as the days of Jorgue Olguín passed by, he was seen every time more sporadically on a football field, his presence became unnoticed for the coach and for his mates, too, and the strange thing is that nobody seemed to realize.




Nobody realized that nobody realized about the Olguín's absences.
 
On the radio and TV his name wasn't mentioned anymore, and the Olguín name disappeared from the newspapers...

his visits to his club of those days -Argentinos Juniors- were phantasmal: nobody seemed to see him, although he saw everyone..?
 
One day Jorge Olguín stopped going to his club, nobody saw him in his neighborhood anymore, neither his family, and nobody realized.
 
One day, Jorge Olguín disappeared from Jorge Olguín, and he didn't see himself anymore, and nobody realized, not even himself.

 

I guess that Jorge Olguín is still somewhere, I'm almost sure about this; even more: probably Jorge Olguín is here, though not in these days, but in the day(s) of Jorge Olguín.

I suspect seriously that the days of Jorge Olguín became one day only, like an eternity where all the days are always one day, the same day repeated, forever and never, always and jamais...chronometrical aberration, tangentially exiled forever from the order of our days nevermore.



Because he's here, but not today, did you know.



Caged Olguín, caged, into one only and same day, walking the same Buenos Aires sidewalk concentrically, eternally under the same sun, and the same clouds, passing by the same trees, beholding the same taxi, that day will be all his days forever.

The days of Jorge Olguín.

 
























Notwithstanding, this text will be useless, because nobody will realize about it, not even myself.