Archivo de Columns
Someday Victor Mesa and Ariel Pestano will make it up. Or not. For now, they’ve been able to put in the same bag what Cuban writer Mañach defined as the three cyclic forms of nationality: the ball, the rumor and the lottery. Team Cuba is like the lottery: be part of it can become as eventful and gratifying as drawing the winning number, and such a reality brings its respective share of amplified rumor.
The issue of reggaeton has caused a wave of rumours, inquisitive or not, during the last weeks. People are talking about prohibition, regulation and foreign agencies reproduce comments and forecast Cuba entering a musical Inquisition, but, it seems that nothing is going to happen.
The decline of Santiago de Cuba is the greatest wrong in Cuban baseball. Not the changing structures, not the low roof -very low-of the National series, not the inaccurate numbers, not the lousy arbitration, but the aimlessly drifting of a indomitable and historical team.
The most complex times are about to arrive. Thus, using a farsighted tone, marino Murillo, Vice-President of the Council of Ministers, defined the coming changes that the Cuban government will make to update its economic model, a much-needed action that has become essential for the future of the country.
There are not such irreconcilable months like December and January, perhaps because Christmas is the only opium authorized, scheduled and established by the terms of Western culture. The twenty early days of December are something else, maybe until Christmas Eve, although I believe that even before you start to notice the mood changes and everything becomes somewhat artificial or noisy.
I have always liked patios. The four houses that surrounded mine had large patios that overlapped, forming a giant soccer field. At least, that’s how I remember it. Bitter orange, lemon, sweet-apple and Spanish lime trees filled the patios of my childhood…
On the other side of the phone , hardly knowing how everything had happened, Israel Rojas talked incessantly, he treated me with absolute undeserved deference, about my views on chronicles non worth quoting here. I began blushing, with nothing to say, speechless, but stayed there until Israel also said he had read Banda sonora (Soundtrack), that text with a deadly line: "At fourteen I adored Buena Fe , but at fifteen I acquired critic conscience ".
The best films I've seen in my personal movie theater of my laptop, alone, presumably at night, but not too late, but at the gates of the night, say around nine or ten, as an appetizer of wakefulness, as food for the vigil and hallucination. Do not watch a movie before going to bed because the film is still, sequence, trick, the very same powerful attributes of sleep, and that would be an unfair competition.
Christmas and New Year’s are almost here…. In a few weeks, Christmas songs will begin playing on radio and television to the point of saturation; even Chicho, my dog, can hum José Feliciano’s “Feliz Navidad.” My mouth will go dry from repeating “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year” so often, and I’ll get a pain in my right wrist from signing so many holiday cards.
Although I was born in Havana, the city where my parents also were born and lived, I was taken to live in Varadero when I was very young. In Havana, my father, immersed in his zeal for music, began to make a name for himself and his quartet, Los Zafiros, and my mother applauded his efforts from the seats and balconies of the city’s most prestigious theaters and nightclubs. My teen years in Varadero were an experience that I would repeat if it were possible to return to that age, when I would leave footprints in the sand and dream about mermaids and starfish.