Below that unique, warrior, red and white tunic, David Chauca, the Israelite Fan, has shown that he has a pair of balls well placed.
Mainly, because he dedicates his life to the selection according to what he feels like. This is an interesting paradox considering that his outfit lacks the same and it is most likely used in command mode. Above all, freshness and freedom.
Long before Cuto Guadalupe existed as an incarnation of faith, the Israelite believed with a docility to the nth power. Blessed by the gentle gift of credulity, he had no qualms about accepting the extravagant preaching of don Ezequiel Ataucusi Gamonal, the Messiah who, in the desperation of flies, could not resurrect.
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Chauca believes in a new covenant between Christ and the Tawantinsuyo represented in don Ezequiel, the Andean Christ. He spread the Israelite preaching, a literal biblical commandment that, among other things, imposes the use of the aforementioned tunic, long hair, and a grown beard even in the face of Peruvian hairlessness. This faith also warns that chariots of fire will soon descend from the heavens to gather the followers of the New Covenant.
If Chauca believed in that, how could he not believe in the national team.
He began to do so in their worst moment, when Chemo del Solar took them to last place in South America. Then came the improbable magician Sergio Markarián and his smoking fallacy of "ratoneo" and the "Four Fantastics". The Israelite may be accused of everything but not of being an opportunist.
During those inconceivable times when a sober Raimond Manco played in conjunction with Farfán, and when Claudio Pizarro missed every penalty he could, Chauca already had faith. Get in line, Cuto Guadalupe.
Sensitized by this temptation of failure, an abyss fueled by the temptations of the flesh that plague our players, Chauca channels his support for the team through sacrifice. His own and others.
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His own sacrifice revolves around arduous masonry work and targeted "polladas" that aimed to finance his pilgrimage behind the national team. In return, the useless glory of moral victory.
His sacrifice on others is exerted on innocent lambs. With their blood, Chauca seeks to appease the erotic impulses of the footballer. Dozens of sheep must have been necessary to temper the electric disposition of Luis Advíncula, a side renowned for sparking lameness in the opposite sex.
Initially, Ricardo Gareca called the police when he saw a subject in a tunic climbing on a neighboring roof of the Videna. Then his charm and natural charisma have earned him a space of affection –and superstition– within the team. In addition, he has developed a much superior facility of speech than Mr. César Acuña and Mr. Pedro Castillo, to name two referents of contemporary national culture.
It is time for this celebrated sacrifice, from the picturesque, to be recognized with another recognition: that of being in the presence of a truly free spirit.
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The Israelite has no excuses or doubts about what he wants to do with his life, which is to be wherever his national team is. He puts his free will before the immobilist burden of responsibility, stretching to the limit his family life, risking his incipient finance, and recklessly cornering marital harmony, tired of selfies with excited women. His first priority, do not judge him, is the eleven of his affections.
Those of us who barely dodge life for 90 minutes in order not to miss a game, let's salute a free man. Free and brave, who accompanies his team, win or lose, wearing only a tunic without underwear, with his balls exposed to the same indomitable wind that the beloved red and white faces on the field.
Israelite, we want you in Qatar. //