FROM COLOMBES TO SÃO JANUÁRIO
— Geraldo Romualdo da Silva | 20/05/1944 —

The story of the man whose life is linked to all the great achievements of Uruguayans — Matucho Fígoli's tears after the setback — Wrinkled hands and a weak heart — The philosophy of "Mano Santa" — Héctor Scarone was the culmination — The greatest satisfaction and the greatest sadness.

When football took root in South America, Matucho Fígoli was yet to be born. He emerged almost with the appearance of Nacional. He played with sock ball, played in law field with a good ball of gum, appeared in a preliminary, took a bad tumble, had water in the knee... and left the stage. But, even with a limp, enjoying the threat of disability, he didn't try to hurt the sport. He hung up his boots, folded his shirt and tried to heal. Healing himself, he studied physiology, fell in love with the art of applying massage. When he got well, he didn't leave the "Clinical Hospital" to "pay later".

He paid for the good that they did to him with a constant activity in the "Sanatorio", dedicating himself body and soul to the profession of enlivening muscles. He specialized.

The other day I went to pick him up at his office. When I mentioned Fígoli, an employee replied that Mano Santa was busy arranging things for the trip. And he stressed:

— This Mano Santa has a story in every wrinkle...

THE HEART WAS VERY STRONG.

Matucho went with me to the meeting of ministers of state. As I needed to speak with General Campos, he offered to take me to His Excellency. I didn't know how to respond. I didn't say anything. Heed his signal. I pulled the door of the "D.K.W." and let the car fly. "It is here". Matucho went ahead. He stepped firmly and I timidly. The fear of disturbing someone always left a little more behind. Suddenly Matucho appeared at the door, tiny, alive, calling me. Then I verified that the general was his friend. I did the interview with the general and we left. Matucho didn't look at me with an air of superiority. Three blocks later he told me with the most holy naivety that a relative of his was an aide-de-camp to the Minister of Defense. The car passing through the 18th of July. 

Fígoli: Will we drink something? 

— Let's go, Fígoli.

At the bar, the guy bent down and greeted Matucho by name. "Are we going to play badly in Brazil?"

Fígoli: No, and we still have what few possess: heart. The love for this tiny land is an indescribable thing for the Uruguayan athlete. Let me tell you!

COLOMBES, AMSTERDAM, MONTEVIDEU, SANTIAGO...

From the bar, I went to Matucho's house. On the wall of the living room there are no oil landscapes. It is all taken up by enlarged photos.

Fígoli: Everyone here is privy to the life of our glorious heavenly. One day the Association will take it. 

On that day Matucho will have played a trick on his clients. Matucho will have stopped living... I stared at the photographs. In all of them, with briefcase in hand, was Matucho, always small, always jovial, just a little thinner. He noticed the observation and commented:

Fígoli: The way the years go by, we acquire more grease..."

He said and pointed to the squad that was staring at us.

Fígoli: If it wasn't the best we produced in football, it will be there.

Héctor Scarone had a grim expression, his eyes wide open. Romano, with his mouth wide open, seemed to be preparing for the shout of "goal!", "goal of the Uruguayans".

Fígoli: This Romano was pretty crazy! The fans rightly liked to call him el loco Romano.

Fígoli: Here, we were in Amsterdam. The Argentines were prepared to scare us, but even this time, the Uruguayan heart beat faster than the Buenos Aires's. We won like heroes.

In the middle, ahead, between Amsterdam and Montevideo, a portrait in color was staring at us.

Fígoli: This one was just brilliant. He was called Piendibene and he still walks around, strong, gaúcho, macanudo.

In the background there is a dramatic episode. It's a snapshot where you see players running and wrists rising. 

Fígoli: This happened in Chile. The Porteños wanted to beat us anyway. Lorenzo Fernández was in charge of putting the bullies on the run...

— How about this Lorenzo, Matucho?

Fígoli: Lorenzo Fernández constitutes an episode of our football. He belongs to the Nasazzi, Gestido and Pedro Cea schools.

— And Petrone?

Fígoli: Every kick meant a goal...

THE GREATEST OF THE GREATEST: HÉCTOR SCARONE.

Matucho described the style of the champions:

Fígoli: I say tactics. Style is another thing. We played well and with our hearts in our feet, in our heads, in our lungs, in our brains, in everything.

— Which one impressed you the most, Fígoli?

Fígoli: From Colombes to now? I tell you...

He paused and exclaimed:

Fígoli:Fígoli: Héctor was the greatest of all. Yes, Héctor Scarone!

— And after Héctor?

Fígoli: Héctor was the culmination. We had an Andrade, a Gestido, a Mazali, the diviner of the gate; Lorenzo Fernández, Nasazzi, Mascheroni, Piendi, but I'll go with Héctor. Héctor Scarone was a phenomenon!

PAIN AND JOY.

Colombes, Amsterdam, Santiago and Montevideo were far away. Matucho Fígoli rubs his eyes. We are now in São Januário. The eleven boys who participated in the journey remain seated, with their heads down, their eyes wet.

Fígoli: They didn't deserve it so much. After all, it's not their fault. The leaders could have sent a better team...

— Do you think that with the complete team you would win, Matucho?

Fígoli: Winning was impossible. But we would lose in a more honorable way. So, out of six, it was a catastrophe!

» Come on, muchachos! The table!

— What was your greatest satisfaction in football, Fígoli?

Fígoli: The greatest? Well, greatest, greatest, I don't remember. I have felt so many emotions in my life. Every triumph of the celestes left me with this feeling. Possibly the supreme emotion I received in Colombes, when for the first time, far from the pagans, I saw the flag of the country fluttering on the victory mast. I see, even now, as in a miraculous cinema parade, that magnificent landscape parade before my eyes. The flag rising, the placard recording the triumph, the cracks sobbing. What a wonderful moment!

Matucho wipes his eyes again.

— Please don't torment us anymore, Matucho! — The voice came from behind. I turned around. It was Riephoff. Riephoff cried like a child.

— Is this the saddest day of your life, Fígoli?

Fígoli: If not the saddest day, at least it is the one that gave me the strongest disappointment, since I follow the scratch of my homeland.

Suddenly stops speaking and concludes after a brief pause:

Fígoli: Fortunately, we have the consolation of having lost to the Brazilians. Losing to the Brazilians, we always have the impression of a match played at home, that everything is paid...