A night with Jorge Campos

I’m on the back of an Uber in Mexico City, writing after six coffees. The title of this book points to a certain style that most people think you have to be a drug fiend and a drug junkie to utilize. Don’t get me wrong, I am a fiend, and a junkie, and an asshole, and every kind of drug-addicted verb and adjective you can imagine, just in recovery.

I quit cigarettes and all drugs. Women, I am quitting as much as you can quit them, you know, the one drug with a mind and legs that can actively devise ways to take revenge. Porn. Fuck porn, it’s evil. I watched some last night after a month of not touching or coming near that shit. I hate it. But I’m hooked. I have been hooked since I was what? Ten. Yeah, fuck you, internet molestation. It should be illegal, but it lines powerful people's pockets with cash, so yeah, no.

Anyway. The World Cup is here. A lot of people say this World Cup doesn’t feel like the previous ones, and I agree. There is something about the multiple countries that takes away from the national identity of just one country, but we Mexicans, we hold the record. We have hosted three World Cups. Three is a big number, especially in a country that, apart from its centralist capital, is so poor that most of its citizens live day by day. And we host the World Cup.

Mexico and the world? Is Mexico now considered a fantastic country by those outside it? I wouldn’t know. I used to hate Mexico. Ardently hate Mexico. Now I realize I live in possibly the coolest city in the world, and the world is noticing it. Trendy neighborhoods are filled with foreigners, even before the World Cup hype. And I mean filled, filled.

Actually, one time I was high on coffee with my sponsor. I talked to Americans and asked them where they were from, to which I replied I was jailed innocently in America in a disgusted and punishing fashion. I hate and I love America. I don’t know what came over me.

On the way to an event that a good friend invited me to. You don’t have to know someone for very long for them to be a good friend. He is a good friend. Famous reporter, big eyes and dark skin. Charismatic in an innocent, fun, comfortable, friendly sort of manner. He probably learnt it when he was a kid star in the most famous Mexican kid band from back in the day. He has a lot of celebrity.

Writing on the back of the car, coffee’d up. The idea is to do Gonzo journalism à la Hunter S. Thompson, which goes with a certain raw style that I think is honest and pure literature.

Going to an event where Jorge Campos, possibly the most famous Mexican goalkeeper, is opening a gallery, I think, and greeting people. Haven’t eaten a lot, might have a little food there. He used to play for Pumas, the university football club that just lost the final not too long ago.

Mexico and football, like the rest of the world, is ingrained. I knew Jorge Campos’s name as a kid when your football skill determined your worth, and my absolutely horrible skill level led me to be bullied constantly, even once when I was tied to the goal and my team kicked as many balls as possible to hit me as I cried tied up in the “red” and the ball kept flying and bouncing painfully of my body

Fuck, the car has arrived at the hotel and the event. Must stop writing. I hope I get to talk to Jorge Campos.

So I got there. As soon as I got there, Jean received me as if we were old friends. He has a way of side hugging, very secure man, and as if to say, I brought this guy, he is my friend.

Had to pee and leave my bag with the concierge, and then I got right back to it. The event is like all other supposedly fancy events, people dressing to show wealth and a few very beautiful women, because of wealth. Beautiful women are always around wealth.

There was this kid boy celebrity. I mean, not really, but he had shaken President Claudia Sheinbaum’s hand that morning. There was an event in which all the managers and owners of the Mexican football league joined up to celebrate football and harden agreements next to the lady president.

I actually know someone very close to her. Two. Adrian Prado is now head of AI in the biggest university in all the country and works even beside the president’s sister. We talked about AI. Makes me wonder about God.

Anyway, I also live with someone very close to an ex-president. VERY.

The kid had a disability. I like using the other word, but out of respect for him and his parents, who were very forthcoming and kind and, just looking at my little journal in which I took my journalistic notes, they trusted me fully. If you look the part, you can play the part.

The kid looked tired, and I am no one in relation to the president of the country, so the now-famous disabled kid answered and wanted me to leave. He also met Roberto Carlos and a bunch of other famous footballers.

This kid is the World Cup make-a-wish, make-rich-guys-feel-better product. Matias Morales was his name. I asked him if he thought Mexico would be champions, and he looked towards his dad and made a funny face. Almost making fun.

There is no way we will win the World Cup, according to the kid that met the president today. He thinks Portugal will win and is a big Cristiano Ronaldo fan. Makes sense. Internet culture kids love Ronaldo.

Met some guy. He gave me his number. He manages Jorge Campos. Then there was another guy. The security guard guy. He looked like a fucking bulldog and was aggressive and not forthcoming at all. I got scared. Big guy.

But hey, I’ll get my interview. The other guy is good friends with Jean, who brought me here. He was handsome and charismatic and gave me his number. It made sense. His job is representing the greatest Mexican goalkeeper of all time, and there are two days until the World Cup. His element, what other could be.

Even here there are reporters wearing Pumas shirts. Pumas. They always lose and the fans keep going, like with the national team, which eventually always disappoints. Mexican loyalty is something else. Browns are loyal to whites. Loyalty is lived and learnt here in Mexico City.

This last final Pumas lost to Cruz Azul, as people said, el que nunca gana y el que siempre pierde.

My brother is applying to that university. The other day I walked its campus. The people looked at me nonstop. I’m trying to be humble, but the world makes it so hard. When people always look and talk about you, you can’t help but feel special.

Step six and seven in AA are all about humility. I was high on ego a week ago. I thought I was winning, but this life I have lived and will live is more a weight than anything else. When someone looks at you and feels inferior, most people would think it is something good for you, and one thinks that too, but when the ego bubble is popped, it is nothing but hurt and weight.

It hurts when people, who one loves by nature, feel less than you. All those “good” things are just weight in the soul and responsibility. I must attain humility, no matter the cost....

Back to Campos. Everybody wants to talk to that piece of sweet Lindt dark chocolate because of exactly that, he is sweet. There are cameras everywhere, and then there’s a blonde.

Is she looking at me? I wouldn’t know, but if I flirt with her a little, I might achieve a dos por dos with Campos!

Moved around the room and talked to another one of Campos representatives. I asked him how long before the World Cup they had been preparing for all this, you know, to make the big buck out of Campos’ image. Two years, he said. I tried talking to him and then left, he was a conceited short green-eyed prick.

The second biggest star in the building was my friend Jean, kids and adults asked for his picture. He is nice, not fake nice, so nice, his job is actually being nice, I would say, he told me to move around, find the story.

I went to a back room where a lot of cameras were pointing. I hustled and moved and looked around, behind a wooden curtain in what looked like a Michael Corleone type room there was Campos being interviewed by two guys, I only caught a glimpse before the bulldog moved me. I have the managers number though, I still could get that interview. Do I want to?

Apparently Jorge does physically prepare before the yearly legends match, which I watched in my box on the Aztec Stadium not too long ago. You know, with Mexican Margot Robbie who broke up with me. Short lived. Fun. Gone.

Jorge prepares with food and exercise before the legends matches, and in his position goalkeeping there is no other legend such as him, except maybe Memo Ochoa who will play this World Cup.

Fuck the pickle. Green-eyed prick. Short. Green. Pickle. Let’s call him that, the pickle. Campos favourite moment of the year is the legends match. Because the legends are good friends of his but mostly because he get’s to play football. I think. I don’t know. Pickle didn’t give me a right answer.

One of Campo’s teammates this year was Cuauhtemoc Blanco: Football legend, governor, gangster, fat. There could be a good movie made about that guy, and he was fat in his prime. Somehow, that man is just good. Ugly but a good soccer player.

Hunter. S. Thompson. My inspiration for this, reading him for style, but I already got style, not just the way I dress but the way each letter is combined to make a timeline of thoughts, one next to the other, interesting for consumption. So yeah, like Hunter. But I can’t do drugs. Not anymore. Do athletes use recreational drugs? If so what effect do they seek?

I have to find the book in the book, the adventure in the adventure, life in life, the World Cup in the World Cup.

Jorge Campos is all anybody here wants to talk about, and then she calls me. Lola

Sixty-three and lookin’ great. We spend a lot of time together nowadays, yeah she is old, but gracefully belle and has had the most interesting life… she showed me (at my incessant petition) a 90’s magazine where she was the cover and main feature. I couldn’t help but smile as I looked at that magazine, I know what kinda girl she was, she would’ve been way out of my league. She posed next to a lion she owned, like that lion in her good old days she was untamable. Who owns a literal lion? And for what reason? And has the bravery to pose with it. Today at sixty-three she is more calm and willing and loving, we hang around. Handsome Julian aka The “Rapist” and the untamable sixty-year-old seductress.

There are flashing lights and luxury drinks around me but people aren’t talking football or is it that I am not talking to people. I’ll drink some water and get back on the scene.

The two lady waitresses in the restaurant's entrance aren’t all that excited for the World Cup. Brown and pretty, pretty enough to be the front for the restaurant even in Jorge Campos World Cup Visa Day. They said three host countries sucked and looked at me with desire as they asked what I did, I just mumbled movies…books…smn...smn or other. Most people I talk to seem to agree about the three host countries predicament, but mostly, it is an American World Cup. Mostly, we get the inauguration. I have a box in the Aztec Stadium, always had it, but everybody, family wise, wants to go and I don’t know if I'll get to watch the match in the box. I hope so. Guess we will have to wait and see and write either or. Find the story in the story and the book in the book.

Oh shit there’s a hot white girl with huge puffed up almost afro hair, but she is white, just very puffed up hair. Like a lion.

It’s getting stale, stale boring people pretending pretentiously porto drinking.

Where are the old wild adventures?!

The slutty/fine blonde has a green Mexico shirt and a boyfriend, rich guy probably.

Talked to the biggest guy I could find and he only spoke English, he was next to a buchona Mexican cunt. He said he tried to get tickets, too expensive…we talked about Mo Salah and how he is an icon in Liverpool where my brother Alejandro lives. The buchona was mean. Forgive her, and don’t call her a cunt, she has insecurities just like ya. Be more Christian in your writing.

The Egyptian pyramid said that Egypt probably won’t get past eights. Not even with Salah. He said Liverpool aught to forget about him. But he is one of today's greats alongside Yamal and Mbappe.

But is one good player enough to get shit team wins?

There’s a new Visa Ted Lasso Jorge Campos advert in the biggest screen constantly on repeat.

Just remembered I gotta interview my mother and my uncles on what it was like seeing Maradona’s “Mano de Dios” and the greatest goal of all time against England. Will do.

Messi got Argentina a championship last World Cup, but he had a good team. Saw that one on Pennsylvania. Depressed. Cold. Accused.

Maradona, well he is a junkie like myself. I wonder why he didn’t stop. Though, I guess some don’t get to the other side of the drug thing. Even an international soccer athlete superstar.

Talking about athletic superstars, been seeing Gon and his family strategizing about the boxing documentary. He has been signed by the greatest living boxing manager. Can’t say too much about that, but we are raising good money for the documentary. He says he has to win the Mexican Pueblo. But he is afraid because he comes from wealth, I told him not to run from that. It’s part of him. Yeah, he is handsome and rich: Bruce Wayne, but in the ring he is el Azul: Batman. Blue gloves and blue shorts. El Azul, the next great Mexican boxing star and my dear friend. Had a meal with his family. It was good.

Met two English reporters from the BBC, Jim and Winston. They were astonishingly nice which isn’t astonishing because they’re Brits and they’re usually nice. They interviewed Campos and in English too! Two things he said stood out to them. Jorge said he didn’t join the Premier League because he was too short, he talked about his Acapulco heritage and stardom to what I answered they should visit. They said they loved Mexico and will come again… Oh! And before I forget, Jorge quipped to them that Mexico has struggled winning the World Cup, something the English could understand firsthand. The reporters laughed and so did I.

They had that room I was trying to get into but the bulldog didn’t let me, all to themselves! BBC!

Campos! Will I see Campos?, wait I'm at a table and he just came out the Corleone room with the bulldog. People and cameras everywhere, reminds me of the CADI film fest. All the noise is surrounding him, there’s also another killer blonde, strawberry blonde, killer strawberry blonde dressed in a sports fit.

She must be foreign!

The presenter is saying he isn’t just a great goalkeeper, he helped people, changed the rules of the game… apparently, I wouldn’t know.

I have to find Jean.

Should I chat with the killer strawberry blonde?

He is leaving, I mean Jean, he has an important meeting, all the football people are on edge and quick moving.

I have a good friend Bernardo Alcantara, the definition of a football hustler, becoming friends with Ronaldinho and basically every football player that passed through Mexico City. He has every shirt with every autograph and the World Cup was his perfect opportunity and the social media job FIFA gave him was just for him, will talk to him in these days. He once got tied to a chair at school with tape as if he was being kidnapped on purpose to make a hassle and a laughl.

Will interview tomorrow if God permits, he is watching a friendly match in Puebla. He sent a picture and a message. Stadium noise.

Gotta pay attention, Jorge is speaking now. He seems drunk and is thanking the country, the banks and everybody quickly. He is trying to get off the stage ASAP because he drank too much. He finished in a sentence and tried to get off the stage but the bank people wouldn’t let him so he went back up. Everybody is here because of him, he can’t leave that quickly! But as is his goalkeeping nature he is trying to keep as many questions as possible away from himself.

Goddamn Jorge Campos the multicolored jersey bastard. He said football is a game and we must enjoy it. My take: it’s a simulation of war, and that’s why we enjoy it.

The Visa ad shines on repeat.

This guy is drunk, I think, he looks smug. I mean he is a star. When I am famous I'll be different I hope.

Hoe’s searching for money and a seat at the match. Fuck hoes.

Jorge is sitting down with the bulldog behind, bright shining sport-star smile, pretty hoes around around around him. They’re fishing for status.

The camera flash is hitting my eyes as I write but Jorge’s smile has the most flash.

This all has a classist feel to it all, which goes to show this World Cup has been money and status oriented planned by greedy FIFA fucks and North America. Not just the U.S. Mexican politicians and football people tend to be corrupt, cranked, bought, altogether dirty. Mexico is and can be a very dirty country, some say that has stopped our economic growth.

Wanna be wealthies and wealthy pricks are getting on my nerves and I think there is no longer a story here so time to go!

It’s ten, it ends at twelve. There are beautiful women here. Status and wealth, they’ll do anything for that. Wonder how they look without all the makeup on. And their picture of Dorian Gray must be horrendous.

Football guy, I must find a football guy, and shit I still gotta place my bets, otherwise I wouldn’t be paying homage to Hunter.

I could stay here all night as I did with Rogan and Kanye. The only thing is right when Kanye passed by after five hours I was shitting. Two minute windows and I missed him before the concert, which rocked. I’m not feeling it here anymore and there’s a special event in the AA group, I will go there.

I need to find a football expert guy. Bernardo? Maybe?

As a finishing note: all the suits are white, all the service is brown except for Campos which is both.

Before I left I talked to the English strawberry blonde. Stunning English woman, reminds me of my Highclere days, very pretty. Loved talking to her, invited her to a match at my box, hope it comes through. Maybe Mexico vs England? If it happens. Most people think it will.

Will get more into the sports aspect next writing, but I can’t lose the Gonzo.

Del Toro Dispatch signing off Julian del Leon.