Giuliano Simeone, emotional talking about Messi:
"Leo is 39 years old, he has everything a footballer could dream of and is still fighting like as the best. So for us, there’s only one thing left, give everything we have, run for him and for Argentina."
I believe in one God,
the Father Almighty,
Maker of heaven and earth,
of all things visible and invisible.
I believe in one Lord Jesus Christ,
the Only Begotten Son of God,
born of the Father before all ages.
God from God,
Light from Light,
true God from true God,
begotten, not made,
consubstantial with the Father;
through Him all things were made.
For us men and for our salvation
He came down from heaven,
and by the Holy Spirit
was incarnate of the Virgin Mary,
and became man.
For our sake He was crucified under Pontius Pilate,
He suffered death and was buried,
and rose again on the third day
in accordance with the Scriptures.
He ascended into heaven
and is seated at the right hand of the Father.
He will come again in glory
to judge the living and the dead,
and His kingdom will have no end.
I believe in the Holy Spirit,
the Lord, the Giver of life,
who proceeds from the Father and the Son,
who with the Father and the Son is adored and glorified,
who has spoken through the prophets.
I believe in one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church.
I confess one Baptism
for the forgiveness of sins,
and I look forward to the resurrection of the dead
and the life of the world to come.
Amen. 🙏🏼
If it's really a France Argentina final, then Messi nation shouldn't really he worried.
Because if he loses, it's normal and expected. France are super saiyan.
But if 39 year old uncle Messi beats this French team... Then this app won't hold us...
I think he can see the end and has been witnessing it in every game. No wonder he plays with such passion; he doesn’t want to go out quietly; he’s raging against the dying of the light.
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LIONEL SCALONI: “Mi papá venía de manejar 10 horas un camión lleno de piedras, y aún así se bajaba y me decía: ‘Vamos a entrenar, no hay tiempo que perder’.”
Tenía 13 años y vivía en Pujato, un pueblo donde nadie hablaba de Mundiales, pero yo soñaba con uno. Mi cancha era un garaje. Mi camiseta, la de Argentina, aunque jugara en Newell’s. Mi viejo no descansaba. Me llevaba a entrenar, me esperaba, y volvía a trabajar. Él tenía más hambre de fútbol que yo.
A los 17 debuté como profesional. A los 29, fui al Mundial. A los 44, gané uno como entrenador. Y ese día, cuando Montiel metió el penal, no pensé en la copa. Pensé en mi viejo, en el garaje, en ese niño que viajaba a dedo para perseguir un sueño.
Desde que ganamos, no recuerdo haber pagado una comida en Argentina. La gente me abraza, llora y me dice: “Nos hiciste felices.” Y cada vez que lo escucho, me repito algo: valió la pena, cada kilómetro, cada piedra, cada entrenamiento a oscuras."