On June 22, 1994, Andrés Escobar, the captain of the Colombia men’s national soccer team, a widely respected player, a widely loved player, a player known as a quiet, serious, disciplined, courteous, and thoughtful human being—Andrés Escobar scored an own goal in Colombia’s match against the United States at the World Cup.
Colombia lost the game, 2-1, and was eliminated during the group stage of the tournament.
Ten days later, on the early morning of July 2, 1994, Andrés Escobar was confronted by a group of men outside a club in his hometown, Medellín, the second-largest city in Colombia and the namesake of its most infamous drug cartel.
The men taunted Escobar for the own goal. He tried to reason with them. He was sitting in his car. He said the goal had been an honest mistake. He insisted that they treat him with respect.
One of the men drew a .38 caliber pistol, shot Escobar six times, and killed him. According to CNN, the man yelled “goal” each time he pulled the trigger.
The next night, police arrested a person whom they believed to be the gunman. Humberto Castro Muñoz was a bodyguard and driver for the Gallon brothers, a pair of powerful criminals and drug traffickers.
The Gallon brothers had reportedly lost large sums of money betting on Colombia’s matches at the World Cup.
Prosecutors believed—but could not prove, or were somehow convinced not to try to prove—that the Gallons had ordered Muñoz to kill Escobar in retaliation for the own goal.
Muñoz was sentenced to 43 years in prison. He wound up serving just 11 years before being released for good behavior. The Gallon brothers, who had powerful political connections, did a couple of months each for trying to cover up the murder.
Escobar’s funeral drew thousands of Colombians, who followed the car carrying his body on a 10-mile walk to the cemetery.
When he was buried, the second round of the World Cup had just gotten underway in the U.S.
This story ends with a coffin.
There’s no way around it. There’s no plot twist in store for us. There’s no revelation that reverses the tragedy in the third act. There’s no third act.
Andrés Escobar lives for 27 years, and then he’s murdered. That’s what’s coming. We all know.
And now I want to ask you to do something almost impossible. I want to ask you to put all that out of your mind.
OK, that’s actually impossible. I can’t do it. So I’ll ask you to do what I’m going to try to do, which is to put it out of your mind as much as you can. Forget about the ending as much as you can.
Andrés Escobar’s life has been, in many ways, and inevitably, defined by his death. I want us to try to see him differently. That may also be impossible. But I want to try to see him as he was before the ending was written.
I want to try to see him as he was when he was alive.
