The smell of a champion | Gonzalo Vilariño | TEDxRíodelaPlata

This talk was given at a local TEDx event, produced independently of the TED Conferences.

Gonzalo tells the story of how the National Football Team for the blind emerged. Gonzalo Vilariño is a lawyer and a Physical Education teacher but, above all, he's a professional challenge seeker. Proof of this is his coaching Argentina National Power Soccer Team and his incredible work as a trainer and a coach of the National Football Team for the blind called "Bats" that won no less than two World Championships and two Paralympic medals.

I opened a blind man's head.

I didn't make him think or reflect;
I cracked his head open, literally.

He was walking grabbed by my shoulder,

I didn't correctly estimate
the space between the two

and I made him hit against a gate.

(Laughter)

Five stitches on his forehead.

I felt the worst teacher in the world,
I really didn't know how to apologize.

Luckily, El Pulga is one of those people
who take things quite well.

And today he goes on saying

that I was the coach who left
the most important mark in his career.

(Laughter)

The truth is that when I started working
at the institute for the blind,

I was surprised by a lot of things.

A lot of things they did
I didn't imagine they could:

they swim, do athletics, play cards,

drink mate, pour it themselves
and don't get burned in the process.

But when I saw them playing soccer
I found it amazing.

They had a field with two rusted goals
and broken nets

and the blind who attended the institute
would play their games there.

Just like I do in a vacant lot near home,

but there they were playing
without being able to see.

The ball had a sound
so they could locate it;

there was a guide
behind the rival team's goal

to know where to kick ball,

and they used an eye mask.

There were kids who could still see

and to play under the same conditions
they wore that eye mask.

When I got confident,

I asked for a mask myself,
I put it on and tried to play;

I had played soccer all my life.

I found it more amazing still,

in two seconds didn't know
where I was standing.

I had studied physical education

because I loved high performance.

I had started working there by chance.

My other job was
with the Argentinian National Rowing Team,

and I felt that was my thing.

Here, everything took me double.

I'll never forget the first day
I did the warm-up with the team.

I put them in front of me,

- I had a lot of experience

from when I worked
with the national rowing team -

and I said, "Now, everyone down,"

and I did this. (He bends)

When I looked up, there were 2 seated,
3 lying around, others squatted.

(Laughter)

How do I do here what I was doing there?

It took me a lot.

I started looking for tools,
to learn from them,

from the teachers who work with them.

I learned that I couldn't explain a play
on a chalkboard like a coach does,

but I could use a plastic tray with caps

so they could interpret me through touch.

I learned that they could also run
on a running track

if I ran with them holding a rope.

Then we started looking for volunteers
to help us run with them.

And I was enjoying it and I was finding
the purpose and meaning to the activity.

It was difficult, it was uncomfortable,
but I decided to overcome this discomfort.

And there came a time when it became
the most fascinating job of all.

I think that's when I wondered,

why couldn't we be, with the blind,
a high-performance team as well?

Of course, the other part was missing:
to know what they wanted,

the real protagonists of this story.

Three hours of training on that field
we played soccer on

were not going to be enough.

We would have to train differently.

We started to train harder
and the results were great,

they asked for more.

I understood that they also wondered
why they couldn't be high-performance.

When we felt ready,
we knocked at CENARD's doors,

our National Center
of High-Performance Sports

we have here in this country.

It was hard to have them open doors,
but it was considerably more difficult

to get the other athletes training there
to consider us their equals.

In fact, they would lend us the field
only when no other teams used it.

And we were "the blind", not everyone knew
what exactly we were doing there.

The 2006 World Championship
was a turning point in the team's history.

It was held in Buenos Aires
for the first time.

It was our chance to prove to our people
what we had been doing all this time.

We made it to the final,
we were growing as a team.

On the other hand, Brazil was leading,
so far the best team in the tournament.

They were winning
every game by a landslide.

Almost nobody believed
that we could win that game.

Almost nobody, but us.

During training, in the locker room,
during each warm-up,

there smelled of champions.

I swear that smell exists.

I smelled it several times with the team,

but I particularly remember the day
before we played that final.

The Argentine Football Association
had opened their doors to us

and we were preparing in AFA, where Verón,
Higuain, and Messi train.

For us, it was feeling like
a national team for the first time.

The day before at 7:30 pm, we were
in the lounge during the technical talk

and a young man knocks on the door,
interrupting our conversation,

suggesting us to go to church;
he came to invite us to go to church.

I try to dissuade him, replying
it was not the best of times,

that we better leave it for another day.

And he insists asking me to please
let him take the kids to church

because that day a pastor came
who performed miracles.

I asked with some fear
what miracle he was talking about,

and he easily replied, "Coach,
let me take the team to the church,

when we return
I'm sure that half of them will see."

(Laughter)

Some laughed, but imagine
you are blind and someone says that.

I didn't know what to say,
I kept silent, an awkward silence.

I didn't want to make him feel bad

because he truly believed
this could happen.

And one player saved me

when he stood up and confidently said,

"Juan, Gonza already told you
it's not the best time to go to church.

Besides, let me make this clear:
we get to go to that church,

and I'm part of those half
of us who see when we return here,

I beat the shit out of you, for tomorrow
I won't be able to play the game."

(Laughter)

(Applause)

Juan left laughing in resignation,
we continue with the technical talk,

and that night, when I went to sleep,
I began to dream the next day's game,

to imagine what could happen,
how we would play it.

And then I felt the smell of champions
I mentioned a while ago.

Because at that moment I felt
that if the other players had

the same desire Diego had to play
that game, we could only be champions.

The next day was going to be wonderful.

We got up at 9 am, the game was at 7 pm,
and we already wanted to go and play.

We left AFA, and the bus
was full of flags given to us,

we were talking about the game
and we could hear the honks,

and people cheering who were saying,

"Go Bats, today is the last day,
the last effort."

The boys asked me, "Do they know us?
Do they know we are playing?"

There were people who went
to CENARD following the bus.

We arrived and found a pleasant scene.

Along the lane from the locker room
to the game field

I was walking with Silvio, who grabbed
by my shoulder, let me guide him;

fortunately, no gates on the way.

When we reached the field,

he was asking everything and everybody,
he didn't want to miss a detail.

Then he said, "Tell me what you see,
tell me who is playing those drums."

I tried to explain what was happening,
with as much detail as possible.

I would say, "The stands are packed,
a lot of people could not get in,

there are blue and white balloons
all over the field,

they are opening a giant Argentina flag
that covers the entire grandstand."

Suddenly, he cuts me off me and says,

"Do you see a flag that reads San Pedro?"

- the city where he lives -

and I start looking into the stands

and I find a little, white flag written
in black spray paint that read,

"Silvio, your family
and all San Pedro is here."

I tell him that and he replies,
"That's my old lady,

tell me where she is,
I want to I wave at her."

I orientate him, I show him,
with his arm, where the flag is,

and he waves his two arms
at that direction.

About 20, 30 people stand up
to give him an ovation,

and when that happens, I see how his face
changes, how moved he is.

It was moving for me too; 2 seconds later,
I had a lump in my throat.

It was strange, because I felt
the excitement of what was happening,

and the anger and the anguish
that he could not see all this.

A few days later when I told him
what had happened to me,

he was reassuring, because he said,
"Gonza, don't feel bad,

I could see them, differently,
but I swear to you I saw them all."

The game started;
we could not fail, it was the final.

People had to stat still, like here,
because in soccer, for the blind,

the public has to be quiet
so that the players hear the ball.

And they are only allowed to cheer
when the game is over.

About 8 minutes to go, they cheered
what they hadn't in the first 32.

When Silvio nailed the ball at angle,
they cheered that goal from the heart,

in an incredible way.

If today you go to CENARD, you will see
a huge poster on the door,

with a Bats photo.

They are a model national team,
everyone knows who they are in CENARD,

and after having won 2 World Championships
and 2 Paralympic medals,

no one doubts they are high performance.

(Applause)

I was lucky to train
this team for ten years,

first as trainer and later as their coach.

The feeling I have is that I received
much more than I gave.

Last year I was suggested to coach
another national team, Power Soccer.

It's a national team of young men
who play soccer in wheelchairs.

Motorized wheelchairs
that they drive with a joystick,

as they have no strength in their arms
to drive a conventional chair.

They added a bumper to the chair,
a safeguard that protects their feet

while allowing them to kick the ball.

It's the first time they stop being
spectators and turned protagonists.

It's the first time that their parents,
friends, and siblings go to see them play.

For me, it's a new challenge.

Again the discomfort, insecurity, and fear
like when I started with the blind.

But I face it all
from a more experienced position.

That's why from day one,
I treat them as athletes on the field,

and I try to put myself
in their place outside the field.

With no prejudice, because treating them
naturally is how they feel best.

Both teams play soccer;
it was something unthinkable for them.

They had to adapt the rules to do so.

And both teams broke the same rule,

precisely that which said
they could not play soccer.

When you see them play,
you see competition not disability.

The problem starts

when the game is over
they leave the field,

and they come out to play our game

in a society that sets rules

that almost don't take them on account,
that don't care for them.

I learned from sports

that disability greatly depends on
the rules of the game.

So I think that if we change
some of the rules of our game,

we can make their lives
a little easier for them.

We all know that there are people
with disabilities, we see them daily.

But by having no direct contact with them,

we are not aware of the problems
they face every day.

How hard it is for them to get on a bus,
find a job, take the subway,

or cross the street.

It's true that there is
an increasing social responsibility

regarding the inclusion
of people with disabilities.

But I think it's not enough yet.

I think change should come from within us.

First, by leaving behind
the indifference towards them,

and then by respecting the rules
that do take them on account.

They are few, but they exist.

I cracked a blind man's
head open: El Pulga.

I can assure you these 2 teams
also opened mine,

because they taught me
how you have to get out there

and play every game

in the beautiful championship
that life is.

Thank you.

(Applause)