It was 1939. Nacional from Montevideo and Boca Juniors from Buenos Aires were tied at two goals apiece and time was running out. Nacional was on the attack; Boca, in retreat, was holding them off. Then Atilio García got the ball, faced the jungle of legs, and opened up a path on the right, gobbling up the field, adversary by adversary.
Atilio was used to getting kicked. They would go after him with everything they had; his legs were a map of scars. That afternoon on the way to the goal, he was tackled hard by Angeletti and Suárez and had the pleasure of eluding them both twice. Valussi tore his shirt, grabbed him by the arm, and kicked him, and hefty Ibáñez blocked his path when he was running full tilt. But Atilio was unstoppable. The ball was part of his body and his body was a tornado, knocking over players as if they were rag dolls, until at last Atilio let the ball go with a terrifying smash that nearly burst the net.
The air smelled of gunpowder. Boca players surrounded the referee, demanding he disallow the goal because of the fouls they had committed. He paid them no heed, and the players left the field, indignant.