The footballer's surname or nickname is ignored, diluted, inconsequential. He may have executed a silhouette shot for a logo, or he may have covered himself in mud to avoid a seemingly fatal shot. If a player born east of the Río de la Plata takes part in one of these actions, the local parishes in Spain always appeal to his nationality. Suarez knows it. And Cavani. And Forlán. And Pandiani. And Godin And Gimenez. And 205 more Uruguayans who have played in the Primera from here. And Stuani, of course.
The Eastern Republic of Uruguay is often referred to as the Switzerland of Latin America. It is, logically, for being the most literate country in Latin America, for registering one of the highest GDP per capita on the continent or for inspiring, inside and outside, the most accentuated perception of full democracy and absence of corruption in the region: all in all, having entered a twelve-year civil-military dictatorship and a violent banking crisis at the beginning of this century. But the Helvetic analogy can also be attributed to being a small country in terms of surface area and population, sandwiched between the Argentinian and Brazilian giants and obstinate in preserving the social achievements built mainly at the beginning of the nineteenth century by José Batlle, grandson of a merchant of flour and wheat son of Sitges.
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