The Campazzo Moment

The Campazzo Moment

It’s kind of like an epiphany. A revelation. An instant of intense, fleeting joy that deserves to be discovered, that allows it to be traveled, that explains that the things that do us good are never forever.

There we are, then, all gathered in search of a lost sensation. Night after night, with our noses glued to the screen, the hunters of forgotten instants huddle in the wake of player number seven. Armed with deep feeling, it is a collective exercise in continuous. We are, night after night, beggars of happiness. Palms to the sky so that some crumbs fall to light the flame. Experts in opening drawers, reviewing books, exercising memory to visit bedrooms painted with nostalgia.

The instructions given are simple: to be able to contemplate it, you have to know how to wait. To understand it, patience is needed. It takes time to arrive, but in the end, there is a reward.

We have all had, or are our own to have, our own Campazzo Moment. Ephemeral moments in which we felt that everything was fine, that it was not necessary to change a comma to the script to make it perfect. Happiness is never in sequence: they are sparks that illuminate a particular moment. Flashes that are photos within a long film, full of twists and turns that are almost always a mystery.

What is the Campazzo Moment, then? The transformation of the ordinary, the recurring, into the extraordinary. The change of the daily routine for the exceptional that provokes unforgettable memories. That trip of a few days that we could never erase from our heads, the talk that we managed to have on time, the deep hug that we deserved and finally had. The disruption of the norm that causes a connection to infinity.

There he is, then, Facundo Campazzo. A common guy, from the neighborhood, who looks a bit like us, but does things that no one can do. It is not about being the best, but about provoking in others something that the rest do not know how to do. We are all with the hourglass in hand watching the grains fall waiting for the miracle to happen. That the basketball is transformed into a golden ticket to some place that seemed forgotten. The wonderful thing will happen once more. I know. We will reconnect, I’m sure. Because that is what we are waiting for. Because that’s what we came for. We do not know if it will be in the introduction, in the middle or in the denouement, but the time traveler will open the portal to the extinct sensation. It will be a dip into the passageway that will allow us to rub shoulders, in an imaginary way, with a world of happiness that perhaps no longer exists. Did you see what Campazzo did? That moment, that unique, emotional moment, is what drags us down. What brings us together, what identifies us, what moves us. Return, once and for all. Return.

Campazzo now throws an oblique pass, at an unexplored angle, between the legs of an opponent. The reporter gives an absurd cry for an Anglo-Saxon, the rostrum jumps in unison. The mountains of Colorado tremble. Facundo’s smile is deep, from a contained childhood, from a finished dream. He yanks the chains off. Boiling joy fills the screen. The closed fist now pushes the army of those who feel: it is freedom leading the people.

The ecstasy, then, is a fact: the portal, once again, is open. Come in and enjoy.

The Campazzo Moment, the highway to long-awaited happiness, is once again among us.

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