BUENOS AIRES, Argentina - When Mario Götze scored the winning goal in the final of the Brazil 2014 World Cup, there was just silence. No one shouted, cursed or moved. What can you do when your national team, after 24 years, finally makes it to the final round of the World Cup and loses?

I am neither an Argentine nor an ardent fan of the sport, and it is certainly not by design that I am in Argentina during the World Cup. But the spirit, passion and love of Argentine football supporters has amazed me in these past few weeks; it has made me cultivate a love for football.

I watched the game at a bar in San Telmo, the popular nightlife district of Buenos Aires. Let the bar remain unnamed, for it could have been one of many in the city; all bars were painted in the Argentine blue and white. Well, maybe a few scattered Germans and Brazilians united elsewhere, hoping to see Argentina fall.  Maybe one German and seven Brazilians. Or seven and one? Not sure, but I digress.

A wall-size screen, a big cup of the infamously bitter fernet, Argentines to my left, Argentines to my right, my di Mária jersey, hot pizza — everything you need to watch el Mundial in Argentina. Thank god for half-time, because the stress-levels were just unbearable. By the time we reached the extended time, people were on the edge of their seats, hoping for a legendary comeback during those last 7 minutes. But it never happened.

I was still sitting on the couch sipping the last of my drink when our waitress came to push the couches out of the way. Ten minutes after Argentina lost, half the bar stayed for a randomly organized tango event. Baffled, I got off my seat and gave way to the dancing couples.

I walked out of the bar dazed. I was just kicked out from a dance party organized on top of a national tragedy. But a group of Argentines quickly snapped me out of my daze. Waving their flags and jumping up and down, they sang their chant referencing the victory in the 1990 World Cup in Italy; “Brasil, decime qué se siente tener en casa a tu papá,” which roughly translates to, “Brazil, tell me what it feels like to have your daddy at home.” Apparently, these guys didn’t think this was a national tragedy.

The hundreds of people at Obelisco didn’t either. I walked to the city center, where hundreds were cheering, shouting, singing, drinking and celebrating Argentina’s victory of making it to the second place in the World Cup. Fireworks went off left and right. What I thought would be a site of mourning, was a instead a site of appreciation for the efforts of a national team.

Gracias, Argentina.