The wind of Comodoro Rivadavia has the habit of scraping its face, but in kilometer 3 there is a corner where that cold air becomes lukewarm, thick, almost familiar. It smells of removed land and memories of costumes defrosted by lack of affection. There, where the walls of Talleres guard the echo of three unforgettable titles in Primera and a handful of formative championships, the name of Oscar Mercado is not only that of a technical director;…
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The wind of Comodoro Rivadavia has the habit of scraping its face, but in kilometer 3 there is a corner where that cold air becomes lukewarm, thick, almost familiar. It smells of removed land and memories of costumes defrosted by lack of affection. There, where the walls of Talleres guard the echo of three unforgettable titles in Primera and a handful of formative championships, the name of Oscar Mercado is not only that of a technical director;…