What would you do if Pablo Escobar wanted to play soccer with you?
Twenty years ago, Oscar Pareja was the star and captain of Independiente Medellin in Colombia, in the time when murderous drug czar Pablo Escobar terrorized the country.
One day in 1991, Pareja got a message. Escobar would like him and six of his Independiente teammates to come to Escobar's one-man, government-built luxury prison -- La Catedral -- and play a game. Escobar wouldn't be watching. He'd be playing against them.
What happened next Pareja has never shared with any of his three kids, nor any of the players he's coached, nor any reporters.
He went. He had to. Declining Escobar's invitation would be tantamount to signing his death certificate. Escobar had ordered the murder of thousands -- police captains, business owners and judges. The year before, he had ordered the executions of no less than three Colombian presidential candidates for not seeing things his way.
So Pareja said yes, even though it was the middle of the season. "Coach said practice was canceled," remembers Pareja, now 43. What else could the coach do? "For all we knew, we were partly owned by him (Escobar)."
La Catedral hung over Medellin like Olympus. It sat on a cool hill and was lavish -- with jacuzzis, a gym and a fully lit soccer field. From it, Escobar continued to carry on his billion-dollar cocaine business.
Pareja and his teammates were escorted into an ornate sitting room, where they waited, nervously, for the bloodiest man in Colombian history.
"There were fine couches in there," remembers Pareja. "And TVs. And they gave us snacks to eat. And then a bunch of bodyguards came into the room, and then (Escobar). And it made me wonder, 'Who, exactly, is the prisoner here today?'"
Escobar, then 42, took a seat on the couch next to Pareja. He treated Pareja like a visiting god, calling him by his nickname, El Guapo.
"That day I can't forget," says Pareja, 20 years younger than his host. "He sat next to me talking about (soccer) with great passion and knowledge, for an hour. He knew everything. He said to me, 'Why do you yell at the refs so much, Guapo? We pay them. This does no good.'"
Eventually, the players were escorted to the prison soccer field, which was lit for the night. Escobar came out in sweat pants and a soccer jersey, and played left midfielder, "even though he was right-footed."
Pareja's teammate, Carlos Alvarez, had to guard him, a most delicate job. Guard him too lightly, and Escobar would feel disrespected. Guard him too closely, and Escobar would feel humiliated. Either way, it could mean his neck.
"Don't kick me," Escobar told Alvarez with a grin, "because (if you do) you will stay here with us."
"Carlos only pretended to guard him," Pareja remembers. "He never got the ball from him once."
There was only one ref -- Escobar.
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