With that the line went dead, leaving Castro suddenly wide awake and just as suddenly chilled.
Just about anywhere else in the world that kind of warning could have been shrugged away as meaningless melodrama.
But here in this land of soccer madness, such threats were often all too real.
You might ask why anyone should bother to intimidate such an unlikely hero. But remember this was the era of the goalkeeper and the centre-forward.
Until now, Castro would have considered this pretty wild talk too.
There wasn’t much sleep for Castro that night. Tormented by a dozen different fears, he was only too glad to see the dawn.
Already ten boat-loads of Argentine supporters had arrived in the city. They had been met by riot police at the quayside and searched for arms.
For there was a strong belief now that in the event of a Urugu-ayan victory, there would be an organised riot at the stadium and possibly the assasination of a player.
Armed guards with bayonets fixed lined the barricades and fire crackers greeted the entry of theteams.
Then with the game twelve minutes old, Pablo Dorado shot the Uruguayans into the lead and their followers seemed to think the game was already won.
Now was the moment to take command, but alas there were no Gods there today.
Poor Castro tried desperately hard to set the attack alight . . . only there was such a gulf be¬tween his desire and his per¬formance.
He felt as though he was play¬ing in a dream, the kind doomed to failure. Nothing would go right.
Still the blame was by no means Castro’s alone. The entire attack seemed to be sighing for the missing Anselmo.
So it came as no surprise when, ten minutes before the interval, Peucelle and Stabile scored two quick goals to give the Argen¬tinians the lead.
fear of riot . . . spectators were weapons . . . shots were fired, perhaps the master of this first f lip Final
Half-time came with the score Uruguay 1, Argentina 2 and deep gloom over the Centenary Stadium.
The second half began pretty much as the first had ended with Uruguay on the defensive.
The dangerous Stabile started to move diagonally through the defence, feinted to pass and then suddenly shot instead.
By sheer chance, the ball struck Castro’s chest and fell at his feet. He came away fast, crossed the centre line and laid on a pass to Pedro Cea that was little short of perfection.
The Argentinian defence for once was caught flat-footed and before they could recover, Cea had scored.
A fortunate goal perhaps, but a goal just the same.
And at that moment a strange thing happened to Castro. He felt the sudden surge of power, the supreme confidence usually reserved for the great ones.
Without any warning at al came the belief that he could live for this day at least, with an; player alive.
But the incredible thing wa that, but for the missing arm, thi could have been Anselmo himsell
He had borrowed his style . . borrowed it so brilliantly that yoi had to look twice to see just wh< was leading the attack today.
Every movement, every gestur came as if from some long remem bered dream.
The other Uruguayan forward sensed the magic too and now th game truly was beginning to flo\ their way.
Monti, sensing the danger, wa coming hard into Castro. But it wa liking going hard into a shadow
He was floating, gliding throug Argentinian territory and nothin it seemed could check him.
In the 65th minute, he went fas across the face of the box, too the defence with him, then sue denly backheeled a pass to his lei winger Santos Iriarte.
Iriarte rammed it home an Uruguay were ahead again.
Some shots were fired from th far side of the terraces and polic dived into the crowd with flailin truncheons. But whether the were fired at Castro, no one wi ever know.
The Argentinians rallied for while and every once or twic< Monti would surge on to tb attack. But there was alwaj Castro lurking on the centre lim pinning down the defence by h sheer presence there.
Then with the game in its dyin moments, Castro picked up loose ball out on the right toucl line, sauntered in along the b; line, suddenly accelerated pa two men and crashed the ball ini the roof of the net.
It was the perfect finale to tl game . . . and to Castro’s day < glory.
Maybe it would be nice t record that it changed his who life, that from then on he ou glittered Anselmo himself.
But soccer lightning seldoi strikes twice.
And the chances are that Casti was probably content with th; one magical day.
After all, he had been to tl mountain peak . . . and you car top that.