In Buenos Aires these days, a merry little discussion is stirring up Argentinean soccer fans. It’s not about players or referees—the usual suspects—but of all things, a stadium, the home of Boca Juniors, one of the great clubs in South American soccer, and, some of you may remember, the original home of Diego Armando Maradona (“Dieguito”).

Built in 1940, the Alberto J. Armando stadium is a landmark in the area of Buenos Aires along the River Plate waterfront. Surrounded by homes in a neighborhood known as La Boca (“The mouth”), the 55,000 capacity arena has seen championship after championship—16 in all—for the home club. But sometime in the next several years, it may be torn down.

That is what has the fans stirred up. The home of Boca Juniors is known with great affection as “La Bombonera” (The “Chocolate Box”) because its sharply rectangular shape and steep terraces create the impression for the fans of being in a deep box. And in that deep box, sound reverberates back and forth and all around, in a way that intimidates Boca’s opponents. The home fans deliberately and enthusiastically create a boisterous atmosphere that lasts much longer than a match, and when stamping in unison they make the stadium vibrate. The fans don’t want to lose that fearsome home-field advantage unique to La Bombonera.

I was in Buenos Aires in 1981 after being given the good fortune of being sent to Argentina to talk to the government about their uranium deposits. For this soccer fan (and FIFA Referee at the time), to be sent to South America on full expenses almost convinced me that a god was looking out for me. I wasn’t far wrong; in fact, one afternoon in the exhilarating atmosphere in La Bombonera, I found myself looking at a soccer god—Diego Armando Maradona—at the height of his powers, a few months before his transfer to Barcelona for a world-record fee.

The scene and the sound as he and his teammates entered the field was unnerving. Ten thousand fans in one end of the stadium hurled their ticket-stubs skywards, and a blizzard of paper descended on their massed ranks. At the same time, the whole stadium roared for their heroes, as though they were chanting before some primeval battle. The stubby, diminutive figure in the number ten shirt waved in salutation. In such an atmosphere, how could their opponents not be unsettled? No wonder the diehard Boca fans don’t want to leave their stadium.

“I would never want to leave La Bombonera because it is the perfect stadium for soccer,” said Boca vice–president Pedro Pompilio, as reported by AP. But economic realities and changes in the regulations for soccer stadiums may force a departure. Soon all stadiums must have a seat for every spectator, and to convert the chocolate box would mean a loss of 25,000 fans per games. A new stadium could be designed from the beginning with 60,000 to 70,000 seats, and the club “..would have more revenue,” said Pompilio.

To the average Boca fan, it would be a shame. “This is a place where Boca has won many championship titles. But, well, if they have to move, I will follow them anywhere,” said Jorge Scalise, a taxi-driver. Not so the fans of their traditional enemies, cross-town rivals River Plate. For them, it would “..be great if River doesn’t have to play any more in that stadium,” said Ruben Moroni, who would not even mention the place by name.

The game has become so intensely commercial that it is unlikely that the fans of Boca Juniors will prevail in their wish to preserve La Bombonera. “I’ve been going … since I was fourteen years old,” said Jorge Zunino, an elderly fan, “It will be a sad day when the stadium is no more.” But that will leave a challenge for the builder of Boca’s new home: Can the architect put 60,000 seats in such a way as to simulate La Bombonera, preserving all its atmosphere and intensity?