The Fountain of youth

By Papageorgiou Alexis 07/11/2015

To disregard the unknown is to abandon a vital part of humanity, curiosity, that cell generated hunger to learn and evolve. The new, whether it’s a thing, a feeling, or a person, kindles the food for thoughts part of the brain and dilates the eye.

Watching a new pair of boots, unconfidently, confidently, unconfidently, confidently, going for the 180 before finally entering the pitch eager to advertise their merit, is priceless. This feeling of uncertainty that drives them hard towards the unknown, the trembling hands, the sweat pegging the huge sign ‘easy target’ on the forehead, constitutes the nucleus of a teenager. That impatient burning red lava, bubbling under their skin, undoubtedly eager to explode in every direction, leaving every other player in the pitch, teammates included, under serious danger of third-degree burns.

“Constantly tested, thrown into the wild, left to pit his wits and will against nature’s fury. This is his initiation, his time in the wild, for he would return to his people a ‘player’, or not at all”. This was the Spartan’s way, elegantly stated in the 300, and fits like a glove in the football world. For all the preparation and hand holding is done and dusted, the moment those untested boots touch the grass, its swim or drown …

When it’s time, it’s time

A manager’s love the only obstacle in a perfect world, as his anxiety more often that credited bests his apprentice’s and postpone becomes the word in the cloud. And it’s that exact barrier every player dreams to add to his memories, as a fading picture in the front mirror. But when is that time, the right time? Seems like a ticket for a bus ride. If you miss it, you can always catch the next one.

Far from the truth … Each young player has a different ticket, printed to fit all his quirky little characteristics, and it’s the manager’s job to make sure he will be on that bus. Imagine Messi missing that ride because the suit didn’t trust him enough, or he wanted to wait a little longer. Or picture Deco being a bitch and instead of hands up at that specific moment in time, gave the incoming miniscule, guilty for trillion future tears of joy, the finger and lingered on the pitch.

Rijkaard watching young Messi enter the pitch

The world would have kept on spinning, with us on it, ignorant to the curse that fell upon us. The atomic flea would have stayed on the bench, and with some devil intervention, Deco would have scored a hat trick, prolonging the Vesuvius benching. The shrinked giant would have stayed further the angle of the camera view, quiet on an imaginary cell, deeming the world to a catastrophe similar to past extinctions.

But Deco, a magician himself, welcomed that new guy with a smile, oblivious to the fact that he just set the football clock to zero. Instead of a curse, Santa opted that we were good boys and girls, and put inside the sock, the priceless of all presents.

But who knows if we are not going on with our lives, unconscious of past disasters that took place in other benches. A handful of people do, some managers that felt goose bumps, watching for example a mini figure do large, unearthly stuff with a football, a friend or an enemy spotting something unique but most importantly, a kid believing in his ability to overcome any opposition in order to fulfil a dream, or even better, a perfectly simple, simply rare like a virgin 30 year old actress, undying hunger for the beautiful game. That special feeling when you hit the grass, and everything else instantly becomes trivial, losing yourself in the moment, eyes on the target with the round weapon at close range and its game on … The hell with the press, the last night argument with the misses, the raise you are so sure you deserve, the advertisements, the parties, your wax, cornrows and Mohawk, stick from the manager, or the girl you so eagerly covet to … take out for a picnic.

Hey old man, wherever you are. A huge delayed thank you…

Salvador Aparicio, a sweet, humble old man, was unique, maybe as much as the next guy, surely not. What makes him bold underlined and 72 font in the history books, is his contribution towards the development of Lionel Andres Messi, in my humble opinion the greatest player to ever caress a football in this part of the galaxy. In my favorite football interview, including the brief glimpses Messi had in front of a camera, when unnaturally his mouth was doing the talking, this coach of coaches who never stood in a theater of dreams or a Bernabeu said and I quote every word, even though I advise anyone who hasn’t seen it, to watch the video first.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SUWYKNLqVKE

S.A: “Lionel Messi came here with his family. His brothers played here. He was very small. I couldn’t tell how old he was. He was just a very small boy. He was playing with a football on the stand and this night I was one player short. First we decided to wait for the player to show up. But he didn’t, so I asked Lionel’s mother if I could borrow him. She didn’t like the idea. ‘He can’t play, he has never done it before’. I told her it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have to do anything special. And his grandmother was there as well and she said: ‘Come on, let him play’. So they let me borrow him.”

Of course, Messi’s mother was wrong, boy she was wrong … but that’s the erroneous conclusion one can derive from her words. Besides, she made up for it big time. Her love for her son, instinctively made her say no. After all he was chiquito. A mother’s love is the purest thing in this world, even disguised as a block to a sons wish. At the same manner but a lesser extent, a manager struggles to find the right time to throw his little soldier into battle. Aparicio was left with no other choice, than to buzz towards a pitch, his pitch, the guy who was destined to redefine special, magic, senses, perfect etc. … the conqueror of pitches.

S.A: “The first time the ball came towards him he just looked at it and let it pass. The play went on and again the ball came to him. The ball rolled towards him and basically hit his left leg. Then … he controlled the ball and started running across the pitch. He dribbled past anyone crossing his path. And I was screaming: Shoot! Shoot!. But he was too small to do it. Since then he was always in my team. Soon he played against youth players.”

Journalist: “Did it show back then that he would become something special?”

S.A: “Yes, yes, yes… yes. He scores six or seven goals in every match. Instead of waiting for the keeper to kick the ball, he would simply take the ball from him and start dribbling all over the pitch. He was supernatural. “

J: “How do you feel when you watch him play for the national team or Barcelona?”

S.A: “I feel like I do now. I cry. Do you understand? I get emotional. The other day I watched him make this goal. (Messi’s dream goal vs Getafe) They say it was like Maradona. I think he is better.”

J: “And you were the one who discovered him?”

S.A: “I didn’t discover him. But I was the first one to put him on a pitch.”

A few years later, la pulga started training with Newell’s Old Boys. Carlos Marconi, Messi’s childhood coach, is another important figure in the history books.

“Leo used to like chocolate cookies when he was a young boy. I told him once. ‘I will give you a chocolate cookie for every goal you score,’ he scored four goals, so I gave him four cookies. Then he scored five, so I give him five. He was so short , and didn’t used to head the ball, so I told him ‘I will give you 2 cookies if you score a header,’ Leo took the ball and past all the defenders and the goalkeeper then kicked the ball up in the air and scored a header. Leo looked at me and said ‘two’.”

The cookie story rings like a child’s bed time fairytale, yet so do most legend stories. These managers and Messi himself made the impossible ordinary and expected. This humble, shy sorcerer, who every once in a while selfishly slows time in order to get a cookie, giving at that same instance the go, to a worldwide drooling contest.

Watching Bayern thrash poor Stuttgart, I felt a deep satisfaction, like having an ‘Argentinian steak after a hunger strike’. Yet, it wasn’t just individual brilliance and some mind blowing space football ticking the boxes. A 19 year old almost made me forget about Thiago’s benching, and another guy of the same class, recently expelled from an Italian school, was teaming up virtually symmetrically, with world class strikers. At the other end, a Werner fellow could have easily scored past the Neuer wall, if some duck soup personal mistakes were avoided, or superior build up play was the case.

Lingard and Martial didn’t exactly light up the theater of dreams, but they were crucial in that 2-0 victory against West Brom. At the same time, 2 kids constitute the high flying Tottenham’s midfield.

Point is, under proper guidance, youth prove every week that their age is somewhat irrelevant, since their biggest attribute, is the ability to sponge everything going on around them and fast copy, or at some delightful cases, impress their audience by taking things to the next level.

Problem with a sponge is that it will absorb, and therefore copy, anything …