Messi

by Luca Caioli

  A circle of children has gathered. They all want to give their opinion about the boy who until a few years ago went to their school. For Pablo, age eleven, there is no doubt whatsoever: ‘He has what it takes to be the best in the world. Better than Maradona. The thing I like best about him is his speed, he’s incredible.’ Something is worrying Agustín, age nine – something that concerns many of his fellow countrymen – ‘Maradona started out at Argentino Juniors, Messi … at Barça’. Without question, too far away from here. Even the girls, who are more embarrassed, end up joining the group. And here, opinion is divided. Some think he’s good-looking, others think he is too short.

  It’s break time, and under a crooked old piece of wood – an ancient tree – the little pupils chase one another around. Leo used to dodge round the enormous trunk running after paper or plastic balls. For him, the most wonderful memories of those years are precisely those games with whatever object found its way between his feet. He has no problem admitting that he didn’t enjoy studying.

  And Mónica Dómina, his teacher from first to third grade, confirms that fact: ‘No, Leo didn’t do so well in his studies, but his work was of an acceptable level. At the beginning he had difficulty reading, so I advised his mother to take him to a speech therapist. In the other subjects he managed to improve little by little, although he didn’t obtain wonderful results. He was a quiet child, sweet and shy, one of the shyest students I have seen in my entire teaching career. If you didn’t address him, he would sit silently at his desk, at the back of the classroom. The older children competed with him in order to play in Rosario’s inter-school tournaments. He was good, of course – he used to win trophies and medals; but I never heard him boast about playing well and scoring goals.’

  Chapter 4

  The same as always

  Conversation with Cintia Arellano

  She has bright blue eyes, fine facial features and a slim figure. She lives at 510 Ibañez passage, a modest house, where she receives her visitor with a friendly smile. A black dog wags its tail and studies the new arrival before leaving the bare living room and going out into the courtyard that backs onto the Messi family courtyard. Cintia has always been Leo’s friend. ‘Our mothers were “womb sisters”,’ she says. Silvia Arellano became pregnant around the same time as Celia. ‘We kept each other company,’ Silvia explains. ‘We would go shopping together and we chatted about the future of our children. It was my first. We were good friends.’ She puts a glass of soda on the table and retires, leaving the story to her eldest­ daughter, who is 22 years old and who went to nursery, infant school and primary school with Lionel, always going to, and coming home from, school together, as well as to birthdays, parties and matches.

  What was Leo like when he was little?

  ‘He was a typically shy child and he talked very little. He only stood out when he played ball. I remember that at break time in the school playground the captains who had to pick the teams always ended up arguing because they all wanted Leo, because he scored so many goals. With him they were sure to win. Football has always been his passion. He often used to miss birthday parties in order to go to a match or a practice.’

  And what was he like at school?

  ‘We called him Piqui because he was the tiniest of all of us. He didn’t like languages or maths. He was good at PE and art.’

  They say you used to help him …

  ‘Yes, sometimes … In exams he used to sit behind me and if he was unsure about something he would ask me. When the teacher wasn’t looking I would pass him my ruler or my rubber with the answers written on it. And in the afternoon we always used to do our homework together.’

  Then later, in secondary school, your paths separated and Leo went to Barcelona …

  ‘We all cried that summer afternoon when he and his family left for Spain. I couldn’t believe it, I was losing my best friend. When we would speak on the phone we would get very emotional and it seemed to me that living over there in Europe was very hard for him. But when he returned we chatted and I realised that it was a very important experience for him, it helped him to mature a lot. It put a strain on his family, so much so that Celia and María Sol came back. He told me that he integrated because there were kids his age who played football. And for him that was fundamental. He wanted to be a footballer and he’s made it.’

  Cintia gets up, and returns with a folder full of photos and newspaper cuttings. There the two of them are as babies: Leo with a dummy and a blue bib; behind them, an enormous doll dressed as a bride; next to him, Cintia, in nappies and pigtails. And there, at infant school in 1992, in the class photo, all of them dressed in blue uniform. Dressed up for the carnival, him in a policeman’s helmet with a fake moustache, her made up, with huge glasses and a white dress. And then there are numerous newspaper cuttings: ‘The new Maradona’, ‘Waiting for the Messiah’, ‘What planet have you come from’, until we reach the headlines of July 2005, the victory in the FIFA Under 20 World Cup.

  ‘I was the one who organised the party here in the neighbourhood. We went round all the neighbours and asked for money to buy confetti, firecrackers and paint. We wrote “Leo, the pride of the nation” in white letters on the ground, and we put up a banner in his street that said “Welcome champion”. He was supposed to arrive at one in the morning, the whole neighbourhood was waiting for him, it was winter, it was bitterly cold and he didn’t arrive. Some people got tired and went home. We stayed there waiting until five in the morning, when a white van turned into the street beeping its horn. At that moment all the television cameras were switched on. People started to scream, people were throwing firecrackers, playing the drums and yelling: “Leo’s here, Leo’s here.” He was exhausted. He wasn’t expecting such a reception, but it made him really happy.’

  Yet more cuttings and more photos of Leo, as well as some tough pages full of criticism after the Argentina-Germany match at the 2006 World Cup, after that image of Leo sitting alone on the bench.

  ‘They said that he was impulsive, that he didn’t integrate into the group. They tore him to pieces. But it’s not like that. Only someone who knows him knows what he feels. When he’s not doing so well Leo is a little bit solitary, he retreats, he withdraws into himself. He was like that even with me sometimes. It was like drawing blood from a stone trying to find out what was going on inside. But no matter what, Leo always made me smile.’

  And he hasn’t changed?

  ‘No, to me he’s the same as always, shy and quiet. He’s the same Leo I grew up with. The only difference is that before when he used to come here he would grab his bike and come through town; now he takes the car because people­ don’t leave him in peace. He can’t believe the madness he generates. The same people from his neighbourhood now take photos of him, the girls wait outside his front door to say hello to him. The boys want to be like him. It surprises and amazes me when I hear what they scream in Spain or when he plays with the national team. So when someone asks me about him, I usually prefer to keep quiet. I don’t want them to think I’m gossiping or trying to get myself noticed. No, for me Leo is a humble, lifelong friend, who still has no idea that he is so famous.’

  Chapter 5

  Red and black

  21 March 1994

  Raúl: ‘I’ve always been surrounded by good Argentines like Valdano, who gave me my debut at Real Madrid, or Redondo, or the teammates with whom I have shared a dressing room. I have a great relationship with all of them. I wish I could go to Argentina sometime soon and enjoy some football over there. I want to see a Boca or a River match.’

  ‘Or Newell’s,’ adds Lionel Messi in a low voice.

  ‘The Flea’ does not miss a single opportunity to reaffirm his red-and-black passion. To the extent that even at a publicity event in conversation with the former Real Madrid captain – now number 7 at FC Shalke 04 – he ends up bringing up the team he loves. It is to be expected – Newell’s is a family love. His father Jorge played there from the age of thirteen un
til he began his military service. A midfielder with a great eye for the game, more defensive than attacking, although he never made it to professional level. Rodrigo joined their football school aged seven and Matías followed in his footsteps.

  Leo arrives directly from Grandoli in early 1994. The club scouts know about him. They have asked his brothers to bring him along to find out if he really is extraordinary, which is how the youngest Messi brother ends up playing eight games in as many different formations in the minor leagues, during afternoons and evenings over the course of almost a month for the club. It is an intense test and he does not disappoint. The Newell’s coaches think he is phenomenal­ and recommend him for the Escuela de Fútbol Malvinas (Malvinas School of Football), which nurtures particularly young players. He is not yet seven years old. The club’s directors have to consult with the parents first, but given their family passion for football there is no problem.

  ‘The father came to see me and said to me: “I’m going to take him to Newell’s,”’ recalls Salvador Aparicio, the old Gran­doli coach. ‘What could I say to him? Well … take him then!’

  And so, on 21 March 1994, Lionel Andrés Messi, ID number 992312, becomes a member of Club Atlético Newell’s Old Boys.

  Newell’s and Rosario Central are the two rival clubs who divide the passion of the Rosarinos (people from Rosario). The Club Atlético Rosario Central was founded on 24 December 1889 as the Central Argentine Railway Athletic Club. It was founded by the English workers who were employed on the railway line. Its first president was Colin Bain Calder. Later, with the merging of the Ferrocarril Central Argentino and the Buenos Aires Railway companies in 1903, the club’s name changed. From then on it was to be the Club Atlético Rosario Central. Its colours: blue and gold. Great players have worn that shirt, like Mario Kempes, Luciano Figueroa, José Chamot, Cristian González, Roberto Abbondanzieri, Roberto Bonano, César Delgado, Daniel Díaz, Daniel Pedro Killer, Juan Antonio Pizzi and César Luis Menotti, to name just a few. Two notable fans? Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara, who was born in Rosario on 14 June 1928 and whose first home was an apartment at 480 Entre Ríos street. A few blocks away, there is a Ricardo Carpani mural in his memory, in the city’s Plaza de la Cooperación. And the unforgettable Roberto ‘El Negro’ Fontanarrosa, one of Argentina’s greatest football­ cartoonists and writers, among other things, who sadly passed away in 2007.

  Newell’s was founded on 3 November 1903 by the teachers, students and alumni of the Argentine Commercial Anglican school that Kent-born Isaac Newell founded in Rosario in 1884. According to legend, it was he who introduced the first leather ball and the official football rules into the Latin American country. The students at his school – among them his son Claudio, the club’s promoter – began to play ball and created the club. From there the name Newell’s Old Boys was born, in honour of the father and the school. Its colours: black and red.

  One of the things that makes the hackles stand up on the back of the necks of their Rosario Central ‘cousins’ is having seen Diego Armando Maradona wearing the club’s shirt, albeit only for five official matches and two friendlies. It was 1993 and the ‘Golden Boy’ was back from Europe, where he had begun in Barcelona, moved to Napoli and ended up finally at Sevilla. Aside from Diego there are many other illustrious names, from Gabriel Batistuta to Jorge Valdano, from Abel Balbo to Maxi Rodríguez, from Sergio Almirón to Mauricio Pochettino, from Juan Simón to Roberto Sensini, from Jorge Griffa to Walter Samuel, from Américo Gallego to ‘Tata’ Martino. The nickname given to the fans? The lepers. Strange, but true. A derogatory epithet that ends up becoming a strong and recognised symbol. This deserves an explanation, and indeed one is offered by a Newell’s fan website which is dedicated to more than 100 years of footballing history.

  According to what our grandparents told us – which coincides with what is claimed to be popular legend – many years ago the women’s beneficiary committee of the Carrasco Hospital wanted to arrange a charity match in aid of ‘Hansen’s disease’, commonly known as leprosy. The match was to be played between Rosario’s two biggest teams, so the authorities of both clubs were approached for their approval in order for the match to go ahead. Newell’s immediately accepted the invitation, but it was met with a flat rejection by the Central team, making this historical event the first sign of trouble with the Gold and Blues. So it was that Central became the city scoundrels, and this was the main reason for mocking on the part of the Red and Blacks, who gloated over their time-honoured rivals. The Central crowd argued that if Newell’s were so interested in playing this particular game, it must be because they were lepers – and it was from here onwards that the Newell’s fans became known as ‘the lepers’ and those of their Central rivals as ‘the scoundrels’. Even though this has become the most widespread version of the story over the years, and perhaps is the only true version of the facts, it is worth pointing out that some of the older Rosario generation recount a different explanation of why, according to them, the Newell’s fans were always known as the lepers, even before the founding of the club in the early twentieth century, when it was no more than a Rosario educational establishment. According to their version, the issue centres around the fact that in those days it was unusual for houses in the Rosario neighbourhoods to be separated by big dividing walls, which meant that people could talk to their neighbours simply by standing on tiptoe or by standing on a bench next to the aforementioned wall. On the other hand, in those days, this meant that leprosy devastated a substantial part of the population, and Rosario was no exception. This illness, which dates back to biblical times, has always been characterised by the fact that no matter who the sufferer was, they were quarantined out of sight and out of contact with others. Perhaps for this reason, when passing in the vicinity­ of Mr Isaac Newell’s school and upon noting the enormous and apparently impenetrable wall that surrounded it, people were inclined to comment that all the leprosy victims must surely be quarantined out of sight behind it. And so, according to these particular folk, the Newell’s Old Boys have been known ever since as the lepers.

  It is a nickname that will also be associated with Lionel when Rosario’s La Capital newspaper interviews him for the first time. But that is still six years away, six more minor leagues and almost 500 goals before Messi will be accorded the honour of appearing in the local press.

  Faded red-and-black murals. ‘The force of the lepers’ written on a fist painted on the fence, the work of some hooligan fans. Above the railings is the banner: ‘Escuela de Fútbol Malvinas Newell’s Old Boys’. The pitch is in a sorry state, but the children playing there are unfazed. The club’s coaches have come to hold trials so they have to do well at all costs. Next to the dressing rooms, a rusty bed lies abandoned in a corner. On the other side, along the Vera Mujica avenue, there are another two pitches in the same state of abandon. Someone comments that the income made from season tickets and ticket sales, and in particular from the sale of so many players to foreign clubs, has not been invested here, in the school where the younger generations are trained. It’s patently obvious. Although the truth is that it was not much different when Lionel played his first season in his red-and-black shirt. Perhaps back then there was simply more enthusiasm – more people who worked hard and less money going into the directors’ pockets. But let us leave that to one side and talk about that year that started so well and ended with a 3-0 defeat against Tiro Suizo. The boys lost the title, but they learned from their mistakes, given that in the following four seasons they suffered one defeat, this time at the hands of their training mates, the Newell’s C team. Thanks to that unstoppable run, the team ended up earning the club the glorious name la Máquina del ’87 – the ’87 Machine. The greatest source of satisfaction for Leo was a dolphin, the trophy won at the Cantolao international tournament held in Lima, Peru, in 1996. More than 25 teams from Argentina, Chile, Ecuador and Colombia participated. But in the end it was Newell’s who emerged triumphant. And little Messi captured the attention of
the media with, among other things, his tricks with the ball. During training and before matches, he would play ‘keepy-uppy’ for his own amusement. It is a skill of his that even the club’s most senior directors appreciate, to the point that he is soon asked on various occasions to entertain the public during the half-time break of the first team’s matches. They would announce Messi’s name over the speakers and he would go down through the stands doing tricks and then position himself in the centre of the pitch, where he would perform wonders with the ball. It is a half-time that many lepers still remember – their first image of the boy who would one day become Leo Messi.

  ‘He was something special,’ recalls Ernesto Vecchio, Messi’s second coach at Newell’s, from among old American cars in his mechanic’s workshop. ‘He had wisdom, he could sprint, his passes were spot on, he played for his teammates, but he was capable of going past half the opposing team. Once on the Malvinas first pitch, the goalie passed him the ball in defence and he ran the length of the pitch and went on to score an incredible goal. He didn’t need to be taught a thing. What can you teach to a Maradona or a Pelé? There are only very tiny things for a coach to correct.’

  There are so many memories of those two years, from age nine to eleven, when Vecchio coached Leo. Like the Balcarce tournament, for example, where the Newell’s ’87 team knocked out teams like Boca, Independiente and San Lorenzo. Lautaro Formica, a defender in that particular team, maintains that they had nothing to do because ‘the ball never came back in our direction. I remember that Rodas and Messi created havoc between them. Once Messi had the ball, the opposition would get out of the way. Sometimes those of us at the back got quite bored.’