Thanks for existing, Leo!

Feels like yesterday.
Year 2006. The harrowed image of your most favorite idol Gabriel Batistuta crying in the previous World Cup is still vivid in your young memory.
Since then, you’ve seen the emergence of Hernan Crespo, Luciano Figueroa, Pablo Aimar, Julio Cruz, Juan Roman Riquelme – even though everybody was unique in their own craft and artistry, nobody gave you the assurance, the belief to reach the apex of footballing greatness as all of ’em were prone to their own careless demeanors.
Your watchful eyes scan through every word of the sports pages and supplements of Prothom Alos, Daily Stars and Janakanthas – hoping for somebody’s arrival – who has the willpower, grit and the unexplainable finesse of feet that can hold the reins of Maradonas, Batistutas. Is there anybody?
Is there?
It is only when you get to know about a certain elf with dreamy eyes and long hair who’s regularly keeping each and every Catalan over there in the Camp Nou at the edge of their seats. Almost a supernatural creature of folk tales, an elusive figure in human form whose capricious movement of feet is making veteran defenders dance and fade into obscurity – one by one.
You fill your heart with a newfound hope. You feel the same excitement that Batistuta once gave your tiny little heart and made you a football lover. You start to squabble with your friends on your way back home from school and coaching centers – for that certain guy. You buy an Argentine kit with your tiffin-saving money from a certain shop from Elephant Road with ‘MESSI 19’ written in the back. You start cutting photos of the guy from the newspaper and stick those to your wall, door, diary, books – everywhere.
You start to dream.
You are glued to the television to see the start of a joyride that you hope will remain forever. Coach doesn’t let the magician unfold his tricks in the first game of the 2006 WC – your wait prolongs. You get those prayers answered in the second game.
He replaces Maxi Rodriguez. You see a certain Diego Maradona screaming his lungs out to see that introduction. You feel a literal chills down your spine. The guy shows the flashes of magic in the dying minutes. One gift to Crespo, one to himself.
The guy doesn’t disappoint you. He has arrived.
Before you were only fascinated by the looks, the aura and the goals of the player. Now, a more matured version of you has eventually begun to understand the microscopic detail of the game. And the more you understand, the more that little guy challenges your ability to comprehend, the more the guy defies mortal logic. The more the guy puts you in your place.
Moreover, the guy doesn’t disappoint you.
That guy makes your every effort to stay awake late in the night – worthwhile. Be that Saturday, Sunday, Monday or even Wednesday – whether his team wins or loses – he shines in his own light. Even if that is for 5 seconds or a full 90 minutes – he shines. He doesn’t disappoint.
Over the last 16 years, he has proven time and time again that those moments in 2006 weren’t mere a flash in the pan. He has proven his brilliance and artistry aren’t one-off.
In those years your friends have let you down, made you feel vulnerable, started acting like they don’t even know you after their self-interest got catered.
In those years the girl or boy who you loved once with your hearts out, somebody who took your photo with you posing with that guy’s jersey – left you with a broken heart and a downward spiral of chronic depression. You changed yourself from a happy-go-lucky person to an apathetic realist.
In those years even you let yourself down. Academically, ideologically. You morphed into a person that you once hated the most. Your parents started to doubt you. Failed interviews, failed semesters, stinky CGPAs, unfinished responsibilities, ghosting people and being ghosted, emotional rollercoasters – whatnot!
But at the end of the day you knew, that guy won’t disappoint. That little midget won’t leave you like others.
Even if his team wins or loses, he will at least give you a moment of pure brilliance, an ammunition to sleep at night, a reason to let you ramble once again in the next morning. A desire to live one more day.
All of that ends tomorrow.
End of a joyride. A joyride that started in a sunny afternoon of 2006 with a deceptive assist to Hernan Crespo, ending in the finals of the greatest show on earth – 16 years later. Just as he promised at the beginning of the tournament. He kept his words.
Whether he wins the biggest prize of the game or not – it doesn’t matter. For over 16 years the loyalty which he showed to his fans – matters. To echo what Sofia Martinez put it quite aptly the other day –
Nobody can take my gratitude away from you, LIONEL ANDRES MESSI CUCCITTINI. The way you have molded me, gave me unbridled happiness where every other individual disappointed, you never did.
And for me, that’s bigger than winning the World Cup.
Thanks for existing.