Messi (10 page)

‘But my first image of him is playing with the football in the schoolyard, taking the ball from way back and dribbling with it. Even though they didn’t always have a ball, sometimes they made one up with whatever they could, like socks that they had stuck together in a ball, or plastic bags, or even with Silly Putty. With whatever they could find they played in the yard.

‘But normally there was a ball. The PE teacher had a cupboard they would go to, to fetch it, or sometimes they would bring one
from home. They knew if the PE teacher was there or not, and if he wasn’t, some other teacher would look after the ball in between lessons.

‘All those years ago, you would lend them a ball. Now you don’t lend them one. Nowadays they use the ball to hit their mate over the head. The number of students in those days didn’t make any difference, we could be 100 but would all get on. They took care of each other. Therefore the boys were allowed to play football.

‘All his friends looked upon him as a kind of leader, they put him in the centre of the class photo, they all loved him, loved him. They waited for him, “let’s go and play!” They admired him because he shone. He would run from one side to another and no one could catch him; he was a flea, a toy doll; he enjoyed himself and brought enjoyment to others.

‘He never played pranks, but those eyes told you that here was a boy who did as he pleased. I think that the family …I always wanted to ask his mother what he was like at home because he behaved very well at school so as not to lose the chance of playing football. Because in the classroom he was very quiet, but when the bell went he would run outside with everyone following behind him.

‘You could see them all in the large multi-purpose room, with the two goals and all those youngsters desperate to play. Playtime was a football championship.

‘Before, classes went like this: 40 minutes, a playtime of 15 minutes, 40 minutes, a playtime. But now lessons last one hour, and then a 15-minute break. They would play in that long break. That’s when they would have time to play. They were like mini-matches, maybe they would play the first half in the first break and the other half in the second break.

‘So he would go out for that quarter of an hour along with the other boys and he was like another person and even if it was seven against seven, or all against all, he would get the ball and his game consisted of taking them all up and down the pitch. Because this wasn’t about playing football, it was about dribbling … He was already practising in … what do you call it? … a small football school. And so many of the children that were with him were also in football schools.

‘I always said that when his mother came with all his trophies
and stopped at the classroom door, proud as any mother would be, he did not want his mother to come in, he didn’t want to talk about what he had done. Or, rather, from an early age, he didn’t want to show that side of himself, he played because he liked playing, he had passion, just like now … He wasn’t going to show that he was the best because it was something he had inside. He always wanted to be treated just like any other boy, he did not want to stand out. And now he is exactly the same.

‘An angel. But an angel as a person. I always meet his mother at the supermarket nearby, because his mother doesn’t go around the city saying, “I am Messi’s mother.” She goes around like any other woman, modestly dressed, nothing vain, because I know the mothers of other footballers, and well, some are full of “I aaaammmmm the moooother off” … She is a lady, uncomplicated and good, and so is he. He doesn’t go around telling people, “I have so many millions” … no. He lives his simple life, as simply as possible, I suppose. Because that’s how he was. Neither did he go around boasting about whether he scored a lot of goals or whether he hadn’t, because there are many boys that would say, “Did you see that, Miss? Me, me …” but him, nothing of the sort. The family, the mother, that’s how they showed him and that’s how they gave him the house rules, and that’s why at school he was very quiet, very introverted.

Little Leo did not have to walk far to his school at Las Heras. As soon as he hit the street with the ball glued to his feet, he headed for the wall that surrounded the army barracks, and crossed the fields before coming out into Buenos Aires Street, just where it meets Juan Hernández Square. The little school, painted white, with touches of green, with its barred windows, occupies one side of the unkempt square with its trees and benches and paving slabs from which grass sprouts. It is one of those rare schools with well-behaved children, much like the neighbourhood itself, not like the usual Rosario schools with rowdy kids. Mónica Dómina would probably disagree. The most valuable thing is not the building, but the culture and ethos that radiates from it. When the child enters the school he already knows about the level of behaviour expected, the values that he has to learn or maintain once there: the importance of belonging to the neighbourhood, of learning to improve, the need
for collective effort. A genuinely good state school, then.

The yard that leads to the classroom, with an arch framing the entrance and a tree in the centre, was so small it was barely big enough for keepy-uppy or even to play with just one goal. For that reason the boys preferred to resort to an area that today has many uses.

‘There is a multi-purpose room where school assemblies take place, but at that time, when Leo was here, it did not exist: it was all just a small field, lots of space for kids to run around or for games to take place.’ So says Diana Torreto, who taught Leo when he was six years old and who often stumbles over her words emotionally as she recalls ‘the Flea’s’ time here. ‘We would go into that small field with all the children. And something that I remember very well, and it makes me laugh even to this day, is that all of them ran after the ball and none of them managed to get it from him and they would come up to me and moan, “miss, he won’t pass the ball”. They couldn’t take it off him!

‘He was a very happy boy,’ continues Miss Torreto. ‘Introverted, yes, but happy. He was always smiling. And he had a lot of friends. He was very popular with his peers. With a family that were always there for him, that always asked about what he was doing at school because at home he was quite naughty and his mother used to ask how he was here.’

There was, then, the Leo with the ball, the Leo at home and the Leo at school. One Leo in the classroom and another one outside, free, in the schoolyard, competing. The conversation continues with Diana:

… I get emotional when I talk about him.

Leo was protected by both adults and children. Because he was small. Because he was good with the ball. Because he was a good kid. Because he was a son, or a friend’s son. For that cheeky smile. Because he was reserved; not shy, but introverted, guarded, even. No one crossed him, no one gave him any aggravation. At least not at school, he had them all won over. It is easier to grow as a person, as a footballer, even, with all that protection giving you a safety net.

All children go through a testing time at school that has nothing to do with studying. The mob will bully them, it always happens. Childhood can be cruel. When it’s your turn make sure you come out of it well. Leo played well with a ball and this drew people to him and helped him to be respected, loved, needed and protected. He was small and conscious of his size, but the rest of the yard ignored this difference because he never failed to impress those who played alongside him, those who watched him as he played. So he
was never bullied. There were fights to be on his team because with him on your side you were sure to win. And better to win rather than lose the yard games, because the defeats had to be put up with for the rest of the day. Even when there were boys missing in the older grades’ teams, they would invite him to play for them so that he could help them become champions. And Leo obliged, leading with his silence and his game. Just as now: more by his actions than by his words.

But it couldn’t all be football; the teachers could not allow that passion for the ball, for the playground match, to take over the pupils’ lives to the point where it was impossible to make them understand that playtime had ended. The teachers’ challenge with Leo was to disengage him from the game. And distancing him from the ball, from this invisible but oh so tangible connection, was a daily struggle.

The question is directed at Cristina Castañeira, the new head teacher at Las Heras school, who did not know Leo and who views the phenomenon that was Leo’s presence from a certain distance and with some surprise.

When Leo’s grandmother took him for training with Grandoli after school, they would have crossed the fields of the old quarter that will probably in the future become – who knows? – some kind of business park or maybe – now that the council has loaned the land to the Messi family – pitches created so as to train young footballers who share Leo’s dreams.

If there was no training he would meet up to play with friends from the neighbourhood, friends like Diego Vallejos: ‘We often did things together, there was always some new trick to learn, something to try or something to do. We weren’t really mischievous – sometimes we would wreck flowerbeds with the ball, or use gates as goals … We played with an air pistol … we did a lot of things. Coming out of his house, on the left-hand side about 200 metres down, there is an open space: this was the Camp Nou of Argentina. This is where he took his first steps in football. Where we used to have our kickabouts, where we ran, where we hid … it was our place.’

At Fragotti’s, a nearby store, Leo would use the iron door to do one-twos to prevent his friends stealing the ball from him. It was an age where neither time nor clearly marked out lines existed, and few
limitations were put on them other than those set by their school or parents.