In His Shadow
Page 7
in my wildest dreams would have me standing with the best in the game talk less lifting the prestigious item.
Imagine the shock when at the end of my second season with Milan, I was notified that I was one of the five Ballon D’Or finalists. To be honest my play did warrant and support my being on the podium that said night. But it all felt surreal to be in that room and on that stage with players I envied from afar. I was more of a fan, staring in awe at some of the guys I had only seen on my television. Legends from past years came up to me to introduce themselves, telling me they loved the way I play and to continue to get better. I don’t think cloud nine could have contained me; the excitement surging through my body at that point was incredible. Here were players I had idolized, telling me they knew of my scoring prowess and liked what I do. I never for once thought I’d be in the same room with these men that molded our sport into what it is now. I never fathomed they would know who I was. It felt good knowing my hard work was paying off and shortly after that; I received the best news of the night when I was awarded the Ballon D’Or.
At first I didn’t realize what had just happened. In my mind, one of the other guys besides me would win it, so I was prepared to shake their hands and walk off the stage as soon I could. Instead when the other guys walked up to me and started congratulating me, I was at a loss of words. That moment still has to go down as the most surreal point of my life and trust me I have had plenty of those. I could hear the crowd cheering and clapping, could see the camera flashes going off but it was still taking a while to register. Slowly I made my way to the podium where legendary Italian defender Paolo Maldini was holding the award to be handed to me.
I smiled weakly as I accepted it, looking at the sea of faces below me. I had no idea what to say. I had believed I wasn’t going to win, so I had never bothered to write nor memorize a speech.
Here I was, standing in front of peers and people from every facet of the sports world; being watched by millions from around the world without a clue of what to say. Yet as I stood there, wracking my brain for what to talk about, I stumbled onto a part of my memory that I had forgotten still existed. I remembered those countless hours in front of the mirror, where I had pictured myself hoisting the Ballon D’Or. I remembered those words I had said back then and the elation that came with it. I latched onto those feelings and poured it out to the people before me. Letting them know how I dreamed of this moment but never thought it’d come this soon and certainly not the way it did. I urged young kids to dream and believe; after all I am a testament of what that can achieve. I walked off the stage to an ovation and don’t think I have ever felt better in my life about an awards show. It was truly one of the best nights of my existence.
Barely 25 and I had won my first Ballon D’Or. Imagine the elation that was surging through me as I walked off the stage. Now I understood what ‘walking on cloud 9’ meant, a dream had come true and it felt too good to be true. The one prevalent thought on my mind that night was to return with the award back to where it had all started; back to my roots! I needed to celebrate this win with the people that had helped me start this journey.
Ever since moving to Europe, I had not gone back home. Though my family had come out to see me and watched some of my games, I had not been able to squeeze time in to visit them. I was excited and nervous about the trip. I didn’t know what to expect, after all I had been gone for so long. What would they think of me? Would they embrace me like one of their own or would they look at me as a sellout that now makes a living amongst Europe’s wealthy?
We had to fly into the big city and then drive down. My little love as I like to call it was a small fishing town with no airport of its own. We had two convenience stores, a church, a school and a village clinic that took care of most of our needs. Everything else involved us taking a boat or ferry into the major city that had the airport, or taking the longer route by driving.
I had made sure to cover my face at the airport, but a few fans had spotted me. The plan was to come in unannounced lest there be any type of commotion but that was already being jeopardized with the way I was mobbed. Thankfully my quick thinking manager and the driver also posing as my body guard had intercepted and herded me to the car where we quickly sped out of sight before word got out that I was in the vicinity.
Fame unfortunately has its drawbacks. As much as I try to stay in touch with all my fans, it is simply impossible to do so all the time. There are moments when I crave the anonymity of my former life before making it big.
No one would have paid me any mind walking through that airport back then. Now, without any type of disguise, the circus is always in town whenever I am around.
I remember staring out at the landscape as we drove back home. I had done the same when I was moving out to start my soccer journey. Now everything looked so alien to me. This was a road I had plied so many times but it all felt so new. Would this be the reaction I would get at home? Would my friends and family feel like strangers to me?
It didn’t take long for me to find out. Apparently word had gone out that I would be arriving that day and the streets were packed with well-wishers. Crowds of fans lined the streets as the car drove by, cheering me wildly as we passed by. I was shocked to see so many people out; I didn’t even know there were that many people living in the town.
The crowd got thicker as we approached my mother’s house. By the time we turned into the street leading up to her place, we knew we would have to walk up. I saw all sorts of people in that crowd that day. From young men my age, to old citizens. Kids in high school to tots being carried by their parents. Most in the sea of faces had on my jersey or something from a club that I had played with. The outpouring of love was so strong that I am sure a tear or two might have rolled down my cheek that day. Not to say it was easy making it through that crowd, but it was worth it going through those people who hugged and cheered me on because I was one of their own. They were proud of my achievements and wanted the best for me. I know I keep talking about incredible moments in my life, but that one was special to me. It chokes me up every time I think about it.
By the time I got to my mother’s place, I was spent. I had grabbed and embraced so many people that my hands felt like dead weight. When mama flung open those doors and gave me that smile of hers that warms even the coldest of hearts, I couldn’t hold back the emotions anymore. I lurched forward and broke into tears in her arms.
The world was my oyster, as the famous saying went. For the next year or so, I could do no wrong. Everything I touched blossomed; you could say I had the Midas touch. Both on and off the field, I was celebrated for my scoring prowess. Money came pouring in from endorsements and I was the odds on favorite to win the Ballon D’Or yet again.
It felt like a dream, but one I had no intentions of waking up from. Milan was the team to beat in Europe, rampaging through any and all competitions. I wasn’t solely responsible for this of course, but since I was the one who scored the most goals, it was attributed to me.
Alas with life, nothing lasts forever. Just because something is a certain way today, doesn’t mean it will be that way. I have come to accept and perhaps begrudgingly understand the temporal nature of things. I should have known my team and I could not stay on top of our respective positions forever. It never works that way, especially with sports. Some team sick of losing would figure out a way to compete with us. Some unheard of player, hungry for success would come and dethrone the current best. It was as good a law as any, “what goes up, must definitely come down.”
I liken European club soccer to an arms race for lack of a better term. The storied teams pile up talent usually at the detriment of smaller ones.
Smaller ones trying to stay competitive scour the world searching for cheap talent they can use to stay afloat and lure big teams into paying more than they were initially got for. It’s the way the game has evolved; money finds a way to taint everything it touches, soccer not being an exemption. Of course not every team works like this
, Barcelona is well known for its youth academy, where most of their future stars are cultivated. It’s cheap and efficient but not many teams have the time or the resources to compete like that. It’s a dog eat dog world for the most part. Big dog sees juicy bone it likes, big does goes after it with all its might. I know this because I wouldn’t have ended up in Milan if this had not happened.
The Italian Serie A is made up of many teams that have at one point or the other dominated European soccer. Producing some of the world’s finest players, continually churning out talent to best their opponents. It was only natural that with my success at Milan, other teams would look for ways to nullify the talent disparity or even do better than us. This was by no means solely restricted to Italian teams, other major European players were shoring up their teams after we had won the champions league in other to keep up.
Competition was going to be stiff, but we were quiet confident in our chances. Perhaps a bit too confident. The glory unfortunately had gotten to us and it showed with our play. Not that we weren’t dominating, but some of the hunger we had the previous season was no longer there. I was still scoring at