Messi

by Guillem Balague

  Quique Domínguez: And, what’s more, he was discreet. He didn’t shout, he wasn’t too effusive. Even when playing a prank. Once Newell’s gave us a pre-match training club jersey, all red with some white on the sides, and Leo comes up to me and says: ‘what are you doing dressed as a Father Christmas? You look like one.’ I guess my girth was a bit out of control then and that didn’t help! Cheeky boy!

  Diego Rovira: At that time we’d got into the habit of having our afternoon snack at my house. Scaglia, Benítez, Leo and me. We’d get together to play Nintendo. How we laughed. While my mother was preparing our snacks, we got ourselves ready: we would open the drawers of the wardrobe in my bedroom and put on the European football shirts that I had. My father is a doctor; he would travel to conferences, that sort of thing, and he would always bring me back a shirt: Barcelona, Manchester United, Real Madrid. I never used them, I just had them as souvenirs. Two drawers full of shirts. And before we played Nintendo, we would each pick one. Grighini, for example, would put on the Real Madrid shirt. Leo, the Barcelona one. The one they brought out in their centenary, the one that is half scarlet and half blue. Rivaldo’s shirt. He would always do the same thing: arrive at my house and go looking for the Barcelona shirt. Leo in one of my shirts, so funny – it looked like he’d put on a nightshirt.

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  Right, I’m having that – he said to me afterwards, after everyone had put the shirts back where they belonged, in my drawer. Not Leo:

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  Go on, give it to me.

  He asked me with a smile on his face.

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  Yes?

  It was my only Barcelona shirt. As if I was going to give it to him!

  Gerardo Grighini: He says that he is a Newell’s fan, but when we were kids he was a River fan. I was a fan of River, Lucas of Newell’s and Leandro, Boca. Leo was fanatical about Aimar, who at the time was playing at River, and we used to watch his matches and became fans of River. We spent a lot of time together. We used to stay in a pension at the weekends when we had to play.

  Nestor Rozín: To improve the boys’ performance we had a pension, where boys from outside could come. To make sure they ate and slept well.

  Gerardo Grighini: Leo, the little squirrel, would sleep in the very top bunk, he’d sleep on the third bed up. We enjoyed ourselves, we had a common purpose: to have a good time. At that time, a bottle of Coca-Cola cost 1.25 pesos. It was 2000, the year of the Arteaga mini-World Cup, and we had spent something like 20 days living together in the pension. It had rained the night before, and we wanted some Coca-Cola, but no one had a peso on them. That was the time when car windscreen cleaners, standing at the traffic lights, waiting for the red, first appeared in Argentina. So we said, ‘Shall we go and clean windscreens?’ ‘Go on,’ we said. ‘At least we’ll get a bit of loose change.’ Leo decided to cover himself in mud, mud that he got from the ditch beside the road, and as people were leaving the supermarket, he would ask, ‘a coin, lady?’ and she would give him two pesos. ‘A small coin, lady?’ So it was one and a half pesos, two pesos … 56 Coca-Colas we bought that day!! In future, when I have children I will tell them that I was a friend, that I played, that I shared all sorts of experiences with the best in the world.

  Quique Domínguez: I said to my son (Argentinian international) Sebastián, that when he made his debut, even if it was with Boca (my heart is with River), I would give him my Ford Sierra. That same day, because it was all so emotional, I arrived late for training and, after the session, I came out of the dressing room and realised that I did not have the keys for the Sierra that I had promised my son. Worried, I returned to the dressing room, but I could not find them, and there I was met by all the boys sitting in a group together with Leo in the middle pretending to drive and making a noise as if he was accelerating, with the keys to the Sierra in his hand. ‘Looking for these, Father Christmas?’ asked Leo.

  Gerardo Grighini: In those days, because we were so young, we could not go to the discotheque. So what we did was arrange meetings between friends and invite along the girls from our class. For example, if it was my birthday I would invite all my football team-mates and my school friends to my house, and we would try to match up. And Lucas’s three cousins were always invited. Antonella – Leo’s wife; Carla – the youngest; and Paula, the eldest. And Leo always, but always – I’m telling you, he was 10, maybe 11 – always in love with Antonella, always, always. The truth is at that time it wasn’t mutual. I suppose afterwards Lucas did his stuff and they got to know each other better … At the parties when we were together Leo was shy, reserved … we used to say to him: ‘Go for it, Leo, go for it! Why don’t you fool around like the rest of us. When you play football, you are a little braver, mate!’ But he was shy, he stayed sitting down. Mischievous? We were placid kids. That was the type of mischief we got up to, going out and begging for money, but nothing else. More often than not we’d meet up at someone’s house and play Play-Station. Or at Lucas’s. Lucas’s house had two five-a-side football pitches and we would get together and play football there.

  Gerardo Grighini: It was obvious to me that Leandro Benítez, Lucas and Leo all had the necessary qualities to play in the first division. What I never imagined was that Leo would go on to become the best in the world. ‘What do you dream of?’ we would ask each other; we would always talk about this. ‘Getting into the first division’ was always his answer. His dream was to play for Newell’s. Later things happened, and he ended up at Barcelona, but I don’t think it will be more than five years before he returns to Newell’s. When he is 30 I think he will come back. Once he has won the World Cup – God willing, we’ll win the next one coming up – he will feel he has really made it. And he’ll come home. That is what I think anyway.

  Ernesto Vecchio: I always said that he had a huge future, and I wasn’t wrong. I would have loved it if Rodas had got there as well, Depetris, kids with a superb technique. But anyway …

  Adrián Coria: I had to spend some time watching those who were about to start playing on the 11-a-side pitches. Leo had growth problems. No one could raise the money that was needed for the treatment he needed. I used to say to Pepeto (Roberto Puppo, the junior technical director at Newell’s), ‘you have influence and contacts, why don’t you try to help him? When Leo becomes better than Diego he will return the favour.’ I think the money we’re talking about for the injections was about 900 pesos per month. Fortunately I have witnesses who can confirm that I was pressing his case, that I thought he could be as big as Diego. Sometimes I mention it to Tata Martino and to other important footballing friends. He was going to make it for sure.

  ACT TWO

  Scene One

  On a dark stage the following video is projected, an Adidas advert featuring the voice of Leo.

  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7U2k1EqZp68

  ‘When I was 11 years old they discovered that I had a growth hormone deficiency and I had to start a treatment to help me to grow naturally. Every night I had to stick a needle into my legs, night after night after night, every day of the week, and this over a period of three years.

  ‘I was so small, that I was an 11-year-old with the measurements of a child of eight or nine, or even less, and this was noticeable on the football pitch and in the street with my friends.

  ‘They said that when I went onto the pitch, or when I went to school, or at lunch time, I was always the smallest of all, very different from the rest. It was like this until I finished the treatment and I then started to grow properly.

  ‘I think being smaller than the rest allowed me to be a bit quicker and more agile, and that helped me when it came to playing football.

  ‘What I have learned from this experience is that what at first seemed all bad, and ugly, has turned into something very positive and I have been able to achieve a great deal, and I got here with a lot of hard work and a lot of effort.

  The image projected onto a large screen shows two little legs in short trousers, a little
container that looks like a pencil box but in fact it holds a syringe. He puts the syringe together, as we explain later in this act. Then he injects his leg. The video goes dark. The light comes back on again. He repeats the procedure: two legs, one case, an injection for the other leg. Meanwhile we hear the voice of an Argentinian boy reading extracts from the following interviews:

  Leo Messi in El Gráfico: ‘I was a bit smaller than the rest, but on the pitch you didn’t notice it. The people who saw me injecting myself were surprised and felt ill. It didn’t worry me and it didn’t hurt. Wherever I went I took the syringe with me in its case and put it straight into the fridge, if I went to a friend’s house, for example. I would then take it out and put it straight into my quadriceps. Every night it was like this. One day one leg; the next day, the other one.’

  Lights back onstage, but the shadows are deep. For those sitting around the tables in the Malvinas, it is now quite late. A few remain drinking a last beer.

  Nestor Rozín: When he went from seven-a-side to 11, we noticed the difference, because Newell’s were known for bringing on players from the countryside, well-built and well-fed, and he was small.

  Gerardo Grighini: He would administer them [the injections] as if it was perfectly normal. He never explained to me what they were for. He carried with him a little box like a freezer, cold, and inside he would have little bottles of liquid, and it was like a type of pencil with a little needle, and he had a hole where he put the little bottle, and then he’d stick the syringe in his leg. Week after week, every day. Before going to sleep. Seven days in one leg, seven days in the other. And he did it quite naturally, just like that, sorted! When he’d finished it he took out the needle; it’s not as if he looked at us so we could ask him about it, no. When we were all at the pension (there were about 16 of us, about 11 years old), can you imagine seeing that … But we didn’t laugh about it, or talk about it, nothing.

  Juan Cruz Leguizamón: You looked at his legs and they were full of little punctures, but we weren’t sure what they were. We were kids and at that age we took no notice. The only thing that interested us was playing.

  Matías Messi (Leo’s brother): Yes, to tell you the truth it was a bit difficult for all the family; we brothers didn’t feel it so much because we were so young, but the family did.

  Gerardo Grighini: What’s taken him to the level he’s now reached is his talent – no question – and his self-belief. I don’t think just anyone has the mental strength when they’re only 10 or 11 to say: ‘I’m going to do this, because it’s got to help me in the future.’ Alone, sticking in the needle, giving himself an injection before going to bed. He knew that in the future it would help him fulfil his dream of playing in the first division.

  Lucas Scaglia (Leo’s best friend, footballer): He never cried about the injections.

  Scene Two

  The Messi family decided to consult a specialist because they saw that, at the age of 10, Leo was not as big as the other children. Medical tests were scheduled.

  We see on stage a consulting room in an old house. It was one that the father of Dr Diego Schwarzstein had lent him some years back. It’s on the first floor which is reached via an elegant, wooden staircase similar to those built a hundred years ago. It’s a small room, measuring three square metres. Just outside the consulting room there’s a small waiting area. We see Dr Schwarzstein in his white coat, looking for papers in the drawer of his medium-sized writing desk. He starts to talk and to tell old stories.

  … so, I was told, ‘we definitely have someone who is the best, a phenomenon, but he needs to grow’. Every now and then, when the medical staff at Newell’s see something at the club that attracts their attention, something that needs the involvement of an endocrinologist, they would call me and say: ‘we would like you to see this patient.’ And so it was that Leo and his mother found themselves in my consulting room.

  In truth, I remember some of the things, and others I only remembered afterwards, because as you can imagine I have had to tell his medical story many times in answer to questions, and also because I was curious. It was my birthday when he came to see me for the first time. A coincidence, 31 January 1997 if I remember correctly. He came with his mum and … I explained to him a bit just as I explain to all the boys: that doctors cannot help everybody who wants to grow; we can only help those who have a growth problem that stops them growing normally. So, I said, there is no treatment or medicine to grow. We try and find out if there are problems that are stopping growth or making it difficult. And when we detect these problems, that is when we can help. So, anyway, I suggested we did some tests.

  A child who is the size he is supposed to be because that’s what his genes have dictated, he can be happy or otherwise, but medicine is not going to change the situation.

  I explain this to them because sometimes patients expect the doctor to give them a magic pill, something that’s going to allow them to play in the NBA [National Basketball Association]. And that doesn’t exist. I explain this to them so they don’t build up any false hopes, and then I begin my investigation. What sticks in my mind about Leo is he was a very introverted, reserved boy. I don’t know whether the word is shy or reserved. He didn’t really strike me as being shy, I think he is the introverted type. By shy, I mean someone who can feel inhibited or a bit detached. I don’t believe that Leo was ever that; rather, he was reserved, careful. He had to be opened up before he would trust you.

  But as he loved football so much, as do I, we very quickly broke the ice by talking about football; who was his idol, who he liked, where he played and so on. And very quickly we established a good relationship. And soon I realised there was only one thing that mattered to him – he wanted to be a footballer.

  When I explained to him that what I had to do was a quite aggressive, somewhat uncomfortable examination, I thought he might become nervous but he said to me: ‘I want to play football.’ What concerned him was that he should grow enough to be able to become a footballer.

  Anyway the diagnosis is a bit tiresome, but we got there relatively quickly, considering. At the end of the 1990s, we did not have certain biochemical diagnostic technology, so everything took a bit longer and sometimes in Argentina it’s hard work trying to get the National Health to authorise this type of investigation. If the investigations show there is indeed a lack of growth hormone, you then have to carry out new tests, called confirmation tests, to be absolutely certain of your diagnosis. What’s more, one of the elements we use for diagnosis is the speed of growth, and the only way we can do this is by measuring someone today and then measuring them again a few months later. So, as a result, this is generally a diagnosis that takes at least three or four months, or in the case of Leo, if I’m not mistaken, six.

  And, indeed, what he lacked was a hormone. You can genetically engineer exactly what was lacking and inject it under the skin once a day. The treatment consisted of putting into his body an organism that he was missing. He didn’t produce this organism naturally, so it had to be taken externally. And it’s an expensive treatment, $1,500 a month, more or less.

  You have to inject yourself, I told him.

  The doctor takes a small case out of his cupboard that he opens while he is talking.

  And how did he react? I don’t remember. What I’m suggesting is that he reacted just like anyone would have done in the circumstances, because I don’t remember anything unusual.

  It’s a pen, that, instead of having ink, has a growth hormone, and instead of having a nib has a needle. So, first I load the dose, it has a regulator, he pricks himself, the needle can be hidden, it’s well hidden, and he injects himself. Normally I would give the first one in my surgery, or, rather, I help them, and I supervise them until they learn how to do it on their own. They can put it in the thigh, they can put it in the abdomen, they can put it in the arm. It’s very similar to insulin; you’ve seen people injecting themselves with insulin. It’s very similar; every individual selects the area the
y feel most comfortable injecting themselves, where it hurts less. And, well, Leo apparently preferred to inject himself in the legs rather than anywhere else.

  When I give them to my patients, I say: stay calm, this doesn’t hurt at all. So they ask you: really? It doesn’t hurt? And I say, if I inject you while you’re looking somewhere else, you probably won’t even know that I’m doing it. A mosquito bite hurts more. It’s an injection using needles that you can hardly see. They are needles that are changed every day, they never break, they’re very short. These days they measure no more than three millimetres.

  These are patients you see more or less regularly. During the diagnostic stage, I probably saw him four or five times in six months. After that I probably saw him every three months. So you develop a relationship and you start talking about other things. Because the key was football, we both liked football and he played for Newell’s and I am a Newell’s supporter. I used to ask him: how’s it going? Who’s training you? Do you watch the first team train? Stuff like that, but after a while you begin to develop a relationship that goes beyond the technical, the medical side of the patient. So, I carry on asking him, how’s it going? What are you doing? And one day he comes with his father and you ask him how his mother is, and the next time he comes with his mother and you ask him how his father is, and so on. Then he’d tell me, my father hasn’t come because he’s doing this or that. You go on chatting, building a relationship. That’s my style anyway.

  And he would keep saying, ‘What I want is to play football.’

  I would always try to explain to him, or to other patients, that the treatment had nothing to do with whether or not he would become a footballer; it was about growing. In fact, if I’d wanted to become a taxi driver I would have had to receive the same treatment, unless of course I wanted to be a very short taxi driver … The difference is that being very, very short, you could still have been a taxi driver, but it would be very difficult to become a footballer, but it isn’t just the treatment that helps you make it. Or, rather, the interaction between the treatment and football is more indirect. The treatment helps you grow, and growing would help him with football, and he was clear in his own mind that this was the road he wanted to go down.