just left the last of my azulgrana mohicans. And hurts.
With Puyol, Xavi, Iniesta, Alves, Messi and Piqué gone, I clung to the saving chart of Busquets. My nostalgia for the best Barcelona (and football club) in history played in his legs, and he kept paying me with fancy magic that I fell in love with more than 10 years ago. But, as with everything, it left me.
has said goodbye an exemplary type if there ever was one: sober, clean, frugal, oblivious to hubbub and bravado. A guy who he did school in protecting the ball, he put his own stamp on the back-heel pass and understood like almost no one the positional game that is popular at the Camp Nou.
Someone who, since Vicente del Bosque vindicated him in the South Africa Cup, was never ever questioned in ownership.
A champion que He became loved by everyone and respected by each one.: so much so that if he had been born with green skin, no one would have ever yelled at him as a Martian or any other epithet linked to his color.
The lord who “it confused world football,” according to Riquelme, because it was a '10' with the '5' on the number.
The player who completed the most sublime trio of midfielders ever seen. The ungainly artist. The ghost who did everything without most people noticing his presence. A presence that we will now miss, sunk in the bitterness of realizing that everything passes, immortals included.
What do you think?
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