During the months in which Barça had a hard time making the ball more kind than miserly Xavi Hernandez the time in which misfortunes were reproduced was spent beating his left fist sadly. They were afternoons and nights written to forget. The team seemed damaged by a terrible curse that was already in place when this former captain returned from Arabia to try to straighten the course of an excessively broken ship.
Before Xavi He was part of a group of dreamers who carried out their dreams. He advanced from the midline as if he had learned that path in childhood, and when he reached the opposite field, an eagle’s gaze was enough to know where joy awaited him. It was a goal, surely, and the stands celebrated the finisher and the one who had given the ball so wisely. They were years of roses, it was a dream team that made his fantasies come true. Today, prominent members of that army of esthetes are still in this or other fields, and others have left in search of the rest that the efforts that accompanied his genius deserve.
In gold or silver
Those of us who saw him win almost everything and then witness the successive defeats, in offices or in the fields, discouraged by the true fact that neither luck nor good judgment, hoped that the return of Xavi, this time on the Barça bench, was going to turn into gold, or at least silver, what until then had not even been myrrh. They will say what they want, they were fed (we fed) hope in their predecessors, but the truth is that none of them seemed to be up to the task, and the drift of the team was like the consequence of a useless and outdated party.
After the first moments of euphoria for nothing, Barça continued hitting the faith of Xavi and of those of us who had believed that he had a magic wand. There was a wand, but it wasn’t magic: it was the one in his right fist hitting the other fist with rage, while the hopes of a recovery that would inspire a change that was made to wait furiously, without hope, melted away like dark snow.
A team that looks like another
Until what happened in recent weeks, and the team, reinforced until it seemed like another, managed to overcome the misfortune and now competes with the joy with which the same fist of Xavi congratulates himself by celebrating goals that seem made to remain lit on the postcards that were previously remembered by as many as those of Evaristo, Kubala or Eulogio Martinez. That blow of the fist against the fist is not a coincidence, since it is already repeated as before the hard blows were multiplied and without return of failures or defeats.
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Now Xavi, hero of past battles, once again has that flower with which we thought he went through life and through the fields. The blows are no longer random, there is behind the team the constancy of a quality that, for example, is called Pedriof an efficiency that has the name of aubameyangof a forcefulness that comes from Uruguay and has the name of Araújo and prays before going out to the field.
Now Barça is another world and Xavi’s fist is the first to know it.