Heads in hands as home town shares the pain of luckless Leo
TWO elderly locals have arrived early to get the best seats in Lionel Messi’s family bar in his hometown, sniffing at the student promoters giving out free hats, horns and face paint.
They are reading the local newspaper, featuring a giant image of a smiling Messi placed above a smaller photo of a snarling Cristiano Ronaldo.
‘Calm down, here I am!’ translates the headline, capturing the expectation of an entire country.
‘Look at Ronaldo’s face,’ says one of the men. ‘Arrogant,’ replies his friend. ‘Messi is human. Messi is numero uno.’
They graze on croissants and coffee — given the 10am local kick off — and commentate on every kick beamed through the screen perched on the wall.
Two hours later, however, their anticipation has turned to silence and they leave the bar with their heads in their hands — but Messi remains numero uno.
Messi, after all, has always been numero uno in Rosario. The locals love to celebrate the superhuman youngster who went from kicking a ball against his garage to becoming the best player in the world. Outside the unkempt house where he grew up on Calle Estado de Israel, residents have painted the curbs in the blue and white colours of Argentina. His old black garage doors are covered with ball scuffs from children practising their technique, just like their idol used to do. Everyone has a story about Messi and expectation oozes out of every anecdote. The roads fall empty for kick off. ‘No taxis… Argentina are playing,’ says one of the bar staff.
One man in particular, however, has more stories than most. Leandro Benitez played with Messi in the unbeaten Newell’s youth team — known locally as ‘La Maquina del ‘87’ — between the ages of six and 12 years old. ‘That team still has a WhatsApp group for all of us — including Leo,’ says Leandro. ‘Now we are all 31 and Leo has not changed at all. He is the same person. Humble. He had his wedding here in Rosario.
‘We drank a lot and we danced on the same dancefloor as Shakira. My wife always wanted to see Shakira at a concert but she doesn’t need to now! Xavi was there, Carles Puyol was there, Neymar was there, Luis Suarez was there. Amazing. They had a big dessert bar and even the mirrors were made of chocolate!’
Now Messi’s image is reflected across TV sets worldwide. Almost every advert features the face of the local hero but one in particular rings true with his home town. It is a Gatorade commercial based on a 3D animation of Messi’s early days at Newell’s. ‘The Gatorade advert is about our team of 1987,’ says Leandro. ‘The game is our local derby against Rosario Central. We always beat them. Always. We won every game because we had Leo.’
Back then, Messi carried his youth team. Now, he is carrying his country.
With every pass which goes astray, the old men raise their voices. ‘Give the ball to Messi,’ they urge.
Another man, sitting at a table on his own, shouts relentlessly as Argentina struggle to move the ball forward. There is some respite when Sergio Aguero scores the opening goal but a fist hits the table and the coffee cups rattle when Alfred Finnbogason (below left) scores Iceland’s their 23rd-minute equaliser.
‘We need a new goalkeeper,’ he berates. Drawing 1-1 at half-time, the gesture is thumbs down.
Eventually, Messi gets his chance, a penalty in the 64th minute. It is saved, easily. Across the bar, heads fall into hands in disbelief.
‘He is nervous,’ says one of the men. ‘Look at him.’
As time ticks down the frustrations grow. Then, deep into injury time, Messi has a shot at redemption with a free-kick.
‘Jesus is here,’ says one of the men, clasping his hands into prayer. But the shot hits the wall and, to the sound of the final whistle, Messi kicks the ball to the skies in frustration.
‘It’s not his day,’ says one of the men. ‘We depend too much on Messi. We always depend too much on Messi.’