28 June 2009, 10.21 PM
Álex Garcia and Isaac Guerrero sat side by side in the dark room. Their faces were illuminated by the screen they were staring at. Álex groaned and sat back. Isaac, having bitten his nails clean, looked back at Álex.
"What do you think, Álex?"
Álex had his eyes closed, and his neck strained up. The room settled back into silence. A minute later, he spoke, "We sign him."
Isaac's shoulders relaxed, but his eyebrows knitted into a frown, "Are you sure?"
Álex was quick to reply this time, "Isaac, I get it. He doesn't stand out with most of his technical and physical abilities, but he is not bad. In fact, he is above average. Just- Just not at the level we get excited about at La Masia. He could grow into his technique and physique; that is very common. We both know that..."
"Could, Álex?" Isaac interjected.
"Yes, Isaac. Imagine if he does, or if we can help his technique and growth. Man, because the rest of it, the rest of it is just magical. It is bloody poetic. You don't realize how impressive it is to find joy in watching a 6-year-old play.
Isaac, we can't let him go. The way he reads the game, the decisions he makes, they… they are us. They are the principals of Johan, of Frank, of Pep."
And so, an hour from midnight, on the 28th of June, two culés in an office at Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper set the course for decades of glory for their club.
…
Lately, Mama has allowed me to spend more time at the bookstore because the only time I am not thinking about La Masia is when I am reading or, ironically, playing football. It was already 3 PM, so I set The Little Prince back and rang the bell to announce that I was leaving.
I greet Aunt Ona behind the counter as I enter the bakery. Uncle Ferran has somehow convinced her to man the counter once again when it should be his turn. I walk up the stairs and into the living room before halting my steps. I can't help but stare in confusion. My mother is sitting on the sofa talking to someone on the phone. Uncle is leaning in from behind the sofa to listen in from the other side of the phone. Both of them are wearing very crooked smiles. Neither notices me until I walk in closer.
When they did look up to spot me, Uncle Ferran jumped from behind the sofa and swept me in a big hug. After swinging me around and laughing like a madman, he set me down, only for Mama to envelop me in a tighter hug. Her loud weeping only further confused me.
"Mama, what is happening? What's wrong?" I pulled back and asked. I scrunched up my nose at Uncle Ferran for laughing while my mother cried.
"Sister, give Reietó the phone. Let them tell him."
With tear-filled eyes, my mother beamed, "Yes, yes."
She placed the phone back to her ear, "Mister Garcia, Jordi is here. You can talk to him."
"Hello?"
"Hello, Jordi. This is Álex Garcia from FC Barcelona."
"H-Hi, Mister Garcia."
"Jordi, Congratulations! We have decided to invite you to join La Masia"
"I-I…" I did not know what to say. I looked up at my family, who were somehow even more themselves than they ever had been before. My mother was calmly beaming at me, still crying. My uncle was jumping from one leg to another, still giggling.
…
This is why Álex Garcia loved extending the invitations himself. He was part of a moment so full of anxiety and hope for the families. He laughed loudly himself hearing the commotion and Jordi's silence from the other end of the line.
Álex walked up to his office window and stared towards the Camp Nou in the east. He took a deep breath.
"Welcome, Jordi. Welcome to La Masia. Welcome to FC Barcelona"