27 March 2016
"Hey Ombreta"
"Hello Estel"
"What happened? Did you not have a game today?"
"I did, but… I don't know. Coach decided to rest me. I told him I was perfectly okay. In fact, I will be better if he lets me play."
"Ombreta, is Señor Tito outside?"
"Yes, he was there when I came back."
"Ok, good. I'll convince him to let me come in. Wait for me. Bye!"
The line cut off on Jordi's phone. He stared at Estel's contact picture and gave a wry smile.
…
10 minutes after the call ended, Estel was sitting on Jordi's bed. Next to her legs, Jordi sat on the floor, back leaning against the bedframe, face steered towards the front. Estel did not interrupt Jordi's contemplation.
…
Jordi had joined the Cadete B side (U15) at the beginning of the 2015-16 season. He had yet another standout season, playing as the pivot and, sometimes, as a defender. He was not wearing the captain's armband this season, but had naturally become the leader of the team's defense and midfield.
Today, however, for the first time in Jordi's La Masia career, he had been rested for a reason other than fitness. Coach Cristian had taken him aside and explained to Jordi the reason. He believed Jordi was emotionally exhausted and had not grieved properly. It had only been 3 days since the great Johan Cruyff passed away, and the La Masia staff could clearly tell that Jordi was quite affected.
Jordi Lloret, just 12 years of age, did not understand grief, let alone how to deal with it. In his opinion, resting him despite his pleas was making everything worse. Football was Jordi's escape. It was how he expressed himself. Now, he had too much time to think and feel.
…
Jordi took out a vanilla-coloured envelope from the inside of his jacket. Señor Tito had handed it to him when he returned from the training ground today. On the envelope, with a black fountain pen, was written, "To Jordi Lloret". The writing was very familiar.
With delicate movements, Jordi opened the envelope. Inside was a square piece of paper, grainy in texture. He took the paper out and took a deep breath. The black writing on the paper was powerful, neat, and in Catalan.
'Hello Jordi,
I hope you are well.
I tell you, I wish I could see you play for many more years, but this is life, Jordi. I write to you because I feel like I should tell you some things.
Trust yourself. Always trust yourself. Barcelona is lucky to have you. And if the people in the offices don't understand that, don't hold it against the club. This is not their club. This is and will always be our club.
Enjoy yourself, in life and in football. Both can be very difficult. In fact, more often than not, they are difficult. But I promise you, there is a lot of joy to be felt in both, only if you seek it out.
I will leave you with a few requests, Jordi –
Take care of Barcelona.
Take care of Football.
And most importantly, take good care of your family.
Best wishes,
Hendrik Johan Cruyff '
__________________________
Jordi sniffled and dried his cheeks. His blue eyes, highlighted in red, felt weak and tired. He carefully slipped the note back in the envelope and placed it back in his jacket.
Jordi did not understand what he should do. He felt like he was in a predicament he had no knowledge of. The sheer size of the world outside his window intimidated him. Even the dorm room felt alien in its stillness and novelty. The only comfort was the hand on his shoulder. His head tilted towards her as his tears stained her lap. The hand left his shoulder and moved through his hair.
Estel, sobbing, could only mindlessly run her fingers through Jordi's hair to comfort him. Even that was a great help to the grieving boy.