Jordi Lloret's eyes shone brighter than they had in a long time. He watched the full highlights of the 2005 Champions League Final. Steven Gerrard had just scored Liverpool's first goal to make it 3-1. The game continued, and Liverpool was about to score their second. Jordi, freed up from the burden of the last few months, was fascinated by the run of play.
Oftentimes in football, especially in famous comebacks, a team does not need to be superior in tactics or quality to score. In game states, such as this one, momentum and grit, often overlooked as intangibles, are so important. An action as simple as a clean tackle can shift the tides and raise a side's momentum. In every action, Jordi thought, a player should give their all, whether it is as ordinary as a pass to the keeper.
Jordi was revelling in the joy of discovering something new about football when Aunt Ona entered, holding Uncle Frank's arm. The couple immediately noticed the shift in Jordi.
"How did it go, Aunty?"
Ona Garcia patted her 8-month pregnant stomach, "It went well. Ferran, show Jordi the ultrasound pictures. Jordi's niece was caught yawning."
Jordi chuckled as he stared at the ultrasound pictures. It was endlessly fascinating to him how much he adored the novel subject of the images. Jordi took out his phone and took pictures of every scan. He needed to send them to the only person more excited than him, Estel.
"Reietó, what's up? Something happened while we were gone?"
"Sergi texted me."
Ona and Ferran exchanged a look of relief. Ferran continued, "That is wonderful, Reietó! I told you-"
Uncle Ferran's phone interrupted him. He took it out and scanned the number before texting something quickly. Ferran acted as Jordi's representative and agent. Jordi preferred it this way and, in fact, insisted upon it.
"Reietó, there is no news from Barca. They will renew, but it seems they aren't in a hurry."
"Oh," Jordi shrugged it off, but Ferran and Ona could both tell that the news bothered Jordi. The boy was unusually calm, but he felt too deeply about Barca not to feel anxious over this.
"Jordi, we have discussed this several times before. This is not how they should be treating a player of your quality."
"It is okay, Uncle. As long as they renew."
Ferran turned towards Ona, who was now sitting on the bench next to the entrance, "See, I told you we should just put him on the call."
Ferran handed over his phone to Jordi, "Reietó, someone is expecting your call. Go upstairs and dial back the number I just got a missed call from."
"Why? Who is it?"
"Just go upstairs and do it, Reietó. I promise you; you will thank me after."
…
"Hola"
"Hola, Jordi. This is Pep."
Surely not. This wasn't Pep Guardiola, was it?
"…Jordi?"
"Yes, Mister. I'm here."
"Ah, Jordi, I have heard a lot about you from La Masia. In fact, just this week, an old friend I won't name sent me some of your tapes. You have a wonderful talent, young man."
"Thank you, Mister."
"Jordi, your uncle told me about your situation. My boy, you are old enough to understand that one of the reasons I left was the board. Now you face a similar situation. How about you come to Manchester? Grow and develop as a player in a place where the club and I will protect you. Then, one day, you can return."
Jordi did not know how to respond. More specifically, he did not understand how to say no to Pep Guardiola.
"Mister… I don't think I can leave. I have only ever wanted to play for Barca."
"And if the board keeps treating you like this? Jordi, the same old friend has told me things. I know about the situation better than even your uncle does."
"Mister, Barca is as much my club as it is theirs. Señor Cruyff said that to me. I will stay for my club, regardless of whether they treat me right or not."
"Ah, yes. That only fans my interest further. Knowing that Johan Cruyff was so interested in you.
Jordi, listen to me. I cannot find it in myself to convince you too much. Barca is the club of my heart, and I am happy it has a boy like you in its future. All I'll say is, if you ever wish to leave for a few seasons, come here. I will teach you everything I know, and we can win many things together."
"Thank you, Mister. But I will only ever leave Barca if they kick me out."
…
"Mikel, do you know who I was on call with?"
Pep's hoarse voice roused Mikel Arteta from his daydream.
"No. Who was it?"
"A 13-year-old boy from La Masia. I tell you now, he is very special."
"He's just 13 years old and interests you?"
"I watched some tapes on him. Those were enough for me to invite him over personally. Now that I have talked to him, the boy has a strong personality. He is different. I like that."
"Forward?"
"No, a midfielder. Mostly plays in the pivot. I tell you, Mikel, I have not seen many who even come close at that age. Maybe Iniesta and Xavi, but that's about it. The boy possesses an innate understanding of the game."
Mikel Arteta was surprised to hear the praise from Pep. A man of Pep's experience and mind was hardly ever impressed even by the players he managed.
"He didn't agree?"
"Haha, he directly rejected me."
"That is unfortunate."
Pep Guardiola sighed, "I have a feeling this isn't the end of the story. Barca is not in good hands right now. He might end up leaving, and that… that is both fortunate and unfortunate."
Mikel Arteta was well aware of Pep's love for Barcelona, so he could discern the conflict within Pep. Of course, Mikel was a La Masia product himself and was up to date with the current environment at Barca.
"What's his name? I'll hand his file to the scouting department to keep an eye on him."
Pep Guardiola walked over to the window that looked out at Manchester. His gaze was directed towards the Etihad Stadium.
"Jordi Lloret."