End of February. Matchday 23. Sevilla FC faced CA Osasuna. The Andalusians were only two points above relegation. Jorge Sampaoli was trying to impose his system on a soulless and nervous team. The rivals were catching all the tricks of the Argentine illusionist. Double-bottoms, mirrors and plastic knives. Gudelj picked up a sheet of paper with instructions from his coach and looked for Óliver Torres. Both began to look at the paper like two pirates trying to find the “X” of the treasure. Marcos Acuña exploded. No ornaments, no scrolls, no arches or windows. Stone on stone to preserve the dignity intact. There are those who confuse simplicity with simplicity. Simplicity is a hollowness, simplicity is a path.
Game on the outside. Risks, the essential ones. Quick plays. The natural rhythm of things. We all defend, some attack. Those who are the best play. A heart of sand on freshly cut grass. Who says Castore says Luanvi. The neighborhood. The skinned boots and an enthusiasm that goes beyond the muscle. Manchester United, Juventus and Roma. Faced with tinsel, pragmatism. In front of champagne with strawberries, pacharán and olives. Beauty chooses disconcerting paths. There is no need for golden engravings on the chest. Empires are built with the same proportion of sweat and hope.
Sevilla won the Europa League. Its seventh. Sky to sky, already seven. Soccer does not understand neither of coincidences nor of merits. Soccer is a perplexed gymnastics. Neither the best win nor the worst lose. There are merciless victories and merciful defeats. There are finals like last night’s, in which the ball is moved by faith and not by the instep. The history of soccer has a place for the Nervionense club. This is not about colors, nor affinities, this is about ink on white. It is not normal for Sevilla and Europe. It is not normal. It has no comparison with anything. And the smiling severity of Mendilibar, and the luminous disobedience of Acuña, and the flaming stands, and the blood red in front of the rosso porpora.
Sergio Rico in the prayer of his teammates, four years exactly since the farewell of José Antonio Reyes, the 16th minute of Antonio Puerta…. Life is not easy. It is a constant balance between heat and absences. Soccer is not the heritage of childhood, soccer, many times, is an adult sport, a rough sport. Sevilla won with the maturity of those who have lost everything. With the rhythm of those who can do nothing but dream of everything. A title that is iodine for the wounded and water for the lost.