“It’s too bad you’re not making your return in Madrid,” Luciano says to me as we get on the bus that will take us to our hotel near the stadium. “I can’t imagine what the reception would be like when you first step onto that pitch.”
“You’re right. I’ll probably get booed or whistled at here.”
“Good old-fashioned rivalry,” he says. “You know those whistles really mean that they’re scared. Scared they’re going to lose now. We’re going to run that animal down.”
“Fuck yeah we will.”
Luciano gets up and turns around in his seat to yell at the rest of the bus. “What are we going to do tonight? We’re going to run that animal down!”
Everyone cheers.
“I didn’t hear you!” Luciano yells, miming with his hand to his ear. “What are we going to do tonight?”
“Run that animal down!”
The bus practically shakes with the yelling and cheers, like warriors doing their battle cry. I catch Mateo’s eye, and damn it if he doesn’t look proud of us. Confident.
We’ve got this.
I’ve got this.
I won’t let my team down again.
The rest of the day passes in a blur. I have to drown out everyone, even Thalia. I slip on my headphones and sink into my playlist as we get to the hotel, settle in our rooms, do some push-ups and sit-ups on the hotel room floor to try and get rid of my nerves, even though I know that my nerves aren’t going anywhere except into energy.
Stay focused, I remind myself. Run that animal down.
I repeat the mantra as we get to the stadium, Camp Nou.
I repeat it as we get changed from our suits into our warm-up clothes, and head out onto the pitch to train a little.
The tension is high, a twisting rope that wants to snap.
I don’t hear the crowd with my headphones on. I don’t want to hear the crowd right now.
I try and concentrate on doing some passes, even though my eyes are trained on Barca’s best players, the incomparable Lionel Messi, their captain and arguably one of the best players in the world, and then there’s Gerard Piqué, one of the best defenders that ever was (also shacking up with Shakira, so he’s no slouch in that department either). I’m going to have to watch out for him because he’s going to be right on my ass this entire game, and if I show any weakness at all with my knee, he’s going to exploit it for all he’s got.
In fact, just as I’m thinking that, he looks over at me from where his team is warming up, and our eyes meet. I’ve talked to him a lot; he’s actually a great guy, but on the field we are mortal enemies.
Right now is no exception.
He’s going to try and run me down.
I won’t give him that option.
When warm-up is over, we head back into the locker room, and I get changed into our kit and become Los Blancos. I take my headphones off and Mateo says a few words.
“I know we’ve had a rough go,” Mateo says as we all gather around him. “I know I’ve been giving you a hard time lately, but I’ve also been giving myself a hard time. Losing is not acceptable. Failure is not acceptable. That’s not what royalty does. That’s not what Real Madrid does. And that all ends tonight. Tonight, we come together as a team, as a full team.” At that he looks right at me. “We keep our cool, stay focused, and do everything we can to get those balls in the goal. Once Barcelona gets control of the ball, it’s very easy for them to keep it. I’m counting on each and every one of you to not let that happen and to get it back at the first opportunity. And, let’s not forget, this is the first game back for Alejo. They are going to be on him. Do what you can to keep Alejo free. Both teams will fight dirty if we have to.” He raises his arms out to the side. “Let’s go out there and introduce a little anarchy!”
“Yeah!” We all yell, fist-pumping and clapping before Luciano pulls us all into a huddle.
“Now that our coach has faith in us again,” Luciano jokes, “it’s time to have faith in ourselves. Okay? And remember, it’s a game. It’s entertainment. Entertainment that people have millions riding on. We’re going to give them a