Messi Read online

  An earlier printed edition of this book was published in 2008 by 10 Books and Columna, Spain and in 2009 by Planeta, Argentina

  First published in the UK in 2012 by

  Corinthian Books, an imprint of

  Icon Books Ltd, Omnibus Business Centre,

  39–41 North Road, London N7 9DP

  email: [email protected]

  www.iconbooks.co.uk

  This electronic edition published in the UK in 2012 by

  Corinthian Books, an imprint of Icon Books Ltd

  ISBN: 978-1-90685-040-1 (ePub format)

  ISBN: 978-1-90685-041-8 (Adobe ebook format)

  Sold in the UK, Europe, South Africa and Asia

  by Faber & Faber Ltd, Bloomsbury House,

  74–77 Great Russell Street, London WC1B 3DA or their agents

  Distributed in the UK, Europe, South Africa and Asia

  by TBS Ltd, TBS Distribution Centre, Colchester Road

  Frating Green, Colchester CO7 7DW

  Published in Australia in 2012

  by Allen & Unwin Pty Ltd,

  PO Box 8500, 83 Alexander Street,

  Crows Nest, NSW 2065

  Text copyright © 2008, 2010, 2012 Luca Caioli

  Translation copyright © 2010, 2012 Sheli Rodney

  The author has asserted his moral rights.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, or by any means, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  Typeset in New Baskerville by Marie Doherty

  Contents

  Title page

  Copyright

  1 Rosario

  Conversation with Celia and Marcela Cuccittini

  2 Garibaldi Hospital

  24 June 1987

  3 The smallest of them all

  A summer afternoon in 1992

  4 The same as always

  Conversation with Cintia Arellano

  5 Red and black

  21 March 1994

  6 He was a Gardel

  Conversation with Adrián Coria

  7 Size: small

  31 January 1997

  8 International star in a small town

  Conversation with Mariano Bereznicki, La Capital journalist

  9 Across the pond

  17 September 2000

  10 Latigazo

  Conversation with Fernando ‘Chiche’ Niembro, Fox TV commentator

  11 Provisional licence

  6 March 2001

  12 Puyol’s mask

  Conversation with Álex García

  13 Debut

  16 November 2003

  14 Home-grown

  Conversation with Cristina Cubero, Mundo Deportivo (Sports World) journalist

  15 Videotape

  29 June 2004

  16 The football is his toy

  Conversation with Francisco ‘Pancho’ Ferraro

  17 A friend

  Conversation with Pablo Zabaleta

  18 Soap opera

  3 October 2005

  19 A breath of fresh air

  Conversation with Fernando Solanas, Head of Sports Marketing at Adidas Iberia

  20 Boy of the match

  22 February 2006

  21 Supersonic aesthetic

  Conversation with Santiago Segurola, Marca journalist

  22 Difficult, very difficult

  Conversation with Asier del Horno

  23 Not even a single minute

  30 June 2006

  24 Positive discrimination

  Conversation with Jorge Valdano

  25 The devil

  10 March 2007

  26 Jaw-dropping

  Conversation with Gianluca Zambrotta

  27 Leo and Diego

  18 April 2007

  28 A long career ahead of him

  Conversation with Frank Rijkaard

  29 You have to prove it

  Conversation with Carlos Salvador Bilardo

  30 Disappointment

  15 July 2007

  31 An electric kid

  Conversation with Alfio ‘El Coco’ Basile

  32 Bronze and silver

  17 December 2007

  33 Physical thinking

  Conversation with Roberto Perfumo, ‘El Mariscal’

  34 The long journey towards gold

  22 May 2008

  35 Happiness

  27 May 2009

  36 Third time lucky

  1, 19 and 21 December 2009

  37 Floods of tears

  3 July 2010

  38 Surprise

  10 January 2011

  39 Simply the best

  28 May 2011

  40 Barcelona

  Conversation with Leo Messi

  Career record

  Bibliography

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Rosario

  Conversation with Celia and Marcela Cuccittini

  ‘I buy the rump or a piece from the hindquarter. They’re cuts of beef I’ve also seen in Barcelona but I don’t know what they’re called. I put a bit of salt on each piece, dip them in egg and coat them in breadcrumbs. I fry them until they’re nice and golden-brown and I put them in an oven dish. I slice the onion finely and fry it over. When the onion turns white, I add chopped tomatoes, a little water, salt, oregano and a pinch of sugar. And I leave it on the heat for around twenty minutes. Once the sauce is done, I pour it on top of each piece of beef, making sure they’re well covered. I take some cream cheese or hard cheese out of the fridge and lay it on top of the beef in thin slices. I leave them in the oven until the cheese melts. All that’s left to do is fry the potatoes as a side dish and the milanesa a la napolitana [schnitzel napolitana] is ready to serve.’

  With the passion and experience of a good cook, Celia describes her son Lionel Messi’s favourite dish.

  ‘When I go to Barcelona I have to make it two or three times a week. And with at least three medium-sized cuts of beef. I tousle his hair and tell him: “My schnitzel napolitana and my mate [traditional Argentine tea] are what make you score so many goals.” ’ Lionel has simple gastronomic tastes: schnitzel, but not made with ham or horsemeat; chicken with a sauce made of pepper, onions, tomatoes and oregano­. He doesn’t care much for elaborate dishes, like the ones his brother Rodrigo makes, but then, as is well known, Rodrigo is a chef and his dream is to open his own restaurant one day. It is natural for him to experiment and try new recipes, although his younger brother doesn’t always appreciate them. Does he have a sweet tooth? ‘Yes, Leo loves chocolates and alfajores [traditional caramel-filled biscuits – a national delicacy]; when we go to Spain we have to take boxes and boxes so that he always has a good supply.’ She tells the story about how, when he was little, when a coach promised him an alfajor for every goal he scored, he netted eight in a single match. Some feast.

  Over a cup of coffee in La Tienda bar on San Martín de Rosario avenue, the mother of Barça’s number 10 talks with great gusto about her world-famous son. Black hair, a delicate smile and certain facial features that remind one of Leo (although she laughs and says that he resembles his father completely), Celia María Cuccittini Oliveira de Messi has a soft, gentle voice. While she is speaking, she often glances at her sister Marcela, seated opposite. The youngest of the Cuccittini family, Marcela is also a mother of footballers: Maximiliano plays for Olimpia in Paraguay; Emanuel plays in Spain for Girona FC; and Bruno attends the Renato Cesarini football school, which counts players such as Fernando Redondo and Santiago Solari among its alumni. Marcela Cuccittini de Biancucchi is Leo’s godmother and his favourite aunt. When he returns to Rosario, he loves spending time at her house. ‘We have to go and meet him or call him to see how he is, but, of course, my sister spoils him,’ says Celia. ‘And then there’s Emanuel, they’re inseparable.’ Fr
om a very young age they were continually playing ball. ‘There were five boys: my three, Matías, Rodrigo and Leo, and my sister’s two, Maximiliano and Emanuel. On Sundays, when we would go to my mother’s house, they all used to go out into the street to play before lunch,’ recalls Celia. They were wild games, of football or foot-tennis and often Leo would end up returning to the house crying because he had lost or because the older ones had cheated.

  ‘Just the other day, Maxi was reminding me about those games,’ adds Marcela, ‘and he was telling me that when they all meet back here in Rosario he wants to play Messis against Biancucchis, just like old times.’

  And the memories bring us to the grandmother, Celia: her delicious food, the pastries, the Sunday family reunions and the passion for football. ‘She was the one who accompanied the kids to their training sessions. She was the one who insisted that they let my Lionel play even though he wasn’t old enough, even though he was the youngest and he was small. Because,’ says Celia, ‘he’s always been small. They were afraid he’d get trodden on, that he’d get hurt, but she wasn’t, she insisted: “Pass it to Lionel, pass it to the little guy, he’s the one who scores goals.” She was the one who convinced us to buy him football boots. It’s a shame she can’t see him today. She died when Leo was ten years old, but who knows if, from up there, she sees what he has become and is happy for that grandson of hers whom she loved so much.’

  But how did Leo begin playing football? Who taught him? Where do all his many skills come from – is it a question of genes? ‘I don’t know, from his father, from his brothers, from his cousins. We have always loved football in our family. I am also a fan. My idol? Maradona. His career, his goals, I followed them with much passion. He was a barbarian on the pitch. When I met him, I told him: “I hope one day my son will be a great footballer and you can train him.” And look what’s happened … look how far he’s come …’

  A pause in the story: the mobile phone on the table starts to ring. Celia excuses herself and moves away to answer it. Meanwhile, Marcela returns to the topic of young Leo. ‘He was incredible, before he was even five years old he could control the ball like nobody else. He loved it, he never stopped. He hit every shot against the front gate, so much so that often the neighbours would ask him to cool it a bit.’

  Celia has finished her phone call, she sits down and nods in agreement. ‘The worst punishment we could threaten him with was: you’re not going to practice today. “No mummy, please, I’ll be really good, don’t worry, I promise … let me go and play,” he begged and insisted until he convinced me. Leo wasn’t a temperamental child and he wasn’t lazy either, he’s always been a good boy, quiet and shy, just as he is today.’

  Really? ‘Yes, really. He doesn’t take any notice of the fame. When he comes back to Rosario he always wants to come and wander around this area, along San Martín avenue­, with his cousin Emanuel. When we tell him it’s not possible, that here the people of his hometown will get hysterical when they see him and not let him go two steps, he gets upset. He doesn’t understand it, he gets annoyed. In Barcelona, he goes to the Corte Inglés department store in his trainers and sports gear. Ronaldinho often used to ruffle his hair and ask him if he was crazy going out dressed like that. He hasn’t taken any notice of who he is. That’s why being famous, signing autographs or taking photos with fans doesn’t bother him. Some evenings, when he comes home after a long time and when I go to see him, I lay by his side on the bed. We chat, I ruffle his hair, I tell him things, and I say, half joking: “What all the girls wouldn’t give to be next to you like this.” He makes a weird face and says: “Don’t be silly mum.”’

  On the walls of the bar hang the shirts of Argentine players. Leo’s is there too, under a window, marked with the number 30 of Barcelona. ‘They don’t know I’m his mother, although we live in this town,’ comments Celia, a woman who shies away from fame, very aware of the risks that come with celebrity, and having clear priorities for her life and those of her children. All well and good, but how does she feel being the mother of a star? ‘Proud, very proud. Opening the newspaper and seeing – here just as much as in Spain – a piece about him or seeing his shirt number, or seeing the kids who wear it … it makes me swell with pride. That’s why it hurts me to hear criticism about his playing or false information about his life. It affects you deep down in your soul and it pains you when someone calls you and says, have you seen this, have you seen that? Leo? He hardly reads what they write about him. If he notices it, it doesn’t affect him that much. But that isn’t to say that he hasn’t been through some tough times. He has had his low moments, when he was injured, out for months, when things don’t go the way he wants them to go. At times like that, I don’t even think twice, I pack my bags and I go to Barcelona, to see what’s happening, to be close to him, to look after him as much as I can. Leo has always been a boy who keeps all his problems inside, but at the same time, he’s been very mature for his age. I remember, when we hinted at the possibility of him returning to Argentina, he said to me: “Mum, don’t worry, I’m staying, you go, God will be with us.” He is very strong willed.’

  She returns to the topic of his success, of the people who go crazy for the ‘Flea’ on both sides of the Atlantic. ‘The thing I like the most is that people love him,’ says Celia. ‘They love him, I think, because he is a simple, humble, good person. He always thinks of others and he makes sure that everyone around him is OK: his parents, his siblings, his nephews and nieces, his cousins. He’s always thinking about his family. Of course, I’m his mother and a mother, when she speaks of her children, the apples of her eye, always says good things, but Leo has an enormous heart.’

  How does a mother see her son’s future? ‘In terms of football, I hope he makes history like Pelé, like Maradona; I hope he goes far, very far. But above all, as a mother, I hope to God he will be happy, that he has a family, that he lives life, because he still hasn’t really lived. He has dedicated himself to football, body and soul. He doesn’t go out, he doesn’t do many of the things that young people his age do. That’s why I hope he has a wonderful life. He deserves it.’

  Outside the large window, the sky has darkened. The traffic has become more chaotic: buses, rickety vans, cars leaving clouds of smoke behind them, a cart full of junk pulled by a skinny horse and a multitude of people who wend their way to the shops and the bus stops. Celia has to get home; María Sol, the youngest of the family, is waiting for her there. Marcela has to pick up Bruno from football school. It’s raining and Celia insists on accompanying her guests back to the centre of town. She goes to fetch the car. At the door, a few last words with Marcela about a mother’s fears – injuries, and the money that can go to one’s head. ‘For now, my kids, and Leo, haven’t lost their sense of reality. I, my family, and my sister’s family, we live in the same town in which we were born, in the same house as always, we haven’t moved to a different region, we haven’t wanted to leave our roots, and the kids are the same as always. I hope they never change. I hope what has happened to other footballers, who have lost themselves in all the fame, doesn’t happen to them.’

  A grey Volkswagen stops by the pavement. Celia drives rapidly through the streets in the southern part of Rosario. She passes Leo’s old school and comments: ‘He wasn’t a good student. He was a little bit lazy.’

  She turns right by Tiro Suizo, a sports club founded in 1889 by immigrants from the Tesino region. Two kids don’t notice the car, they are too absorbed, scampering along with the ball between their feet.

  ‘That’s what Lionel was like,’ says Celia.

  Chapter 2

  Garibaldi Hospital

  24 June 1987

  A cream-coloured block built in the nineteenth-century style occupies a rectangular plot at number 1249 Visasoro street. It is the Italian hospital dedicated to Giuseppe Garibaldi, who is also honoured with a statue in Rosario’s Plaza de Italia. He is a popular figure, known as the ‘Hero of the Two Worlds’, because during his
exile in South America he fought battles along the length of the Paraná river. In those parts his Red Shirts left their mark wherever they went: for example, in the names of the Rosario and Buenos Aires hospitals, which were founded by political exiles, supporters of Mazzini and Garibaldi, and their workers’ unions. The Rosario hospital complex was inaugurated on 2 October 1892 in order to serve the Italian community, which at that time represented more than 70 per cent of the immigrants who had arrived from the other side of the Atlantic. Today it has one of the best maternity units in the city. It is here that the story of Lionel Messi, third child of the Messi-Cuccittini family, begins at six o’clock one winter morning.

  His father, Jorge, is 29 years old and is the head of department at steelmaking company Acindar, in Villa Constitu­ción, some 50 kilometres outside Rosario. Celia, 27, works in a magnet manufacturing workshop. They met as youngsters in the Las Heras neighbourhood, previously known as Estado de Israel and today known as the San Martín neighbourhood, in the southern area of the city, where the residents are humble and hardworking. Celia’s father Antonio is a mechanic – he repairs fridges, air conditioning units and other electrical items. Her mother, also called Celia, has worked for many years as a cleaning lady. Jorge’s father Eusebio makes his living in construction; his mother, Rosa María, is also a cleaning lady. Little more than 100 metres separate their homes. Like many other local families, they have Italian and Spanish ancestors. The surname Messi comes from the Italian town of Porto Recanati, in the province of Macerata, which saw the birth of the poet Giacomo Leopardi and the tenor Beniamino Gigli. It is from there that one Angelo Messi departed on one of the many boats bound for America at the end of the nineteenth century, in search of a better life in the new world, like so many other emigrants carrying third-class tickets. The Cuccittinis also have Italian roots, on their father’s side. Despite these families originating from the humid pampas, they eventually came to settle in the city.

  At 305 kilometres from the capital city of Buenos Aires, and with around a million inhabitants, the city of Rosario is the largest in the Santa Fe province, extending along the banks of the Paraná river. The Costanera promenade runs alongside the river until the Nuestra Señora del Rosario bridge, which crosses the waters and the islands in the river and connects the city with Victoria. The Paraná has always been an important highway in the river trade: from here, many agricultural products are exported to the whole of the Mercosur – like soya, which, in recent times, has brought wealth to this region and transformed the area’s urban fabric. New buildings, skyscrapers and incredible villas are springing up in front of a beach of fine sand deposited by the river. And yet, Rosario remains the patriotic city par excellence. School groups dressed in white pose for photos­ at the base of the monument of the flag, built in the old Soviet style and inaugurated in 1957 to mark the place where General Manuel Belgrano ordered the raising of the national flag for the first time, on 27 February 1812.