Lionel Andres Messi

I catch sight of an object peeping out from a cardboard box in the far corner of my bedroom. It is a tattered white ball. I gently lift it up with the tips of my fingers. It holds the memory of a dream. A dream that fought the world to become a reality.

  

Our house was not the most fashionable of places, not even in comparison to the rest of the underdeveloped Rosario area. The creamy wallpaper was peeling, the roof of our kitchen leaked and there was nothing that could counter the mould in our bathroom.  At the age of seven I couldn’t quite comprehend what the doctors meant when they told my parents that my brother was in possession of a growth hormone deficiency. I didn’t understand the restless fear that seemed to haunt their faces. I did not understand that this meant that Leo, who lived and breathed for football, could no longer dream.

But, I did understand with absolute clarity that my heart was becoming overwhelmed by the sadness surrounding me. So, I decided to do the only thing I knew, pray. Leo was my brother. His pain would be my pain. His loss would be my loss but his happiness would also be my happiness. His growth hormone deficiency was a rare case that the doctors said could have “consecuencias peligrosas para un niño tan joven” (dangerous consequences for such a young boy).

The door closed with a click as he left the house. I rushed to the window and peeped through the curtains, watching his weak, lonely figure walking onto the park. The trees drooped as low as they could manage, and then lower, they were taunting him with the reality that even such aspects of nature which had lived to see multiple generations pass by were given enough fortune to continue growing, when an eleven year old boy wasn‘t. His patchy white skin was illuminated in the crippling darkness as plump rain drops fell through the wind. His frail body stumbled in the cold, his mind told him it was time to give everything up, but his heart made sure he kept fighting.

 

He flicked the tattered white ball up from the ground and cushioned it on his bony foot, he didn’t wear football boots because our parents couldn’t afford them. He had  thin shorts and a flimsy t-shirt which whipped around his emaciated limbs. He played as if nothing restricted him. He juggled the ball on his feet, moulding it to every move, dancing with it as if it were an extension of himself.

Rodrigo and Matias joined him. If they weren’t my brothers I would never have known that they were related to Leo. Rodrigo was softly tanned, with sharp features and a strong body while Matias was tall, lean and bright. They held proud attributes of physical health. Despite all this, Leo managed to swirl his way around their large forms and shoot goal after goal after goal. He was unstoppable. Rodrigo playfully grabbed Leo around the waist and lifted him effortlessly off the ground, Matias smiled at the rare chuckle. Leo didn‘t usually laugh, he had told me that  it was hard for him to believe in himself when everything was standing against him.

Our parents could not afford the medication for Leo, they stayed on the phone all day, searched endlessly through the internet, met with doctors, banks and any other agency they could find. But nobody really had the time to care about a little boy with big dreams.

I walked past his room before bed. The light was still on. I looked inside to see him clutching mother’s hand and frequently glancing at the ball laying at the foot of his bed. Mother had given up her meagre jewellery collection and father had sold our car to be able to afford Leo’s medicine for the first week. His table was sporting sharp needles surrounded by several bottles with various labels. 

Father was encouraging him to stay strong, “Remember Leo, if you take this medication you will have the chance to one day become a great footballer.”

“That’s what I’ve always wanted Father,” he whispered. His lips quivered.

I looked on in horror as the needle was pushed under his supple skin and into his flesh. Leo panted heavily, sweaty moisture was running down his silky brown hair.

For almost one week, each night was the same, I would fall asleep with the sound of Leo’s crying faint in the background. His tattered white ball the sole article of his strength. On an especially cold night I sat in bed with him and listened to him speak of his wish to one day set up a Leo foundation to help unfortunate children accomplish their goals. He told me that though we marvel at the dreams which become successes, for every dream that became a reality there are hundreds more that didn’t. Leo struggled a lot. All I could do was pray. I asked God, with all the faith a seven year old could muster, to remove this cup from my brother. He went through an experience which most adults would not even dare dream about. I learnt that everything is hard but nothing is impossible.

On the sixth night, after Leo had fallen asleep, Mother and Father were seated in the lounge, crying. The medicines were all finished. There was nothing more they could do. I watched from the doorway, hiding in the shadows.

On the stroke of midnight the phone rang. Father reached over to answer it. That phone call that came changed all our lives, but especially Leo‘s, forever. A football association in Spain had heard of Leo’s situation and they were offering to help pay for his medication. It was the first time I had consciously felt the hand of God in my life, it was passionate, it was loving, it was marvellous. There was no possibility on this earth that Leo, hidden away in the depths of Argentina, would be thought of, let alone discussed, in Spain. The miracle was beyond the scope of our imagination. Leo endured the medication process, needles, tablets, powders and various other bitter liquids; all the while holding on to the tattered white ball. He saw that all things became possible through Christ who strengthened him.

Now my brother is a member of the most prestigious football club in existence. I watch proudly as Leo casually runs onto the  pitch of the Estadio Camp Nou, home to the mighty Football Club of Barcelona in Spain. He was the heart of the very team that had managed to conquer all the world with their skill. People are seated in their thousands. They are all chanting his name. He is Lionel Andres Messi. Now, the greatest footballer in all history.



NB: Based on the True Story of Lionel Messi of FC Barcelona from Argentina.