We can spend our whole lives waiting without realizing that the good thing comes suddenly, without anyone warning you of the impact. There can be no emotion more pure and powerful than the unexpected.
Fermín López was someone for his parents, who piled up photographs of their blonde child in their house in El Campillo along with wedding portraits and childhood trophies that sanity should not turn into adults. But Fermín López, until a sigh ago, was nobody for the football industry. He was just a teenager who played for Linares, perhaps condemned to make a living in fields where there is no glitter, but survival.
Seeing little Fermín run through Montjuïc with his lowered stockings While dragging this contradictory adolescent Barça through Europe, it must excite, and excite, a Barcelona fandom that is often so lacking in anyone claiming its reason for being.
The real Barça
Now that the living presidents of Barcelona say they have united behind a tablecloth and some spirits to confront the alleged forces of evil that lurk in the shadow of the payments to Negreira, and while the club continues to sell itself to pieces to banks and investment funds of of all kinds, the partner, who can paint little anymore, has the right to hold on tightly to Fermín’s twins. Because the real Barça, not the propaganda, is the one that springs up in the bunks of La Masia.
Fermín allowed Barça to achieve its third victory in the Champions League, this time against a Ukrainian Shakhtar worthy of praise, and thus clarifying Xavi Hernández’s team that this time it will reach the playoffs. The 20-year-old midfielder starred in the most dangerous actions of his team, although his first goal was scored by Ferran Torres, who was able to dedicate the goal to his recently deceased grandmother.
Although Fermín had woken up in the microclimate of Montjuïc with a weak, strangely timid shot, he had already hinted that, as an interior player, he would get tired of attacking the spaces allowed by the Ukrainian midfielders behind him. In his second incursion, Fermín already showed the determination that has characterized him since his birth on the United States tour against Real Madrid. He attacked a fabulous pass from Gündogan, controlled it with his chest, and unleashed a whip with his left that made the ball bounce off the post. Ferran Torres was attentive to finish the jobalthough for this the VAR had to intervene to deny an offside.
Inigo’s foot
The 2-0 was already left to Fermín. Iñigo Martínez, whose foot is fabulously suited to this Barça, first broke lines so that Ferran Torres could send the play to Fermín. And he, untied, broke Azarovi with his hip and, immediately afterwards, turn your foot into a hammer. The ball hit the post again, but this time there was no mockery of fate, but rather a spin with no other destination than the net.
Barça, with the classic in three days, relaxed then. Even more than it should. João Félix, who almost scored in the second half with a flying header, began to worry until he ended up injured, with his muscles giving him the hell in the run-up to the match against Real Madrid. Cancelo, meanwhile, got lost in his chaos. And Shakhtar, who warned of the steppes, closed the gap while Oriol Romeu was unable to chase the scorer Sudakov.
João Félix falls
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But as the night closed, with Shakhtar approaching a tie and with the fans wondering about João Félix’s condition, Fermín continued to demand attention. Because he had just finished hitting the post again. And because even the referee denied him a goal after the VAR appreciated that he had started to run offside.
The hard-working Ukrainian team did not reach the tie in time while a guy with barbaric hair and a mining beard shook his head on the bench. Football, in reality, are the memories of a life. That’s why the head took the journalist to the tiny bar of the Boadas cocktail bar. There where the bartender, in addition to listening to the chronicler’s laments, prepared a cocktail with vodka, lemon juice and cucumber which he was pleased to baptize Chygrynskiy. There was nothing funny about that guy with a playful last name, but rather a tribute to the misunderstood people of the night. Chygrynskiy, with whom Guardiola fell in and out of love with the speed with which we stormed the bed in the summer, returned to Barcelona with enough years (almost 37) and experience to have finally understood that In life those who seem condemned to lose also win. Or not, Fermin?