Mbappé, football and pop

We have all been children once, even 23-year-olds, like Kylian Mbappé.

At that tender age, and emboldened by a series of chained vital failures, I remember embarking on a business of some magnitude, a leap into the void that leaves you with many scars and quite a foolish face.

When you only listen to yourself and the wrong people, you end up doing things like poking your nose into the closet market, a pond where hundreds of sharks lurk ready to skin you long before you step foot in the water.

How could it be otherwise, the thing ended in the worst possible way: sudden closure, a huge debt on his back and several boxes of hangers with the company logo stacked in my parents' garage.

Wanting to eat the world is as lawful as wanting to eat hot and Mbappé doubled both appetites from a very young age, when he was not yet old enough to drive the cars that his first salaries could already buy.

Talents like his appear from time to time, sprinkled throughout history as if the god of football - I was an atheist, but now I believe - had a master plan so that each generation enjoys its own prophet, although the advances typical of modern life are causing a certain traffic jam: Messi or Cristiano Ronaldo have not yet left and it must be for this reason that Mbappé's emergencies accumulate, determined to carry the crown by contract.

The last one, signed between barrels of oil and the stupor of Real Madrid,

The interested leaks that his environment has transferred to the press around the world allude to the lack of a word from the Parisian club: they promised him to be the undisputed star of the team and it turns out that Messi and Neymar Jr. are still there, determined to screw up his life, which is a very

phrase

and, therefore, adjusted to law in a case like this.

Grumpy, distraught and far from his best level, it seems that the Frenchman has not found a better way to attract the attention of the respectable than to leak his discomfort to the press, wield the trump card of the transfer by urgent route and demand his crown in another city, perhaps because he keeps confusing the scepter of world football with a rattle.

In Madrid, his movements are followed with a mixture of interest and anxiety.

No one is unaware of the sporting possibilities offered by his signing, but the obvious complications of living with a tyrant who seems to bother the principle of competition, the first commandment of the white bible, are becoming more and more frightening.

There was nothing by chance in that, a few hours after his renewal by the Parisian club was confirmed, from the upper echelons of Concha Espina they tried to appease the spirits of a fan who felt betrayed and vilified: the boy had pressured him to Macron and , as Modestia Apart sang, “what difference does it make, if they are things of age”.

That need not to burn all the bridges was quickly detected by a Florentino Pérez who has not reached where he is closing doors and building walls,

Be that as it may, and no matter what happens, the only thing that seems to be clear in this whole story is the demonstrable obsession of the Frenchman for being a boy at the baptism, a bride at the wedding and the deceased at the funeral, an attitude that is increasingly widespread in a world that changed ET, the Extraterrestrial, for Hannah Montana without asking too many questions: perhaps there is no god of soccer, but there is of pop.

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