The day in which everything failed in Gerard Piqué

I also discovered Gerard Piqué, like Barack Obama and Usain Bolt.

Or, more accurately, I realized the potential of him.

The story of how from Sanxenxo I saw Obama and Bolt coming is long and tedious.

As for Piqué, I started using him in 2006 as a pivot in my midfield with Real Zaragoza in Pro Evolution Soccer;

from there I moved him to defense after signing Essien (with Piqué in command of the defence, Essien sweeping the midfield and Kalou as a killer animal in attack, inspired by the endearing tactics of my teacher Víctor Espárrago, that Zaragoza won two Champions) and I soon learned that there was a hierarchy central, someone called to mark an era.

Piqué belonged to me, it belonged to that 28-year-old boy who lived in a small flat in the San Antoniño neighborhood of Pontevedra with his girlfriend, a dog named Cote and a cat named Bruno who got along so badly, and it was so funny to see them, that Many days I did not leave the house in order to stay with them;

That life returned Piqué to the place where he came from, Barcelona, ​​signifying himself as a figurehead of anti-Madridismo, the team of my childhood, is the best message I received about how harmful it can be to play for many hours on the console.

Inciters of violence, video games?

No way.

Heartbreaking sentimental breakups, rather.

I was left with the satisfaction of knowing that Guardiola got as much from the real Piqué as I had gotten from the virtual one in Zaragoza, and turned him into a historic defender, a legendary central defender.

One player always loses all titles.

There is no one who has not lost something, even a year is almost impossible not to lose it.

Piqué, who won everything, got one year, the sextet, to go on vacation without losing anything at all.

Míchel said recently that a friend of his once gave him some advice: in football you always have one year left over, and that year it is better that you choose it.

Piqué has chosen him two months late, and the delay -it is difficult to calculate these things, even more so to personalize them- could have cost Barcelona to continue in the Champions League.

But in that image of Piqué against Inter wandering in the back of his defence, breaking the offside line that he orders, and opening his arms in a “let her pass, she's ours” plan, he is the most unpleasant and at the same time beautiful of this sport;

I left the console several years later for similar reasons: my fingers and my head weren't doing as well as when I was young and everything was to be won.

In my own way, I also let balls pass that I thought were my goalkeeper's.

But I keep an eye on the PlayStation news: as soon as a game comes out with which I can become a businessman or club president, I'll be back to meet up with Gerard Piqué, whom I loved so much and whom I wished for so many defeats.

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