The 'Vini case'

Three years ago, in an interview with Álvaro Corazón Rural and Albert Ortega in

, the soccer player Joan Capdevila recounted one of Joaquín Caparrós' typical exercises: make the players run, and when there were a hundred meters to go, he would run alongside them. the players and start asking them questions.

“I wanted your head to work in a situation of exhaustion, for you to know how to think while drowning.”

Three years ago, too, if the Brazilian player Vinicius were put next to a guy asking him questions, the striker would probably have sent the ball into the stands with a kick, and without questions too.

His explosive virtues were physical, a type of player who found it easy to run and dribble, almost natural actions, but who found it hard to think, and therefore to play as a team.

Soon the lack of lights when approaching the area, the moment in which those who think and execute the best and fastest define, brought ridicule from the public —and whistles from theirs—, from the press —also

and of course from the opponents, on the grass and off it.

The focus continues to be on the new Vinicius, already one of the best in the world after learning to think;

the cameras that followed him in a condescending way, today do so to see who he faces, who he answers, who he laughs at.

There is something common in all the matches: no images have yet been obtained of Vinicius arguing with a rival who was passing by, with an opposite substitute who was sitting on the bench doing nothing, with a rival coach who had not noticed him.

There is a coincidence in this: if Vinicius is kicked at ankle height, the news is not the kick but what Vinicius has to say about it;

If the opposing coach addresses him to tell him that he is throwing himself a lot, the news will be that Vinicius responds instead of lowering his head.

The debate has shifted without much subtlety from the number of fouls that Vinicius receives from the first minute, to the opinion that those fouls are deserved by Vinicius;

from the defense that the referee has to make of the physical integrity of the players, to the defense that the player has to make of himself to leave the field with both legs.

Vinicius belongs, like Neymar, like fewer and fewer players, to a type of striker that is desperate for the opponent: his power is one on one, the imbalance, the dribbling, the deceit, the feint, the mockery.

They have to challenge the rival for 90 minutes, and overcome it.

Often glued to the band: to the opposite bench and to the stands.

In an eternal discussion with everyone and against everyone.

The one who has the ball and makes use of it, against the one who doesn't have it and can't let the opponent or the ball pass, whatever.

In the case of

, this occurs after being a kind of mascot for his scoreboards and for television productions: from a fashionable bluff to a striker who must be taught to endure kicks, insults, celebrate goals and, of course, not to haggle a lot and with some rules.

And where are Vinicius' teammates?

When or where are those players —formerly Casemiro or Ramos— who managed matches with the ball and, often, more importantly, matches without it, and are leaving the Brazilian answering to everyone alone?

Do you wait for the VAR after the game to see who was right, the one wearing his shirt or the other?

You can follow EL PAÍS Deportes on

Subscribe to continue reading

Read without limits

Keep reading

I'm already a subscriber