Road to Dream

Well, the day has arrived and we have to start packing our suitcase for an extraordinary trip. I remember those times of dressing in shorts, when the week before that decisive match passed slowly, tediously, a little cautious because a slight injury could take you out of the most desired match, an excessive attention to controlling all the details, to preparing all the situations. possible, by analyzing and knowing a little more about our rivals, that little more that translated into actions, those that we usually call details and that can be decisive. Slow week in which every night that final was played in my dreams in such a way that you woke up the more fatigued by the tension and the happier if the dream had ended in the Cup. I have always believed that these decisive matches are played so many times in your Keep in mind that if you do not control this tension well, you run the risk of arriving exhausted at the moment of the initial whistle, since all your energy has gone down the drain of what you imagined and the tank remains empty by the time reality arrives.

How envious I was in those days of those teammates who were capable of laughing in training, who made jokes before that event that for me required every ounce of my concentration, while they spread confidence, self-confidence and even a certain inconsideration as if that didn't matter to them. affected them at all, as if they were above any evil or difficulty. Then, over time, I learned that this was their way of managing tension and expectations, and that they, too, trembled a little when they turned off the light before bed and prepared to face their demons.

There was a first moment when while I was packing that suitcase for the decisive trip, I only thought about not forgetting anything essential; Come on, the bag with gloves, because a toiletry bag, tracksuit or pajamas were easily replaceable, and then there were no cell phones, tablets or chargers; only one book with a positive title and I couldn't tell you the exact number of reviews. But that bag of gloves opened and closed every five minutes to confirm that inside there were four pairs of gloves and a pair of amulets that one day, already forgotten, slipped inside and that jumped from bag to bag, from season to season. , from club to club until the end of the end.

It would seem that all the responsibility for keeping a clean sheet in those decisive matches was concentrated on those small objects, on those colors of the gloves, on those folds of the socks. All in order to keep your team within the final, within the objective.

Then, one day when I was starting to comb out some gray hair, I began to think that a janitor in another city, perhaps another country, would be in the same process. He used to entertain me by reflecting on whether he would have similar rites, similar habits, or whether he belonged to the tribe of the light ones and endured those moments in a lighter, lighter, more

enjoyable

way .

I think about some of these things while I'm packing my suitcase and I wonder if I should wear the cap from the semifinals against Atlético, although the 25 degrees in Seville and the Gore-Tex on the cap seem to discourage its movement.

I digress on some of that when I remember my Mallorcan friends who will be in the same process, in the same excitement, the same doubts and the same right to dream.

I reflect on some of that when I mentally collect all that positive energy displayed these days in Bilbao, all that pride of belonging, all that uniqueness turned into a story that unites generations; all that sourdough that constitutes Athletic's daily bread to put in the bottom of my suitcase so I can have it in front of me at breakfast on Sunday, no matter what happens on the pitch, no matter what happens with the Cup, so that the return is also singular, also collective, also story, also Athletic.

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