Early June 2010
The rhythm of training at the San Lorenzo academy, though subtly altered by the geographical divide implemented at Herrera's behest, was slowly beginning to settle into a semblance of a new, albeit somewhat unusual, normalcy. The initial tension that had hung heavy in the air following my return from suspension and the peculiar segregation of the training space had gradually begun to dissipate, the sharp edges of awkwardness softening into a more subdued atmosphere of focused work, even if a tangible distance still lingered between the distinct zones occupied by Teams A and B. Yet, within the interstitial moments of the rigorous drills and during the brief, almost stolen moments of respite, small, almost imperceptible bridges were beginning to span the divide, fragile lines of communication subtly connecting the two seemingly disparate halves of the verdant field.
Ángel, ever the embodiment of youthful exuberance, his movements imbued with a proud and undeniably playful flair, continued to showcase his dazzling brand of football on the northern end of the pitch. He could frequently be observed weaving intricate patterns with the ball at his feet, a wide grin often splitting his face as he attempted audacious nutmegs and gravity-defying flicks, celebrating even minor victories in the training exercises with theatrical flourishes that, while occasionally teetering on the edge of playful provocation, seemed more an uninhibited expression of his boundless youthful energy than a genuine attempt to offend or belittle. His raw talent was undeniable, a vibrant spark of unpredictable creativity that often ignited the enthusiasm of his teammates, though his inherent individualism sometimes led him down blind alleys, resulting in lost possession or impetuous decisions born of overconfidence.
On the southern end, my own approach to training remained steadfastly rooted in efficiency and a meticulous reading of the unfolding game. Each movement was deliberate, each pass carefully weighted and directed, always seeking the most direct and effective route to advance the play. The lingering sting of past errors, the vivid memory of my impulsive outburst, and the unwavering determination to maintain a newfound control over my emotions were all silently reflected in my almost monomaniacal concentration. My gaze constantly scanned the movements of my teammates, anticipating their runs and intentions, offering concise and practical instructions when necessary. My body language, consciously guarded and controlled, served as a silent testament to the hard-won lessons learned during the isolating days of my suspension.
Alexis, with his characteristic aura of tranquility and an almost effortless grace in his movements, navigated the entirety of the divided pitch with the same fluid elegance. His innate ability to thread precise passes through the tightest of defenses and his exceptional peripheral vision made him a natural and invaluable nexus, subtly connecting the two geographically separated groups. He would often drift over to my side of the field during breaks, offering a calm and insightful commentary on a particular play or sharing his typically relaxed perspective on the overall team dynamic. He could also be seen engaging with Ángel, his easygoing humor often diffusing any lingering tension with a well-timed joke or offering genuine praise for one of Ángel's more spectacular displays of skill, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to Ángel's own unrestrained exuberance.
It was precisely during a divided possession drill, an exercise designed to test our ability to maintain control of the ball within designated zones while also offering the option of switching the point of attack with a long-range pass to the other team, that our paths crossed in a more meaningful and significant way. In a swift and unexpected turn of play, an intercepted pass in my defensive zone left me in possession of the ball with Ángel momentarily unmarked near the edge of his designated area. Instinctively, my eyes scanned the field, and I lifted my head, sending a low, precisely weighted pass directly to his feet. To my slight surprise, instead of immediately attempting a dazzling individual maneuver, Ángel controlled the ball with an elegant first touch and, without hesitation, laid it off with a deft flick to a teammate surging forward from midfield, creating a clear scoring opportunity. It was a simple yet remarkably effective piece of teamwork, an unexpected display of collaborative play that generated a brief but significant exchange of glances between us, a fleeting spark of mutual understanding that transcended the usual competitive dynamic.
Later in the training session, during a series of intense finishing drills, I noticed Ángel visibly struggling to maintain control over a powerful volley, his attempts often flying high over the crossbar or skittering harmlessly wide. I hesitated for a brief moment, the memory of our recent heated confrontation still a tangible presence in the air, but then, driven by a sense of burgeoning professionalism and a quiet desire to move forward, I approached him with a direct and straightforward technical suggestion: "Try to make contact with the ball a little lower, with the inside of your instep. It'll give you more control over the direction." Ángel turned to face me, a single eyebrow arching slightly, his inherent pride still clearly reflected in his expressive eyes, but then he offered a small, almost grudging nod and tentatively tried my suggestion. To his evident surprise, and perhaps even to my own, his next attempt at the volley was noticeably more controlled, the trajectory lower and the placement far more accurate. A fleeting flicker of acknowledgment, a brief recognition of the unexpected assistance, crossed his face before he quickly reverted to his usual playful and slightly self-satisfied demeanor.
In the quiet solitude of my room that evening, I meticulously recorded these small but significant incidents in the worn pages of my journal. The unexpected and surprisingly effective collaboration during the divided possession drill, the brief but tangible technical exchange with Ángel during the finishing practice… these moments felt like small, almost imperceptible cracks appearing in the seemingly impenetrable wall of our rivalry, subtle indications that perhaps, beneath the hardened surface of competition and lingering wounded pride, a fragile form of mutual respect was beginning to tentatively emerge. Alexis, with his unwavering tranquility and his natural ability to navigate the subtle social currents of the team, moving effortlessly between the two geographically separated groups, seemed to be acting as a quiet but effective catalyst in this nascent process of rapprochement. The very division of the training ground imposed by Herrera, in a twist of irony, appeared to be inadvertently creating controlled opportunities for these small but potentially significant interactions, fostering the unexpected construction of fragile, hopeful bridges.
[End of Chapter 15]