Late February - Early March 2010
The early weeks in San Lorenzo's Juveniles were a relentless cycle of learning and adaptation. Each training session was a stark reminder of the polished skills that years of focused development had etched into the other young players. Among them, Alexis Cuello shone with a natural brilliance that often left me watching with a knot of admiration and a quiet pang of longing in my chest.
Alexis moved across the pitch with an effortless grace, his feet seemingly conducting a silent symphony with the ball. His first touch was always immaculate, killing the most difficult passes with a deceptive ease. His dribbling was electric, a blur of quicksilver changes of direction that left defenders grasping at air. He possessed a vision that seemed to anticipate plays before they even unfolded, threading passes through seemingly impossible gaps with a nonchalant flick of his boot.
During the small-sided games, Alexis was a constant menace. He'd glide past challenges, his low center of gravity and quick feet making him almost impossible to dispossess. His shots, often taken with a deceptive lack of wind-up, would find the corners of the net with unnerving accuracy. The coaches often singled him out for praise, their words echoing across the training ground, a constant reminder of the level I was striving to reach.
I genuinely liked Alexis. His easygoing nature and unwavering support were a welcome constant in this new and demanding environment. We shared jokes, reminisced about the dusty pitches of Bajo Flores, and pushed each other during the grueling fitness drills. But when the ball was at his feet, a subtle shift would occur within me. Watching him weave his magic, the effortless way he seemed to unlock defenses and create scoring opportunities, sparked a feeling that was a complex blend of admiration and a quiet, persistent ache of what I lacked. It wasn't jealousy, not a bitter resentment of his talent. It was more like the shadow of brilliance cast upon my own still-developing skills, a constant reminder of the distance I had yet to travel.
This "envidia sana," as my mother would have called it – a healthy longing to emulate someone you admired – began to fuel a growing restlessness within me. The silent lessons of the video archive were invaluable, providing a theoretical understanding, but I needed something more direct, a hands-on approach to bridge the gap between observation and execution. I needed to learn from the source, from the very player whose natural talent both inspired and slightly intimidated me.
One late afternoon, after a particularly demanding training session where Alexis had once again left a trail of bewildered defenders in his wake, I found him practicing his free kicks near the sidelines. The other players were showering or heading home, the rhythmic thud of the ball against the net the only sound breaking the quiet. I took a deep breath, the familiar mix of hope and nervousness churning in my stomach, and walked towards him.
"Hey, Alexis," I began, kicking a stray ball idly with my foot.
He looked up, a familiar, easy smile spreading across his face. "Qué onda, Flaco? Still got some energy left?"
I managed a small smile in return. "Yeah… look, I've been watching you out there. It's… incredible, man. The way you move, the way you handle the ball…" My voice trailed off, unsure how to phrase what I wanted to ask.
Alexis stopped his practice, placing the ball carefully on the manicured grass. He turned his full attention to me, his expression now more thoughtful. "Thanks, Flaco. Years of practice, you know?"
"I know, I know," I said quickly. "But… would you mind? If you have the time… could you maybe show me some things? After the regular training? Some extra drills? Especially with… you know… the dribbling, the close control… that kind of stuff." The words tumbled out in a rush, a hint of embarrassment coloring my cheeks. It felt a little presumptuous, asking someone so naturally gifted to spend extra time on my decidedly less graceful technique.
A moment of silence hung in the air, broken only by the distant chirping of birds. Alexis's gaze was steady, and I braced myself for a polite refusal. Instead, a wide grin spread across his face.
"Extra training, Flaco? You're serious about catching up, huh?"
I nodded emphatically, my hope surging. "This is my chance, Alexis. I can't waste it. You… you just see the game differently. I could learn so much from you."
Alexis picked up the ball and bounced it a couple of times. "Alright, Flaco. I remember those crazy sessions we used to have back in Bajo Flores, under the streetlights until our legs felt like lead. Let's bring that spirit to these fancy pitches. What do you want to work on first? Those clumsy step-overs I saw you trying the other day?" He chuckled, but there was genuine warmth in his eyes.
A wave of relief washed over me, followed by a surge of renewed determination. The shadow of his brilliance no longer felt like a source of frustration, but a guiding light, a target to strive for. With Alexis willing to lend his talent and his time, the steep climb ahead suddenly felt a little less daunting.
[End for chapter 4]