My Footballing Legend

The January chill clawed at the Canary Islands, the bracing Atlantic winds unexpectedly harsher than the locals were accustomed to. Even paradise felt prickly this time of year. 

CD Tenerife just finished their seventeenth match of the season—an entertaining but frustrating draw away at Espanyol—all four defenders getting rated above a 6/10 rating in every England tabloid. It kept them quietly in mid-table, sitting on 22 points with a goal difference that wasn't quite even. For a newly promoted side expected to finish rock bottom in most reported to complete the season, it was incredible. For Laurence González, it was just starting.

The winter break had begun, and the players had a few days run away to relax. Some flew back to the mainland to meet their wives and kids, and others stayed on the island to recuperate. Still, neither Laurence nor sporting director Mauro Pérez remained idle. Neither one of them would treat the winter break as a getaway. The transfer window had just opened and for these two time would not be something they could afford to waste!

While Laurence went back to his office in the Heliodoro to collect the data about each player's training and match minutiae, Mauro was already on a flight to San Sebastián. He was intending to wrap up a deal that had been brewing quietly since November—a loan deal in the hunt for Antoine Griezmann from Real Sociedad.

The young Frenchman, talented but impatient, was getting more and more frustrated with limited time he could spend on the field at Anoeta. Usually needing to follow the tactical demands of more senior forwards in Martín Lasarte's system, Griezmann desired more. More accountability. More sport. More freedom.

Laurence had seen him in a number of situations; on tape, live, through whispers within the coaching circle. But it wasn't just technique or mobility that struck him; it was intelligence. Griezmann understood how to permeate, ghost into space, and show up in spaces defenders neglected to mark. He wasn't a winger. He was a knife.

Laurence didn't need fireworks. He needed knives.

Mauro's terms were strategic and measured: a six-month loan with a buy option contingent on appearances. The financial gamble was negligible with upsides of enormous magnitude. If Sociedad accepted, it might turn out to be the smartest signing that Tenerife had made since their return to the division.

However, while Mauro was negotiating in the Basque Country, Laurence was on a train headed east but not to San Sebastián. He was going to Catalonia.

____

It had been barely a year since La Masia relocated to its new modern facility—sleek, glass-wrapped, built like a cathedral to talent. Laurence arrived under the guise of a visiting coach studying youth development systems. That part was true. But the real reason he'd come wasn't listed in any official itinerary.

He was not here for recruitment. Not openly. Not yet.

As the sun rose over the Catalan suburbs, washing dew-drenched pitches in a pale golden glow, Laurence walked the grounds in silence. Staff greeted him courteously and he responded with welcoming smiles and nods. He had always respected Barcelona, not just the club, but the framework, the philosophy, how players moved before they even had the ball. Everything was choreographed but organic at the same time. Like a well-tuned orchestra that spontaneously performed without a conductor.

He bypassed the older age levels. The U19s were under greater scrutiny during training. The U18s were already in the machine. But on the outer fields, at the edge of the complex where the grass was better and the noise was farther away, the U15s and U16s played with greater anonymity.

That is where Laurence went. That is where he found him.

It was small-sided. One-touch. High tempo. Minimal instructions from the sideline. Laurence watched from behind the row of saplings that were just beginning to thicken into trees.

He is a teenager. Tall and thin. Short hair and dark hair. Light-footed and quick, but never rushed. He played as the right-sided central midfielder—modern shape in organizations call this 'RCM'. But he is flowed between all positions. He dipped into the half-spaces before drifting wide to make a triangle and cut back in diagonally—to THEN arrive on the turn. 

Laurence froze, narrowing his eyes.

The boy received the ball in pressure just shy of the halfway mark. The boy had made an error in the pass. He was confronted by two red bibs – one shimmy, a subtle inside touch to shift the angle – and then without looking he reversed the play with a disguised pass into the path of the fullback overlapping him. 

The weight and timing were perfect. Two pressing players were eliminated. 

The discounting of the second pressing player in this instance was a marvel to Laurence. 

Laurence turned towards one of the coach's directly beside him, "that boy - number eight. Who is he?" 

The academy staffer looked back at the grid. "Joel Barros. From Lleida. Came through the local street development circuit. Joined us six months ago. We think he is a bit raw. But he can see the game."

Joel was not a flashy player. Not one who beat three players with a roulette. Not one who dribbled sixty yards to bend it in the top corner from thirty yards. But there was something psychologically unsettling about the way he moved , and everything he did well established moving, touching, and continuing to move. Every touched was purposeful. Everything mattered.

Laurence was present for the entire session. Did his thank yous. Shared a gritted espresso with the academy director. Then slipped away.

That night, a twilight sky dimmed over the hills of Catalonia, Laurence was by himself on a wooden bench outside the training complex, holding a steaming warm coffee. The air smelled like grass and moist dirt.

He pulled a black leather notebook from his coat pocket.

Joel Barros - RCM. Half-space operator. Right-foot dominant. Under pressure? Carries. Movement sharp. Early sight. Commands from midfield. Needs time. Possible asset. 

He closed the book and exhaled.

Casemiro had joined. It wasn't just Neymar the trickster. Griezmann, if Mauro made the deal, would be another tool in the bag.