So, yeah, Junito. My little Junito. My precious Junito. I had dreams for him, goals, all attainable with a bit of huevo and a lot of esperanza. But sometimes the universe conspires to dismantle our carefully crafted plans.

So we conquered the Soccer Ninja together. Junito scored his first goals.  But Junito has betrayed me in the most horrific way imaginable. And, worse yet, so has my hermano.

So, the Catalonian princess has stolen my brother from me. Yes, my little brother has moved to Barcelona. He lives about five minutes from the beach, shares a house with this Catalan speaking vixen, and…well, she’s super sweet, cares for him, and I should be happy. In fact, she’s not even a big Barcelona fan. Her dad? Yeah, he has blanquillo schadenfraude, watching Madrid games in the hopes of seeing them lose. In fact, he watches more Madrid games than me – I admire his dedication.

But. Umpf.

I was trying to roll with this blow, and, gasp, may even visit Barcelona. No, I would never dream of bringing the young and impressionable Junito to such a slithering collection of asps. It’s tough enough when he asks me about Johan Cruyff and Romario. I don’t liethrough my teeth, but I do grasp  straws to dissuade such an unhealthy interest. “Ugggh, mijo, Cruyff era flaco y Romario bien bajito…hubieran ganado mas titulos con Madrid.”

But that’s a nonstarter at this point, because on top of the body blow from my hermano, Junito landed an uppercut to his daddy’s glass jaw.  I don’t want to overreact, I don’t want to come off as one of those “my way or I cry” types, but, well, here’s what happened. This morning, I woke up and said “Jugamos pelota?” And Junito normally jumps out of bed at the proposition of playing an intense short-side game.

Not today. No, Junito got up as per usual with his burst of energy and brilliant smile. But he did not reach for his Madrid jerseycito, or his Madrid shortcitos, no, he reached for something else….a broom. My heart sank to the point where I myself was the one in need of a pamper. Junito suggested “jugamos escoba“, but I was a wreck.  I had no enthusiasm for childish games.

The tears flowed like the River Styx.

Naturally, my first reaction was to search for a Real Madrid field hockey team. Juntio could still be the greatest field hockey player in the history of Real Madrid, right? I’m flexible….kinda. Well, while various field hockey clubs used the moniker, there was no official side. The dream? Well, the dream lives on. My mother says it’s a passing phase, but I myself gave up soccer for a time to play hockey in high school and college. In that sense, I cannot really get mad at Junito. I can only…I can only….

“Don’t Cry” by Aerosmith

Related posts:

1. Junito: La Mision Posible. La Vuelta?
2. Junito: The Soccer Ninja & A Painful Execution
3. Junito: the Greatest Gift of All Time