Junito: Make Way for the MAGs!

The development of a professional footballer begins early. While I am uneasy about all premature Junito hype and initially started this series to try to coax coaching tips off readers, the beast has grown horns beyond my grasp. Yes, that’s right – barely three years old, and Junito has said his first piropo!

For the non-Spanish speakers, piropo is perhaps best translated to “catcall,” although a piropo is occasionally more refined than a whistle and/or grunt. Occasionally. Here’s the situation: every morning, a teenage girl walks by our front porch on the way to school. And Junito? Like a wind-up doll, he instinctively gravitates to the lawn at the same hour, saying to the apple of his eye “Adios, mi amor.”

No, I am about to talk about birds and bees with him. I’m more preoccupied with the implications for his career as a player. Emphasis on career; not “player.”

I have no doubt that, like George Best before him, Junito will be a WAG-net. But in the meantime, he needs to focus on developing his footskills. Granted, dancing with the ladies would have a positive effect on his pivot and dribbling, but spending hour after hour smelling roses and writing poetry would not bode well for the 8 hour flight to Moscow when only steely resolve can carry the day. Not to mention some coaches‘ preferences for lady-less travel.

Still, I am no taskmaster. Junito is allowed to develop his following of MAGs, “Madres-Abuelas-Girlfriends.” I would hate to impose a rigid curfew that would merely drive him into his lady’s arms or lead to some sort of Gago-Higuain-Model love triangle. A young man must travel the world to open his mind, and surely a bit of fun, in moderation, would do him well on life’s journey. Still…

Best once said that “if I’d been born ugly, you’d have never heard of Pele.” I’m afraid that Junito’s playboy antics could overshadow his career, casting a spell over the trophies he wins for Madrid. While the skeptical eye may look beyond the fast cars, super model girlfriends, and designer clothes, I don’t want Junito to wind up an overweight 40 year old jogging around some U.S. American football stadium for a few dollars. Can Junito’s soccer brilliance transcend the material spoils of fame? Should it?

I still remember when Junito couldn’t even crawl – he was my precious little “saltamontes” that rolled around a lot, smiled, laughed, and required the frequent changing of diapers. It never dawned on me that as you get older, time actually speeds up. It never dawned on me that one day this little delightful ball of hair and flesh and bones and blood could possibly form a sentient human being. I remain his father, but my role has changed from diaper czar to papy to…to…to….pasajero. At some level, I can’t pick the ball off little Maldini and run 40 yards to score a goal. Only Junito can. At the most fundamental level, I can only sit back and watch. Umpf.

Here, at the age of 3, barely more than a decade from his first pre-pre contract-contract, I stare at the very real prospect that one day my saltamontes will say “adios papy” and jet off to Madrid or Mallorca for some summer preseason training. My role is to love, to guide, but….but….

The piropos, the love of fast cars, the amazing dribbling skills, the tenacious nose for goal, I feel like I’ve seen this all before. Junito ultimately drives his own destiny, but I fear I’m a passenger along on a ride with an uncertain destination…

“Adios mi amor…”

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