The Vuvuzela Stylings of Toblerone Jones

Imagine, for a moment, that you are Esteban Granero.

You were so good as a child. Better than anybody you’d ever met. Much better than anybody you went to class with. You’re even better than some of the much older boys. Your feet are so smooth. Your timing is impeccable. And you’re just a child. But so fast. And so strong. You live in Madrid, next to the biggest club in the world. Alfredo di Stefano’s club.

They ask you to join when you are just 8 years old.

Your grandma is so proud of you. None of your school mates are surprised. Your feet, your feet are so strong. You are so fast. Of course they called you up. One day you will play under those lights. One day you will play alongside Raul. You are so strong. One day you will be the best player in the world.

When you are just 9 years old you score 83 goals wearing the Real Madrid jersey.

That year Real Madrid’s senior team, led by Raul, Davor Šuker, and Clarence Seedorf edged out Barcelona by two points to win La Liga. There was no doubt in your mind you would be joining them soon.

In your late teens you play for Real Madrid’s C team. Maybe not the progression you expected, but the Bernabeu still looms in your future. It is your future. It still scrapes the sky in front of you.

Then, when you turn 20, you hit your first real setback. You’re unable to play yourself into Real Madrid first team. But you are strong, and you pass so well. You are still young. You go to Getafe on loan. But it’s just a loan. Later you’re sold to them, but there’s a buy back option.

You can still be a Galactico. Still play in the Bernabeu. Still be that player you knew you were going to be when you were 8. The player all your classmates knew you’d be. The one your grandmother knew you’d be.

And then you’re bought back. And you make it onto Real Madrid’s first team. Finally. But your competition is fierce. And maybe you’re not so fast. And maybe you’re not so strong. And your manager keeps buying players in your position. He brings in two Germans, a strong one and a fast one. Khedira and Ozil. They are stronger than you, and faster than you, and they maybe even pass better than you. And then another is brought in. Fabio Coentrão. A Portuguese wingback is slotted into your position. And they are hunting another. A tiny blonde-haired witch named Modric.

Maybe you never will be that player you thought you were when you were 8. Maybe you never were that player.

And then you are sent to Queen’s Park Rangers. And you go willingly, and happily leave the club of your childhood. Alfredo di Stefano’s club. Hugo Sanchez’s club. Raul’s club. And you leave the Bernabeu, the towering stadium that has given your life a skeleton which it has fleshed off of, to play at Loftus Road, with a capacity of 18,360.

And it’s not quite as big.

But there’s a buy back option.