Barcelona, Spain – Spring 2003
For Lionel Messi, the days moved faster now.
Morning training turned into afternoon drills. Individual sessions rolled into tactical briefings. And the faces he used to see on TV were now the ones passing to him on the pitch.
He wasn't a youth player anymore.
Not just.
Not after that day at Camp Nou, when he danced through defenders like wind through tall grass. The call-up to the senior squad hadn't come yet, but the whispers had become real.
"Soon," his coach at Barcelona B said. "It's coming."
March 14th – Camp Nou Tunnel (Unannounced)
The day started like any other. Messi had just finished a morning session with the reserves. His socks were soaked, and his calves ached.
But then, the message came.
"You're needed at the stadium," one staffer told him. "Bring your kit."
No explanation.
He arrived at Camp Nou and entered through the side tunnel. A kit assistant handed him a jersey.
No. 30.With his name on the back.Messi.
He stared at it for a second.
It wasn't a dream.
"Warm up quietly," the assistant said. "You might be needed in the second half of the friendly."
A closed-door match between Barcelona's first team and a second-division club. Meant for rotation players.
Messi jogged onto the pitch in front of a near-empty stadium.
But to him, it still roared.
The Warm-Up
He stood beside Ronaldinho, stretching his hamstrings.
"You ready, little magician?" the Brazilian asked with a grin.
Messi just nodded. "I think so."
Ronaldinho winked. "You'll know when it's time."
The match kicked off. Messi sat on the bench. Rijkaard watched him closely, arms crossed.
The first half was quiet—Barcelona controlled possession but lacked rhythm.
At halftime, Rijkaard walked over to Messi.
"You're in. Right wing. Stay wide. Find the game."
Messi stood. His legs were already moving before he could answer.
The Moment
In the 47th minute, Messi stepped onto the Camp Nou pitch for the first time in a Barcelona jersey.
Not for training.Not for drills.For real.
He didn't hear the silence of the closed stadium.
He heard the roar in his own heart.
The first ball came to him after a switch pass from Iniesta.
First touch: perfect control with the inside of his left foot.Second: a small cut inside.Third: a disguised pass to Xavi, then he sprinted forward for the return.
The return came late—but Messi was already there, dragging the full-back with him.
He didn't receive the ball—but he left space for another to shoot.
Rijkaard took a note on his clipboard. No words. Just a glance at his assistants.
51st Minute – First Chance
Deco slid a pass through two defenders toward Messi at the edge of the box.
He let the ball run across his body.
One defender closed in.
Messi slowed.
Then exploded.
A double tap with his left foot sent the ball diagonally between the defender's legs.
He raced onto it, beat the next man with a shoulder drop, and cut toward goal.
The keeper charged—
Messi opened his body. Shot low.
Just wide.
Gasps from the few staff and coaches watching.
Ronaldinho clapped from the bench. "¡Vamos, Leo!"
Rijkaard's lips pressed into a small smile.
62nd Minute – Magic
Iniesta intercepted a loose pass and immediately played it forward.
Messi checked his shoulder, saw the line of defenders stepping up, and dropped deep into space.
He received the ball in stride, then turned—in one movement—like a dancer pirouetting on instinct.
A defender lunged.
Messi flicked the ball over him.
A second defender reached out. Messi slipped the ball just ahead, touched it forward with his toe, and was suddenly in the box.
The keeper came out again.
This time, Messi didn't shoot.
He rolled it square, calmly.
The striker tapped it in.
Goal. Assist by Messi.
His first as a Barcelona player.
Everyone on the bench stood and clapped. Rijkaard didn't. He turned to his assistant and said, "He sees the game in slow motion."
After the Match
Barcelona won 2–0. Messi played 30 minutes. One assist. Two shots. Countless hearts stolen.
Rijkaard walked over, shook his hand.
"Well done, Leo. Very well done."
As Messi walked back through the tunnel, Ronaldinho stopped him.
"Your first step," he said. "Remember it. The real debut is coming."
Messi nodded. "I'll be ready."
That Night
He sat at his desk, jersey draped over the back of the chair. He hadn't even washed it yet.
He opened his notebook.
Anto,Today I wore the Barcelona jersey. Not in training. In a match.It was quiet—no fans. Just coaches, players, staff.But I felt everything. The grass. The echo of the ball. The pressure. The joy.I assisted a goal. Almost scored one.They say the real debut is coming. That the world will see me soon.And I'm not scared.Because I've already seen the dream. And I touched it today.—Leo
Two Days Later
The official letter arrived at La Masia. Messi's name was on the preliminary squad list for the next first-team friendly.
This time: against FC Porto.
In Portugal. In front of a crowd. A televised match.
A real debut.
The news spread fast. Staff congratulated him. Cesc hugged him. Gerard Piqué shouted, "Buy me tickets!"
But Messi stayed quiet.
He just trained harder.
And later that night, while standing outside under the stars, he whispered one thing to himself:
"Now it begins."