9 September 2006
"Ting"
The bell sounded as a customer entered the Lloret Bakery, faintly tucked into the residential neighborhood of El Raval.
"How are you, Raul?" The woman behind the counter had a rosy face with elegant brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail. Her eyes were blue and kind, comforting you as you kept looking.
"Same old, Lady Layla. I'll take the usual, please. In fact, add a couple croissants as well. The boss might be visiting my post office today," replied Raul, a pale-faced but stout man.
The morning commotion and conversation in the bakery did not reach the far corner. There, a heavy, silver television set was mounted on the top of the wall, surrounded by FC Barcelona scarves, frames, and shirts. Directly below, a boy sat on a red cushion staring at the blaugrana figures on the television.
The boy had the kind eyes and rosy cheeks of the woman behind the counter. His baby fat only exacerbated his cute features. His jet black hair covered his eyes and reached the bridge of his sculpted nose; both features without a doubt inherited from his other parent. His eyes shone bright through the hair, and if you lean in close enough, you could hear him consistently muttering.
He was predicting the plays, his eyes not trained on the player with the ball, but on the green patches and the figures veering into them. For each moment, he could come up with multiple trajectories for the ball to progress. The boy, just three years of age, would click his tongue when a player would not follow the trajectory he considered the best. He would hum along when they did.
"Xavi, Marquez, Ronaldinho…"
The boy understood. He understood the space, the shape, and the pace. Yet there was one player he could not understand. One boy whose next play he could not predict. The ordinary-looking boy wearing the number 19.
Jordi Lloret was born to Layla Lloret. His mother was a renowned baker in El Raval and beyond, and his uncle was the creator and president of the local FC Barcelona fanclub, Penya Culers del Raval. And so, little Jordi grew amongst the smell of bread and the sight of blaugrana.
...
At 6 months old, he received his first Barca jersey with a 10 and Ronaldinho on the back.
At a year old, he was running around the tight streets of El Raval with a football at his feet and the children around him.
On his second birthday, the Penya Culers del Raval took him to the Camp Nou for the first time. The atmosphere, the football, the clarity from that visit solidified his love for Barca and ignited his love for football. His uncle and the other members were full of pride witnessing this rite of passage. However, they failed to see the comprehension in little Jordi's eyes. An understanding that he himself did not recognize as yet.
A year after his first visit to the Camp Nou, Jordi was fully immersed. His passion for football was only outmatched by his understanding of it.