Letter to Messi: "you do not go you, captain; us enamoraste"

It is your fault, Messi

You subjected you to a painful treatment only to pursue the dream to play to the football, embraced to the illusion as to the ball while you slept. You suffered the desarraigo of your family, sollozando in the aeroplane and distilling magic in the green lawn. With the left-handed. With the right-handed. Of head. With the breast.

It is your fault, Leo

That gambeteaste to so many without an apex of exaggeration and caused without looking for it that they went back to hit you, no only inside, but also out of the field, because the patadas that more hurt are those that give you in the soul, with words, with insults, and neither speak of the lies.

It is your fault, dwarf

You escaped him to a Selection plagada of stars as when you escabullís between the rivals, only to defend the flag that wraps you the heart. However, the voices will say that it corresponded you do it, without knowing the manoeuvres that made so that your essence remain spotless in these colours.

It is your fault, Flea

You did not choose to be born when this religion looked for a new God. No longer there will be Diegos, clear. It costs us understand it. But neither we will have to Lionel Messi to tear us countless times the throat with his cries that carried us to three consecutive finals.

It is your fault. Always it goes to be your fault

You broke all the records and of equal way give the luxury to argue you. Perhaps still it costs a bit assimilate that it exists somebody of your species, because although have shots of human, to my do not deceive me: vos came of another planet and landed in Argentina.

Pardon

In reality it is our fault. We do not value you. We delegate all responsibility in vos, only for being the best player of the world. And this title do not establish it I: they endorse it your statistics and awards. We demand you, in the eagerness to want to triumph again, as if you were the only that represents us. We compare you. One, another, and again. How if it was possible! And we forget us to enjoy you running like youngster, defining as big and besándote the T-shirt that so many tears wetted.

But you do not go you, captain

Because without soldiers the battles hamper ... Although you are not alone. Can swear you that you are not it. We are with vos. Always. And this yes is your fault: by enamorarnos and invite us to dream once again.