2 Barcelona

The wheels of my bag skidded along the smooth floor of the Spanish airport as the glass windows in front opened.

"Hasta la vista, baby."

I am on the land of Spaniards, the land where the grass grows tall and the tomatoes, bright red. The beaches, the churches, the bullfighting, the intricate buildings, the land of PAELLA, the sexy Spanish women in red... dancing with grace similar to a flamingo...

...and I was at the very heart of Spain, Barcefuckinglona.

If I do not do this... in Barcelona, I will be damned.

"SUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!!!!!!"

A few tomatoes hit me right in my face, turning my clothes red due to the pulp inside. A smile covered my face.

"Worth it."

Well, I checked my bank account. It was fairly full. Alongside football, I used to work at a part-time job and sometimes... well many times, my friend's mom... Diana would credit money to my account.

A real sweetheart.

That aside, how should I get to Camp Nou?

~

It took a while but I figured it out. I took a metro and then a bus to Camp Nou. There were a few communication issues but the Spanish people were friendly and kind to me... so it was all good mostly.

Also got the number of a few chicks wanting to teach me the Spanish ways, maybe I will call them later. I am genuinely excited to learn Spanish.

Upon reaching the entrance, a guard asked for my ID, and everything related to that. I paid him some money and got inside the stadium.

It seems like me many were entering, tourists I suppose. The guard appointed someone that was like a guide who was showing us the press box, the museum, the press room, the tunnel, the ground, and the 'Messi Area'.

However... I am not a tourist... so why the fuck am I touring with these guys?

And so I broke off from the group and walked away. After looking around Camp Nou I found out that the players were not there... and after asking a few ladies, apparently, they were at Ciutat Esportiva in Sant Joan Despí, quite close to Camp Nou.

Hence, I went back to where the guide was and enjoyed whatever he was showing to get my money's worth.

Afterward, I took the bus again and got off at the place where the training ground is located.

The guard was sleeping, so I simply walked in not wanting to wake him up. It is bad manners to wake someone up from their sleep and I believe myself to be a prim and proper gentleman.

Once inside I found a few players stretching and running around. I could have asked one of them where Xavi was, but I did not want to disturb them.

The players were fairly young and did not seem to be one of the popular ones so they were either the Barca B team or the U-14 or U-16.

I decided to head to the dressing room to change into the jersey I made for myself before meeting Xavi.

After all, it will deepen our bond of comradery as he is supposed to be my manager, and this is my club.

When I entered the locker room, I saw many people changing into their jerseys and laughing at each other. Overall, a jolly atmosphere.

At the corner, however, was a fair-skinned man that was quite tall with a polish face and an aura that screamed a good but strict and rigid personality.

Robert Lewangoalski. One of my favorite players. A player that crossed the boundary of talent with hard work alone to become one of the best to ever exist in the current era.

I smiled. Tapping his back, he tilted to look at me. I raised my hand as I made a gun gesture.

"Yo."

He stared at me, confused.

"Yo?"

I nodded. "I want to be the very best, like no one ever was. Sorry, Lewa but I will be stealing the spotlight from now onwards."

Saying that I turned around and left the locker room, not waiting to see his reaction.

I almost forgot to wear my jersey but I did not want to go back to the locker room so I had no other option but to change besides the pitch.

Right as I was about to start searching for Xavi, a player came running toward me. A Barca B player of I had to assume.

"Hey. You a new ball boy?"

"Uh..."

"Nevermind. Would you like to come and practice with us? We are lacking a player. The previous one got the runs you see."

Man... he was speaking too fast. I mentioned to him a universal gesture to wait for a second before opening my 'Learn Spanish for dummies' textbook which was absolutely useless and made me feel dumber than a dummy.

In the end, I opened my phone and searched on Google translate whatever little I could understand.

"Si."

He raised an arrow, a little impatient but understanding.

"A foreigner? Well, come fast... I ain't gonna wait for you."

His tone was a little slow and easy for google to hear, he then ran off to the pitch to where the other B team players were.

I followed suit.

There were a few others that were sitting on the bench, probably water boys and other ball boys. They looked at me curiously.

I did not care much, I kept walking until I joined up with the player. He turned around to look at me.

"What's your name ballboy?"

"Storm. Bobby Storm."

He gave me a small nod. "Are you fine with playing Defender? Left-back."

I nodded. Well, I do not have much of a choice, do I? Plus... defenders are the core of a team, although it is not my position. LB is an extremely vital part of the team.

Some of the best players are left-backs. Plus who said defenders can't score?

It's not a rule after all.

A creepy smile crept onto my visage as I could feel my blood pumping. I glanced at my new teammates before speaking.

"Let's play Football."