Lionel Messi shuffled into the press conference room at the Nou Camp to be assailed by an army of photographers thrusting cameras towards a face that betrayed absolutely nothing.
Not pleasure, not dismay, not irritation, not weariness. They might as well have been snapping a blank canvas.
What was he really thinking behind that mask? On their Champions League final media day, Barcelona had set up one set-piece event in front of a packed house to spare the world’s best player being hawked through umpteen ‘must have’ interviews. No other player was afforded this luxury. And, of course, the irony was that Messi had less to say than any one of them.
This is not a criticism. After all, no-one ever expected Picasso to talk up his genius eloquently in a press conference. So Messi sweetly handled his 15 minutes with dull platitudes — United were very good, it would be a special final, we have good memories of Rome, blah, blah — and to tell us sweet FA.
All except for one little gem, which seemed to say everything. “I will just go on the pitch and do as I always do,” he said. “Play every game as if it were my last.” And there was the essence of Messi; the absolute simple passion for football, where every game consumes him. Everything else – the fame, the money, the endorsements, the mad acclamation — is secondary.
Which is why those closest to Messi, a small group of family and friends, have established a protective cocoon around him, aided by the club themselves, to enable him to concentrate solely on a magnificent obsession.
Manchester United Vs Barcelona 2011 TRAILER Champions League Final
And which is also why, when trying to put flesh on the real Messi, you are still constantly left with a vague cartoon impression of a 21st century, £30million a year, multi-media creation wrapped in the dignified, humble garb of a throwback who just wants nothing but to go out there and play football.
Cecilia Guardati, correspondent for Argentina’s national news agency, is charged with reporting back home from Barcelona on the hero’s every move and has probably interviewed him as often as any journalist. Yet still she laughs at the idea that she knows the man. “I’m not sure anybody outside his closest circle really knows the true Messi,” she says. “He’s very shy, a very ordinary guy really but living an extraordinary life.”
Beyond the tales of footballing brilliance, what would there be to write home about anyway? No controversy, no excesses, no paparazzi sightings and even no girls either once Messi’s granddad let it slip that Leo had split with his long-time girlfriend, Antonella.
Since his old toothy playboy neighbour Ronaldinho left, he is rarely seen in town here, unless emerging from his favourite Argentine restaurant, Las Cuartetas, with compatriot pals like Javier Mascherano and Gabriel Milito.
Instead he prefers the sanctuary of home in the smart seaside suburb of Castelldefels, 20km from Barcelona but conveniently situated for the nearby training ground, where he shares a two-storey, four-bedroom house – relatively modest apart from the obligatory swimming pool – with his father, Jorge.
The locals there say he is fairly invisible, save for the odd prized sighting when he takes a walk along the beach or rings for a take-out from the local restaurant which provides him with his beloved Argentine croissants.
At 23, family still dominates his life. Jorge made the decision after Lionel, then still undergoing treatment for the hormone deficiency which had stunted his growth, signed for Barcelona that the family should divide to look after him. “We didn’t make all those sacrifices for there to be any mess. Everything had to be in order,” says Jorge.
So he moved to Castelldefels and elder brother Rodrigo gave up his job as a chef to move with his family nearby at a house Messi apparently frequents almost as much as his own because he loves mucking around with his nephews on the PlayStation. Another brother, Matias, and mum Celia also divide their time between here and their Argentine home in Rosario.
“My brothers make me live with my feet on the ground,” Messi has always insisted. “I have a good family and that’s important because you need someone to tell you where you are going in life.” The perception then becomes that Messi is not just grounded but also a bit dull, a lad whose life revolves out of necessity around DVDs, games consoles and a regimented lifestyle in which even his diet is controlled strictly by Pep Guardiola.
But if he appears like the anti-Ronaldo, someone without peacock frills who seems quite out of place in this world of hyped celebrity — he has just started to promote Dolce & Gabbana with predictable diligence but does look about as comfortable as Albert Steptoe would — so what?
As Guardiola laughed when he heard that Messi had confessed in an interview to only having ever read one book, Maradona’s autobiography, and failed to finish it: “Who cares if he doesn’t like reading? Let everyone else read and let him play football the way he does.”
It does not take long, when talking to anyone who has dealt closely with Messi, to discover an almost awe-struck admiration for the way he handles the unnatural pressures of being the world’s best in the world’s game. “Being the best player in history, he could behave in a different way but he is just such a lovely person, creating a great atmosphere in the dressing-room,” says Gerard Piqué in a tribute reflected by all his teammates.
Chemi Teres, the club’s press chief, thinks he possesses a dignity and humility straight from another age. “I’ve known him a long time and he has never changed at all. Quiet, doesn’t want to show off. His character and attitude is exemplary. He’s a very simple man, a family man, who loves more than anything else to play football.”
Any football. From cup finals to meaningless friendlies. It tells you much about how little controversy ever envelops Messi that everyone was stirred here this week by the story of his little hissy fit when Guardiola dropped him for the last game of the season against Deportivo La Coruna.
So fed up was Messi that he would not join the post-match trophy-winning celebrations until his guardian angel, club physio Juanjo Brau, told him to stop sulking, enjoy himself and get out there.
Brau is the confidant who accompanies him around the world, tending to his hammered muscles on Barcelona’s behalf even when the player is on Argentine national duty. He is so protective that, after watching Messi swap shirts following one Champions League game, he rushed on to the pitch to wrap his own sweatshirt around him to stop him from getting cold.
“Every day I see Messi, I can look in his eyes and see exactly how he feels that day,” is Brau’s boast. And like the few who can see behind the Messi mask, the one thing he can all see is that uncomplicated, almost childlike, desire to get out there and play football like no other.
The real Lionel Messi? Just gaze at the little man beneath the Wembley arch playing a game of football as if it were his last and look no further.
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