Dynamo_ZahnZee
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Javier Gonzales Mendéz
View attachment 264058
View attachment 264439
I grew up about 6 blocks from La Masia. It was only a stone throws away so I
grew up only one way. Every weekend my father would take me to church:
The Camp Nou was our temple; los culés would be our choir.
Football after school was a must. I'd run out onto the side streets, still
wearing my school uniform and play with the local kids. Each street had
it's own 'team'. A group who knew each other and played together.
Sometimes if we could find them, we'd play against the kids on another
street. It was a kind of territory battle; the honour of the street mattered
to us.
View attachment 264479
I remember arriving home from school when I was eight. Christ, I remember
it like it was yesterday. My father was already home, which was strange
since he usually didn't get off work until 6pm on a weekday. Both my parents
stood in the main room of our small house, wide smiles on their face as they
handed me a open letter... a letter with the Barcelona F.C. seal on the cover.
View attachment 264473
I couldn't believe it... I got in.
View attachment 264464
That was probably the hardest year of my life; and I had only moved up
the street. Some of the boys had flown over entire continents to sleep
in the bunk next to mine and they were naturally more lonely than me.
Though we were all home-sick, each one of us had people we left behind.
So we we all bonded together. We became each others family.
Training in the morning, school in the afternoon, Training in the evening...
It was ****** hard work. If our school work slacked off, we wouldn't be
allowed train for the weekend matches so we all pulled together and helped
each other out. I think that may have made the difference. Getting both an
academic and football education.
View attachment 264453
View attachment 264439
I grew up about 6 blocks from La Masia. It was only a stone throws away so I
grew up only one way. Every weekend my father would take me to church:
The Camp Nou was our temple; los culés would be our choir.
Football after school was a must. I'd run out onto the side streets, still
wearing my school uniform and play with the local kids. Each street had
it's own 'team'. A group who knew each other and played together.
Sometimes if we could find them, we'd play against the kids on another
street. It was a kind of territory battle; the honour of the street mattered
to us.
View attachment 264479
I remember arriving home from school when I was eight. Christ, I remember
it like it was yesterday. My father was already home, which was strange
since he usually didn't get off work until 6pm on a weekday. Both my parents
stood in the main room of our small house, wide smiles on their face as they
handed me a open letter... a letter with the Barcelona F.C. seal on the cover.
View attachment 264473
I couldn't believe it... I got in.
View attachment 264464
That was probably the hardest year of my life; and I had only moved up
the street. Some of the boys had flown over entire continents to sleep
in the bunk next to mine and they were naturally more lonely than me.
Though we were all home-sick, each one of us had people we left behind.
So we we all bonded together. We became each others family.
Training in the morning, school in the afternoon, Training in the evening...
It was ****** hard work. If our school work slacked off, we wouldn't be
allowed train for the weekend matches so we all pulled together and helped
each other out. I think that may have made the difference. Getting both an
academic and football education.
View attachment 264453
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