the everlasting narrative that the footballers i love worship money has never been something that makes me sad, embarrassed, or, i don't know, hangs my head in shame. i'm used to it, i'm familiar with it. even if it is not final yet, i know i would watch and follow Alexia even if she doesn't just go to London City Lionesses, the so called “Saudi of the Women's Football” club that her name is heavily associated with these days, but literally went to Saudi Arabia itself, or Japan, or USA, anywhere.
so why do i feel like it's the end of the world, then?
what i cannot accept is how a captain, who has been there from the times when hot water didn’t even flow from the taps of the facilities they played in, to the times when she saw the women's team get their own locker room at Camp Nou and filled that stadium repeatedly; who has given her everything to this club for a massive 14 years, winning 38 trophies that are easy to say, hard to achieve, who's earned so much respect that thousands scream her name, who's second only to Messi in goals scored for the club and who's recouped every bit of her cost off the pitch by multiplying it back a hundredfold through her off-pitch presence alone was approached with suspicion after her ACL injury and, instead of being offered a proper contract, was quite told, from what i've been understanding “you can extend for one more year in your final year if you want," effectively being forced to accept crumbs. these are by no means Aleixa's words, quite the opposite, actually, but i don't think they are too far from the truth, either. and that is what truly breaks my heart.
Alexia overcame her ACL injury in the best way possible and returned as a much more complete midfielder than her old self, but she wasn’t deemed worthy of even a quarter of the money earned by Araujo, the loud-and-proud zionist who has bottled it for the men's team in the Champions League for the past three seasons. if she desperately wanted to stay, she was most likely abandoned to struggle with the difficulty of building a post-football life for herself as a “female footballer” who's nearing the twilight of her career, forced to accept amounts given to 18–19 year-old men's team players who don't even get proper playing time. what Barcelona offered Alexia is already waiting for her anywhere else in the world anyway. she should have been granted a privilege, but she wasn't (or couldn't be, which should still give us room to reproach and resent the club, considering the person in question is Alexia fucking Putellas). as someone who has already won everything and given everything to Barcelona in football, she seems to have plans to go to a non-competitive, brand-new club that doesn't rip her open, drag her through mud all while crowning her La Reina like Barcelona did, to secure her future after already securing her past as the greatest.
heavy are the jewels. even the strongest need to take them off and lay them beside herself to admire what it all meant, anyway. i never thought it would end like this and i suppose she didn't either, which is why she never entertained incoming offers over the years and waited until the very last moment of her contract, the one with the “option to extend for one more year” to make her decision.
i know she told us a different story, and she frames this as leaving at a moment she feels like is the right, after seeing herself reflected in the upcoming talents of La Masia (and quite literally on Clara's face, for that matter) and deciding: my work is done here, i'm not getting in the way of young blood.
could never be a damn parasite, ever the selfless, eternal captain, Alexia.
but still, still, some part of me holds onto this idea that she could've been convinced to stay, to retire here, had the limits were pushed.
she still has a lot to give to football, i know she says she's emptied herself, but. being the face of the greatest football club in history is exhausting. she is spent, and i know i need to understand her but i can't, i can't do it all behind my tiny screen because this love has always been too much for me to contain inside. i've never meant to be normal about alexia, about football, about anything, ever.
this ironically enough isn’t the first time Barcelona has shut the door in the faces of its legends, who gave their everything on the pitch in drenched jerseys, because of decisions made by starched suits sitting in leather chairs. someone, somewhere, fucked this up. and Alexia has so much love for the club to force their hands and retaliate, has too much pride to ever accept the defeat and spend the rest of her years chasing scraps, warming benches. but i know i would've given her everything just to have her around a little bit longer, everything. and i feel so heavy, i want to point fingers and say: you could've done the same thing, but you didn't. none of you. i feel so lightheaded, like i've just lost a limb and i'm afraid of spending a lifetime trying to figure out how to function without it.
but i also know that even if they can take Alexia out of Barcelona, they can never take Barcelona out of Alexia. just like how they sent Messi away from Barcelona but couldn't erase the Barcelona tattoo on his leg. just like how, even though they forced Pep Guardiola to end his story because he wouldn't compromise on his ideas, they couldn't stop him from saying “Barcelona is my home” years later when leaving Manchester City, where he won everything in the most glorious fashion just like he did at Barcelona.
thank you, thank you, for everything you made me feel a part of from thousands of miles away, Alexia Putellas. perhaps i could dream up a prettier ending, but even this is only possible because you gave me such a unique story to build something more on top of.
Alexia és el Barça i el Barça és Alexia, forever. ♡.
