When Juan Roman Riquelme retired in 2015 after an 18-year professional career, he didn’t say too much. He never was a man of many words. Yet of the few sentences he did manage, two stood out: “I enjoyed football to the maximum. I hope the people have enjoyed it alongside me.”
They felt incongruous. Not untrue, but odd side by side. For all that he was brilliant – and he really was – Riquelme never truly had the air of a man who enjoyed what he did. At least not in the usual sense.
On the pitch, he often scowled and huffed. He played in a way that was nonchalant to the point of disinterest or detachment. The look on his face was almost always of the tortured artiste, forlorn and full of regret.
Off the pitch, he was a pain; disobedient of authority and a disruptive figure in the dressing room. In his homeland, his long-running feuds with Diego Maradona and Boca Juniors team-mate Martin Palermo were as discussed as his unique ability on the field.
Yet Riquelme did bring joy to the people. To me, certainly. To you, too, most probably. Most of all, though, to the fanatical supporters of Boca Juniors. Why? Because Riquelme was different.
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