Turned out, he could. The quality never goes, still better than anyone else. Cazorla came on a mission: to help take Oviedo back to the first division a quarter of a century later. With him at the heart of their midfield last season, they reached the playoff final for promotion to primera, only to miss out by a single goal.
If most assumed that was it, his one last shot, he decided otherwise. He would try again, determined to get there. Now 40, he’s still going. Somehow. And now he’s laughing his head off again.
“Some people seem to be trying to retire me, but I have for at least five years left! Or five months.” Either way, it’s working: coming into this derby, Cazorla has played 19 of the 21 games, starting 16 of them, and they are again in a playoff spot, just three points off automatic promotion, four from top.
And at 1:25 p.m. on Friday when, after the session at Requexón, Calleja names his squad and Cazorla is in it, the replies on Twitter say it all. Wait, what? A thousand hearts, a million variations of Santiiiii and Cazoooorla. It’s not just fondness, it’s football. The hope that maybe he’s made a recovery, maybe, just maybe, he can be there after all. With him, winning is always closer, after all. “He won’t feel his foot but he will feel the shirt,” one says.
ON CAZORLA’S ARM is half a tattoo. On his ankle is the other half, a symbol of his suffering: the skin cut from one place and grafted onto another. His daughter India’s name in two bits, a constant reminder of the injury that almost ended his career. That maybe even should have ended it. He didn’t play for 636 days; he might not have played again and many, many days he thought it was over. But somehow, he did. He’s 40, he’s been under the knife 12 times, he was told he should settle for being able to walk around the garden, but he’s still a footballer.
Does it hurt?
“What really hurts is when I don’t play,” he says. “That’s always been the case: not playing is the painful part. I always love to be involved. I’ve had some complex injuries in the past. I’ve built up quite a lot of experience dealing with injury and that makes you stronger. I’m better at getting through it than I was. And the current one is only a short setback. In that situation I try to help from the sidelines.”
They don’t know he won’t play, but he does. But he wants to live this. The game. Last season, at home, he could not.
And so there he is in the back window of the bus, through the flares and the smoke and the noise, laughing his head off. There he is on the turf pre-match, warming up. Carefully, it is true, but he is. There he is, in front of the TV cameras pitchside, beaming through the last interview not long before kickoff. “You can feel the excitement of the people; I feel it too, the same way they do,” he tells them. He also tells them he’s available if needs be and maybe he even means it, even though he knows what they don’t. There he is, in through the dressing room door, past the figurine of the Virgin of Covadgona, spiritual heart of Asturias, leading the final team talk.
“This is not any game,” he tells his teammates. “We know what this means; we’re playing for a feeling: ours, our families’, our fans’.”
There he is as the traditional bagpipes play the anthem of Asturias, “Beloved Homeland,” and of Real Oviedo, a giant 1,800-square-metre tifo tumbling down over the north stand, a month of dedication from 12 men, a giant work of art carrying the Cruz de los Angeles, emblem of the city. “Symbol of our battles,” it reads. There he is leaping from the bench, into the arms of Daniel Calvo and Diego Cervero — another former academy player, a striker here in the depths of Spanish football and now the doctor — when Alemão scores the opening goal and 28,500 people go wild. There he is standing before them all applauding at the end, after César Gelabert equalises for Sporting. They didn’t win, but he couldn’t have missed these moments.
“We could have done with Santi, who has the experience and calm the game needed,” Calleja says. “But I can’t ask more in terms of the heart everyone showed. I had never seen an atmosphere like this. I have been in the first division, the second, Europe, but I have never felt what I felt today. I have never seen anything like it. Ever. It’s unique. And if there’s one thing that’s first division, it’s the fans.”
One day.
Despite the draw, only goal difference keeps Oviedo from the playoff places. Promotion would be the greatest ambition of all, the greatest achievement too. Yes, really: “I’ve had incredible experiences, but this is different; coming home and doing something the club waited so long for would be very special.”
Can you see yourself in primera?
“I really hope so,” Cazorla says. “God willing, I can keep playing for a while, as long as my body allows. Of course I hope to play in the first division with the club of my life. But whether or not I get there doesn’t matter; what matters is that Real Oviedo do.”
