Junito: Do/Don't Make-Believe the Hype

I have a confession – this serial post/column/story has shattered and questioned every single one of my assumptions and goals. And that’s okay.

I started this concept as a tongue and cheek satire – in our society, at least America, we increasingly fetishize younger and younger athletes. The concept of “ESPNU” for people to oggle 18 year olds offends me on some level – and I have boldly predicted an “ESPN Grade School” within my lifetime. Will society be the better? Will childhood be sacrificed on the alter of hero worship? I don’t really know; II just thought I could get a cheap laugh.

But a funny thing happened – the series turned into a “Gleefully Proud/Daddy in Training” column. I began to share details about raising my son that generally stay in the annals of family history. On some level, individuals became more attached to Junito the child than Junito-the-future-greatest-player-for-Real-Madrid.

I stand at a crossroads and ask myself the question: is this healthy? And I stare in the mirror and answer: yes. Can you do the same? Have you pre-ordered your Junito Madrid jersey? Ahem.

But another, more startling development has tossed a wrench into this series. Junito, whom I dreamed would play for Real Madrid but realistically expected to perhaps get substitute minutes at Real Madrid Castilla, has actually shown a propensity for greatness. And, recently, a winning mentality….

Many of my friends in the “overeducated anglo saxon young professional” group hold very androgynous views of the genders. They assert that the two sexes only share differences based on societal assumptions and cultural indoctrination. They ascribe to Judith Butler’s theory that we “play the part of gender.” I have a bold suggestion to these individuals: reproduce. No, not this very instant. But soon. And if you are blessed with a baby boy and girl, you will see the difference.

Up until this point, my Hispanic chauvinistic male self has protected my daughter and the little lady from exposure on this blog. In part, this was because I wanted to protect the integrity of my traffic from misclicks for “gorgeous Nicaraguan females.” However, their roles in my life and Junito’s development as Real Madrid’s future-greatest-footballer have intertwined to the point where they must be described and explained. With tact, of course.

But first, the Junito update. Junito has entered into a period best described as a “dominate or be dominated” phase. Upon seeing other human beings, including myself, he pushes them and declares “Soy fuerte. Soy veloz.” When pushing his mother, Cristhian, he boldly proclaims “Soy veloz y no me alcanza usted.” For the non-Spanish speakers: “I am strong, I am fast, and you can’t catch me.”

I am, of course, elated. As I grow older and my physical parts slowly atrophy into gelatinous  couch cushions, I grow convinced that the mind must conquer the body. I regret not having pursued my own sporting interests more fully – yes, I did once earn a 5 game suspension in my high school hockey league for a vicious two handed stick slash, but could I have earned a 10 game ban? Probably.

So, when posed with Junito’s tenacity, how did I react? Disdain? Un regano? Playing possum? Nada que ver. I scooped Junito up with one swoop of my arm, rotated his torso vertically by 180 degrees, and methodically lifted and lowered him at a reasonable clip. Slightly different from the gol reward gesture. Why? Well – Junito laughed but also learnt an important lesson – Papa Bear is still Papa Bear.

Of course, the missus does not entirely understand such male bonding moments. When I crawl on all fours and challenge Junito to pushing contests, or vice versa, she scoffs at the fact I do not allow Junito to win. But, I reason, if I let him win – then what incentive is there to fight and improve? Will Patrick Vieira back down from a 50/50 ball from Junito into 10 years when he is still playing? I doubt it.

Still, despite Junitos’ garra, two problems concern me. First, Junito’s nationality. He can lay claim to both Mexico and Nicaragua, but…but…I have done some serious thinking on this. The thinking was prompted by a good friend of mine from the UK, who asked – what makes an American an American? Is it sunglasses? A convertible car? A leather jacket? Cynics point to these objects as material, tangible, shallow. However, I prefer to view them as representations of a concept, an attitude, an aura. Is the world a better place after the last presidency? I’m not sure. Is it a better place after the Fonz? I haven’t a doubt.

So yes, while I can lay claim to Mexicanage, I dub myself an American. In fact, when I renewed my deal with the folks at SoccerPro, I ordered an away United States World Cup jersey. Rumor has it that they also offer el tri World Cup jerseys. And granted, if Rafa Marquez had been fit or playing regularly, I may, I may have an considered an el tri purchase. But he does play for the wrong club team.

Thus, I want Junito to play for the United States. However, the vote is still up in the air.

The second problem is Junito’s penchant for, shall we say, “flight.” La fuga. Se esfuma. Yes. Junito runs away at every possible opportunity. After being spoiled by our lovely and mindful daughter Angie, the prospect of keeping tabs on a darting white lightning leaves Cristhian confused and perturbed. Why? Why did Junito run away from us at the Metrocentro mall’s comedor in Managua, leaving us both panting and scared out of our whits? Why? Why does Junito sprint out of the front door every time we sit on the porch and start a platica with vecinos?

From a future star forward for Real Madrid perspective, his explosive burst and elusiveness are fantastic traits. From a young parent angle, they are terrifying. Granted, every male in my family tree has been tied to a baby-leash at some point or another. Still, don’t let the charming smile fool you…

“…he could fugarse at any moment!!”