“The poor kid couldn’t believe what had happened; none of us could have if we’d just done what he had just done,” said Álvaro Mantilla, Racing Santander’s captain in the match they had longed for more than anything in the world. Which was why the kid – a 19-year-old from just along the coast who had been at the club half his life – wasn’t the only one crying. The day Sergio Martínez played his first game for Racing, he had climbed into the stand to hug his grandad; the day he played his first in primera, on Sunday afternoon at the Sardinero, he just about managed to stand before it, legs giving way a little and tears coming to his eyes. All around him they felt it too, 22,413 people absolutely losing it.
What he had just done was, well, everything. At least that’s how it felt right then. “Euphoria”, his captain called it. In his first game in the first division, his third start ever, Sergio hadn’t just scored; he had scored the kind of goal you get in a comic, all explosions and exclamation marks. The ball sat up like an invitation and Kapow! – Sergio smashed it on the bounce, a cartoon arrow drawn to the top corner. It tore through the air and through time, flashing past at 126km an hour and 14 years a second, so Sergio ran to the corner, holding the badge he has worn since he was 10. There, there was a wobble as it came to him just what he had done. Bloody hell, this was actually happening.
