Jesús Navas can’t walk but he carries Sevilla. He’s nearly 39, he’s played 963 professional games and he has an arthritic hip. Every day for the last four years, it has hurt. It hurts when he turns up to training each morning at the ground named after him and it hurts when he plays. It hurt when he won the Europa League and it hurt when he won the European Championship, the last man standing somehow. Some days, it hurts so much even he has to stop; soon, too soon but later than he probably should have done, he will stop for good. Every few days, it hurts so much it scares him.
Thursday was one of those days, worse even than before. Never mind playing in primera, he couldn’t play with his kids. He hadn’t slept all night and couldn’t move. The doctor called the coach worried about him and so the next morning … well, the next morning he was back in Montequinto, where he first started going a quarter of a century ago and where the mini stadium by the dressing room is now called the Jesús Navas, looking for the manager García Pimienta. “Míster,” he said, “I can help.” So he did, which hurt too.
