A couple nights back, I microwaved a box of leftover Chinese food, grabbed a blanket, and nestled myself in on the couch to enjoy a movie before I gave up the fight and headed to bed. It was the ideal night for the occasion. A summer storm was brewing in the heavens above the house and rhythmic tapping of raindrops on the windows showed no signs of letting up. I skimmed the shelf of DVDs and eventually pushed Pirates of the Caribbean into the PS3. Not too far into the film an exchange between blacksmith William Turner and Captain Jack Sparrow made me stretch for the remote to hit pause. It reminded me of something and I wanted to look it instead.
William Turner: “This is either madness… or brilliance.”
Captain Jack Sparrow: “It’s remarkable how often those two traits coincide.”
Above was the video I stopped to look. However, the madness goes much deeper than what meets the eye. Let me tell you the tale.
It was cold and miserable January night in Galicia, 2010. An icy rain showered the saturated grass of Deportivo La Coruña’s infamous Riazor Stadium. For Real Madrid it was a hostile environment, a cursed ground. The capital club hadn’t managed a win there in a dismal 19 years, and with key players missing from the team sheet, the chances of breaking the jinx looked as grim as the misty field they were about to walk out on.
As Real emerged from the tunnel a chorus of piercing whistles and jeers greeted them. In the meat of the line, a stone-faced midfielder weathered the storm in stride as he marched into the inferno of insults. His wet, blonde hair trailed his every strep and drops of precipitation bounced off his face as he walked. The same familiar chant in every away ground in Spain met him once again, reverberating from select terraces in the crisp winter air - “Guti, maricón.” One fan had even gone as far as to bring a blow up doll that had been fixed to look like the midfielder. It wasn’t anything the number 14 hadn’t seen before but it was a petulant occurrence he planned to endure again…
A cantanero at Real Madrid since the time he was eight years old, José María Gutiérrez Hernández, known as Guti, like many others so invested in the club, always felt entitled to his opinion. Many could argue for good reason, especially as a veteran. The revolving door to the manager’s office spun so rapidly at the Bernabéu, who was any fresh face to tell him how his team should be run? After all, Guti enjoyed fantastic success in a white shirt, with a résumé that included two Champions League trophies. So why the foul treatment?
Guti’s passion for the club often boiled over the brim and with every meltdown the media was there to feed on the remains. It could be said that his fuse was short enough that if you lit it, you wouldn’t have enough time seek refuge from the blast. His bad boy reputation preceded his image, but sadly that persona engulfed his identity as a player and disguised what he truly was, a genius. A temperamental genius, sure, but a genius all the same.
In the time leading up to the Depor match, even as vice-captain behind Madrid’s golden boy Raúl, Guti had become an ostracized figure at Madrid’s Valdebebas training center. After a spat with manager Manuel Pellegrini during a humiliating Copa del Rey exit to third division side Alcorcón and a spell in the gym with nagging injuries, Guti worked isolated from the group for weeks on end. It was the starting line season for Florentino Pérez’s second chapter of galácticos and with new faces like Cristiano Ronaldo, Karim Benzema, Kaká, and Xabi Alonso, everyone got the feeling that it was out with the old and in with the new. And after all his service to the badge over his heart, fans and the media alike were eagerly preparing for life without Guti.
However, with the squad dwindling from knocks and suspension and Guti overcoming his own fitness issues, Pellegrini had little choice but to reinstate the mind of his midfield and pull the prodigal son from the shadows. The Chilean gaffer would not regret his decision.
Against all odds, Real won that night 3-1 in La Coruña, and Guti’s cheeky back heel to Benzema to sweep into an empty goal became legend as soon as the ball hit the net. It was a complete performance from the Spaniard and in 90 minutes his redemption was complete. Being a Madridista to his core, Guti of all people knew the significance of the win. Not only was it the first win at the Riazor in 19 years but the first victory there in the midfielder’s career. For him team triumph was personal triumph because as far as he was concerned, he was Real Madrid.
After the late third goal, Real’s Guti dropped to his knees, alone again, and screamed in achievement at the gods. His madridismo was louder than all the slandering faces around him and it materialized in his display. Lamented for his many controversies but adored for his ability, Guti was, for a moment, on top again.
When the team bus arrived back at Madrid late that night, a riot of re-convinced supporters impatiently awaited, all of whom were singing “Guti, selección.” It was a far cry from what he had heard several hours earlier. This was a call for his reentry back into the national team after a five-year absence only months before the World Cup in South Africa. Guti unfortunately never got the call back from Vicente del Bosque, the coach that probably got some of the most productive years out of the moody magician. The pair lifted two European Cups together in 2000 and 2002. The manager forced Guti into a more advanced striking role when Fernando Morientes fell from fitness in 2001, but the blonde bomber was designed by God to create goals rather than score them; he always preferred a pass. Guti only ever made 13 national team appearances in total, never featuring in a major tournament. Nonetheless, the player became a staple in Madrid’s midfield for the rest of the 2009-2010 season after appearing forgotten by manager and fans alike.
Many will crucify me for saying so, but Guti was, at his height, as good as Barcelona’s Xavi. His passing ability was unparalleled and deserves a spot amongst the great orchestrators such as Italy’s Andrea Pirlo. One of his most memorable performances was conjured at the Santiago Bernabéu in a 2008 La Liga match against Valladolid. The home side thrashed their visitors 7-0. Señor Guti scored two goals and claimed the assist for three others. The remaining two goals were a penalty and a counter attack which the genius directed from within his own half.
This legend tiptoed as he dribbled, carelessly. His nonchalant style was trademark and to quote another movie from my rack, The Shawshank Redemption, “He strolled like a man in the park without a care or worry in the world…” That is until you disturbed his zen. His passing precision was that of a military sniper and he saw everything you would have missed. Guti was a mystical player, the likes of a sorcerer we may never see again. But unlike the other greats, he won’t see the merit he deserves for his skill. Perhaps his prickly exterior deterred him from gelling in every system and excluded him from playing a major role in the national side, but there was no changing who he was. He was Guti.
The man was never the fans’ favorite, he was never meant to be. His rockstar lifestyle and less than cuddly personality made him even more susceptible to the barbs of the Spanish media than anyone else. He even admitted that it would be impossible for him to play anywhere else in Spain. He’s hated at every other ground in a country marred by nationalistic feuds. His temper exploded to earn him eight red cards in the league alone at Real Madrid. But without question, at departure, fans were gutted to see him go. The relationship between the two parties was rocky at times, but losing a player with undying club loyalty cut from the cloth of their own fabric was a tough goodbye. Real Madrid lost Guti that coming summer, sadly going out on a trophy-less season. However, it was the dawn of a new generation in the capital and few things could have been done to prevent it. Guti may be a contentious idol of the past, but his legend as the Real Madrid’s maverick will live on forever in the minds of Madridistas for years to come.