Andres Iniesta – El mago con la pelota

Callum Patrick

25th March 2020 | 11:56 PM

We know Andres Iniesta as Andres Iniesta, the diminutive artisan who made every match he took part in a glorified game of piggy-in-the-middle for the best part of a decade. He who interspersed those myriads of meticulous passing patterns with freestyles of jinks and flicks and swerves that made even your dad give a knowing ‘Olé’. He who made passing look better than anybody had done. Hell, he didn’t pass it, he caressed the football up and down the pitch on hundreds of feverishly hot Catalonian afternoons and nights.

Iniesta
Art by Onkar Shirsekar

It was Iniesta that defined and was integral to what made Barcelona and the Spanish national team great during their respective golden eras at the beginning of the 2010s as an archetype of the ‘tiki-taka’ doctrine that swept all before it. He was an output for waves of pressure induced by those seemingly neverending sequences of passes that overwhelmed opponents time and time again, a tireless servant to the art of possession-based football. Moreover, his synergy with Xavi and Sergio Busquets, all moulded in the confides of La Masia and all-conquering with the Blaugrana and La Roja, was the basis of the greatest midfield triumvirate football has ever known. Together, the trio formed a triangle of inexhaustible passing lanes plucked straight from Pep Guardiola’s fantasies.

Iniesta was a player that was universally adored; worshipped in Barcelona and treasured in Spain whilst being admired elsewhere. I was part of the latter category, finding myself hypnotised by Iniesta’s subtle allure but only on special occasions like Champions League nights and major international competitions. Each occasion I had the pleasure of watching Iniesta was a dip in the twilight zone, an echo chamber where minutes could whistle past with every string of passes pinged back and forth from Iniesta. I would catch myself only when the ceaseless passing halted and I’d see five minutes had vanished from my life. You’re back in the room.

In all honesty, Iniesta’s compatriots as well as the devotees that filled the Camp Nou week after week during his pomp are really better placed to describe what made Andres a legend of the beautiful game. In fact, they did just that with the nickname they heralded him with. Two words that boil down one of the finest midfielders ever to his essence: El Illusionista. What a name that is; the beauty of it is it works. Iniesta was a magician. If Harry Houdini or David Copperfield ever swapped the suit and tie (or straitjacket) for a football strip, they would fill Iniesta’s shoes as a conductor in the midfield, all elegance and precision. Controlled extravagance.

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