My Footballing Legend

The winds of October began to sweep across the Canary Islands with a biting chill that wrapped around the edges of buildings and academy bibs alike — signalling what was around the corner, the long, drawn-out heart of the season.

Tourists were dwindling. Starts to the day and nights began appearing out of thin air. The grass had become slicker just outside of the Heliodoro and the air had lost summer's warmth.

The season's opening promise had turned for the players and staff at CD Tenerife into the stark reality of the routine — one fixture at a time, bruises compounding with every matchday, and legs that were beginning to feel heavier.

Nonetheless, through it all - one name was holding on to floodgates of fatigue: Neymar.

It felt like only a matter of weeks since he dazzled us all with a moment of brilliance against Atlético Madrid - one curling strike that lit up the island and suggested that, perhaps, Tenerife could be more than a footnote in history this season.

Since that moment, the young Brazilian had landed on the island with a charm that seemed to cause friction, and he was smiling more than he was frowning. He laughed at Víctor's dry sense of humour, and asked Mauro how you even 'properly' eat papas arrugadas, whilst even trying to imitate the local accent during post-training banter.

But all of that became a distant memory to what he was doing on the pitch.

Neymar was not just playing well - he was playing like a comet.

On matchday seven, Tenerife was hosting Getafe in the fading light of the late afternoon sun. The match became a spectacle. Neymar scored once, assisted twice, and was fouled seven times before the hour mark. By the 20th minute, the entire crowd was chanting his name. It had become almost ritualistic now - the crowd rising to its feet every time Neymar picked the ball up near the left touchline.

His goal? A pure moment of self-invention. One minute he was pirouetting on the periphery of the box and the next - a step-over, a dropped shoulder and a quick snap shot into the bottom corner that left Getafe's keeper stuck to the ground like a statue.

On the touch line, Laurence stood with his arms crossed.

He did not celebrate.

He now expected it.

But that expectation began to grow into something colder, something more calculating - concern.

Because behind Neymar, there was not much.

Víctor was first to pick up on it, before Laurence even said it out loud. Whenever Neymar was rested or flipped a drill, the energy changed. The tempo slowed. Natalio was industrious but predictable; he still wasn't quite getting the timing of his diagonal runs. Kome - who's more leg than lung now - was wandering too deep and too slow. Omar Ramos was showy, but lacked confidence in a way that resembled the windy island's behaviours.

If there were any codes to crack, there was no spark without Neymar on the pitch. Laurence didn't need the data - he could feel it. 

And now there was something else to think about.

The Copa del Rey.

A competition he was not in a position to ignore.

For clubs like Tenerife, the Copa was not just another game, it was an opportunity. Prestige. Headlines. Gate receipts. And if the pura vida gods cooperated, perhaps a draw against a giant that could electrify the island and fill every seat at the Heliodoro.

But there was no depth. Not really. The depth chart was already shallow. The training reports began to show red zones coming into view - fatigue, soreness, and small muscular strains. Laurence knew he could not extract Neymar every ninety minutes, twice a week. Not without repercussions.

Then the draw came.

Round of 32: Elche CF.

A Segunda División team — and there was no chance to rest players.

Laurence stood in his office, looking blankly at the wall calendar. The fixtures all jammed together like dominoes. League fixtures. Travel. The Copa. And now Neymar in the middle of it.

He let out an exhale. "We can't play Neymar in both legs."

Mauro Pérez stood beside him, arms crossed, watching Laurence's gaze.

"And if you don't?" Mauro asked.

Laurence went straight to the point. "We might go out. That's the answer."

Víctor entered, holding a clipboard and flipping through the session notes.

"If we rest Neymar," he said, tapping the list of names pinned to the cork board, "then you'll need to gamble."

Laurence looked over. "On who?"

Víctor shrugged. "Youth players? Move Kitoko on? Or do something crazier and play two strikers — Natalio and Kome. You've done our stranger things."

No smile. Laurence wasn't smiling.

He stared at the board, the names, the tenuous design of role and fitness at stake.

In the end, he mumb

The headlines started small.

"Brazilian Jewel Chars the Islands."

Then the murmurs began to creep in.

"Barcelona Need to Start Paying Attention."

"From Praia Grande to Tenerife - The Next Star?"

Laurence hated every bit of it.

He did not want Neymar beginning to dream about Camp Nou in January. He did not want agents swooping in like vultures. But more than that, he did not want Tenerife to be a one-man team. He had been in all positions. He knew what happened to one man teams - when the star faded, so too did everything else. 

After a bloody 1-1 away draw to Osasuna - another game in which Neymar had pulled them out of the muck with a piece of solo genius - Laurence sat in his office long after the team bus had returned. The lights were low. He had his notebook laid open in front of him but it had not been touched. 

Mauro had walked in quietly and placed two coffees on the desk.

"You'll kill yourself like this," he said gently. 

Laurence did not look up. "We are not going to get through the season like this." 

Mauro sat down facing him. "Then we reinforce in January." 

"With what money?"

Mauro grinned, slightly. "The Neymar shirts are already making the board sweat with joy. You wouldn't believe the pre-orders we're getting from São Paulo."

Laurence finally raised his head. He closed the notebook. 

"We need one more attacker," he said. "Not a name. Just someone clever. Someone who knows when to move when Neymar drops deep. Someone who can threaten and unhinge a back line when they get set for a kick off. And we need him for the cup games. A joker." 

"A wildcard?" Mauro asked. 

"Exactly." Laurence said. 

Mauro relaxed against the back of his chair. "Do you have anyone in mind?"

"Not yet," Laurence said. "But we'll definitely need him soon. The Copa is upon us. The league is grueling. And if Neymar drops out..."

He didn't finish the sentence. 

Neither did Mauro.

They sat in the silence, the winds of autumn humming and hissing through the windows, carrying truths that neither wanted to hear.

led, "I'll rotate. Slight. But if it goes wrong, Neymar comes in."

By the end of October, Neymar had scored four goals and assisted three in La Liga — the best start for any Tenerife attacker in over two decades. And inevitably, the Spanish media had taken notice.