Many years later, one of the most important records associated with Messi would be his Premier League debut.
Date: October 22, 2003.
Venue: Old Trafford.
Opponent: Manchester United away.
Situation: Ten men against eleven, trailing 1-0 and under heavy pressure.
Time of introduction: 78th minute, after Palacio was injured.
Age: Sixteen years and 120 days.
The youngest player ever to appear in the Premier League.
...
Messi initially took up a position on the right wing, where he was most comfortable.
From there, he could either attack the byline or cut inside onto his stronger left foot.
His left foot was dominant, although his right was technically sound as well.
His first touch came less than a minute after he entered the pitch.
Kaká, under pressure from Keane in midfield, shifted the ball towards the right.
Messi moved to receive it.
Before he could settle, Fortune came across from behind and hit him with a strong but fair shoulder challenge.
Messi was knocked off balance and lost possession.
Manchester United immediately launched a dangerous attack.
Strangely enough, that challenge helped him.
The nerves disappeared.
Messi began moving constantly, searching for space and trying to involve himself in the game.
The next few times he received possession on the right, he did not try to take Fortune on.
Instead, he played the ball back towards Kaká or Essien.
Fortune interpreted that as hesitation.
The boy was only sixteen.
He looked even younger.
And with Manchester United controlling the match, Fortune gradually became more confident.
Another five minutes passed.
Mourinho stood on the touchline with a grim expression.
For the first time, even he began wondering whether introducing Messi in a match like this had been too great a gamble.
This was the Red Devil Derby.
Old Trafford.
A match being watched across England and much of Europe.
And Messi was still only sixteen.
But Mourinho looked towards the bench again.
Villa was a natural goalscorer.
He had good pace and technique, but asking him to drop deep and beat defenders repeatedly from the wing would not play to his strengths.
Ribéry was dangerous too.
His acceleration was excellent, and his technique was strong, but he relied more on explosive bursts into space.
In the crowded areas created by Manchester United's three-man defensive midfield, Mourinho was not convinced Ribéry would make enough of a difference.
There were only two players in the squad he truly trusted to dribble through extremely tight spaces.
Palacio.
Messi.
Palacio was injured.
Messi was already on the pitch.
Mourinho had made his choice.
Kaká tried to carry the ball through the middle again, ran into another wall of Manchester United shirts, and was forced backwards.
Mourinho glanced towards Ferguson, who looked far too comfortable for his liking.
"Damn it," Mourinho muttered. "Why don't you just park the team bus in front of the goal while you're at it?"
Ferguson, of course, could not hear him.
Even if he had, he probably would not have cared.
Three points were three points.
Mourinho could complain as much as he liked.
...
Messi was finding almost no space further forward, so he gradually dropped towards midfield.
He knew New Manchester United's tactical system inside out.
He had grown up in it.
If he remained isolated near the touchline, he would accomplish nothing.
Dropping deeper would give the midfield another passing option.
Sure enough, Essien regained possession and quickly found him.
Kléberson moved across.
Fortune pressed from the other side.
The moment Messi received the ball, Fortune was already closing him down.
Messi reacted instinctively.
He shifted inside, taking the ball away from Fortune.
Then, with the outside of his left foot, he nudged it beyond Kléberson as well.
Two defenders beaten in a few metres of space.
The movement was so quick and clean that the crowd reacted immediately.
Messi accelerated diagonally towards the penalty area.
People began rising from their seats.
Then the situation became even more dangerous.
Silvestre stepped forward near the edge of the box to confront him.
Fortune was chasing desperately from behind.
Messi sensed the pressure closing around him.
Fortune was preparing to slide.
Silvestre had committed himself.
Messi made his decision.
Another sharp touch with his left foot took the ball across both defenders.
Fortune slid past him.
Silvestre was wrong-footed.
Messi accelerated again.
Ferdinand came across.
Messi dragged the ball towards his right foot and slipped beyond him too.
From outside the penalty area into the box, he had somehow moved through one of the most congested areas on the pitch without losing control.
Fortune.
Kléberson.
Silvestre.
Ferdinand.
All beaten.
Howard finally came off his line.
Messi hesitated for the briefest instant.
Then he shifted slightly wider and struck with his right foot from a tight angle.
The ball lifted beyond Howard's raised left hand.
Gary Neville raced towards the goal line.
Too late.
The ball dropped into the net.
1-1.
For a moment, Old Trafford seemed to stop.
Supporters froze.
Andy Gray and Martin Tyler fell silent.
Mourinho stared.
Ferguson stared.
Everyone stared.
Time seemed suspended.
A sixteen-year-old boy, making his Premier League debut, had taken responsibility at the moment his team needed something extraordinary.
The run immediately invited comparisons with Maradona.
The low centre of gravity.
The rapid changes of direction.
The defenders left behind one after another.
The composure at the end.
Fortune.
Kléberson.
Silvestre.
Ferdinand.
Howard.
Messi had gone through almost the entire Manchester United defence.
Premier League veterans had been made to look helpless.
For several seconds, there was nothing but stunned silence.
Then Old Trafford erupted.
The applause came first.
Then the noise.
Even many Manchester United supporters could not help reacting to what they had just witnessed.
It was simply too good.
Messi himself stood still after scoring.
He looked almost confused.
Then Drogba charged over, wrapped both arms around his waist, lifted him into the air, and carried him several steps.
Only then did Messi seem to realise what he had done.
He wriggled free.
Other teammates were already rushing towards him.
Messi suddenly turned and ran.
He sprinted towards the section containing New Manchester United's supporters.
At the touchline, he dropped to his knees.
Then he raised both hands.
Almost like a prayer.
Tears were already running down his face.
Years of uncertainty.
The medical problems of his childhood.
The move away from Argentina.
The fear that football might never work out.
In that moment, it all seemed very far away.
Messi wanted to thank one person in particular.
Someone who had believed in him from the beginning.
Someone who had helped him, supported him, and given him the chance to build a life in Manchester.
Ethan felt his throat tighten.
The supporters around him were celebrating wildly.
Anyone watching would naturally assume Messi was saluting the crowd.
Ethan knew better.
Messi was thanking him.
Without Ethan's intervention years earlier, Messi might still have been in Argentina.
His life could have taken an entirely different path.
One player after another arrived and surrounded him.
Then a chant began to spread through the stands.
"Messidona!"
"Messidona!"
At that moment, the comparison was inevitable.
Even Manchester United supporters who hated the scoreline had been forced to admire the goal.
Roughly sixty metres.
Ten seconds.
Five defenders beaten, with Fortune effectively beaten twice.
One finish.
In a few breathtaking moments, Messi had overturned a match Ferguson had spent days preparing for.
Ethan could still picture every movement.
The acceleration.
The touches.
The changes of direction.
The balance under contact.
Messi looked even sharper than Ethan remembered him being at the same age.
He was not physically imposing, but his balance was exceptional.
His close control was already extraordinary.
And when combined with those sudden changes of pace and direction, it became almost impossible for defenders to predict what he would do next.
Most impressive of all was his composure in front of goal.
Moniz had said it before.
Messi had a finisher's temperament.
And he was still only sixteen.
This was his Premier League debut.
Curtis retrieved the match ball and carried it towards the technical area for him.
Along the way, he exchanged high-fives with Mourinho, the coaching staff, and several substitutes.
Mourinho, meanwhile, had no intention of containing himself.
After everything Ferguson had done earlier, he celebrated directly in front of the Manchester United dugout.
He jumped.
Punched the air.
Then, for good measure, stuck his tongue out in Ferguson's direction.
Ferguson had been stunned by the goal too.
He watched Messi jog back towards the centre circle with obvious interest.
But when Mourinho began celebrating in front of him, Ferguson simply snorted and turned away.
He refused to give the Portuguese the satisfaction of a response.
...
The match restarted.
The equaliser transformed New Manchester United.
They were still playing with ten men.
It no longer felt like it.
Their confidence surged.
Messi remained on the right and continued attacking whenever he received possession.
His dribbling repeatedly unsettled Manchester United's defence.
Every successful run drew another roar from the stands.
And because Manchester United now had to devote more attention to Messi, space began opening elsewhere.
Kaká found more room.
Drogba became more involved.
Beckham and Essien could step forward from deeper positions.
Evra effectively took control of the entire left flank.
Suddenly, New Manchester United's attack came alive.
Manchester United still had the numerical advantage.
Yet momentum had completely turned against them.
Ferguson's team gradually retreated into their own half.
Even then, they could not hold on.
The match entered stoppage time.
93rd minute.
New Manchester United were still attacking.
Nobody had accepted the draw.
Beckham received possession and cleverly slipped the ball towards the right.
Messi accelerated past Fortune.
The ball was running towards the byline.
Messi stretched to reach it.
He had almost no time to look up.
He simply lifted the ball high into the penalty area before it could go out of play.
Even Messi himself probably could not have said exactly where the cross was going.
He had put it into a dangerous area and hoped someone would react.
The flight was awkward.
Manchester United's defenders struggled to read it.
Then, as the ball reached the edge of the area, it suddenly dropped.
Kaká was charging forward from midfield.
He saw the confusion inside the box.
He knew there was almost no time remaining.
There was no reason to hesitate.
Kaká adjusted his body.
Half-turned.
Raised his right leg.
And volleyed the dropping ball first time.
The strike exploded off his boot.
Howard had drifted slightly out of position.
He launched himself upwards.
It was not enough.
The ball skimmed beneath the crossbar and flew into the net.
1-2.
Old Trafford erupted again.
The finish immediately drew comparisons with Zidane's famous Champions League final volley.
Different side.
Different foot.
But the same kind of technique.
The same clean contact.
The same breathtaking result.
Kaká sprinted towards Messi.
The two embraced.
Then, caught up in the moment, they began celebrating together near the touchline, mixing playful samba and tango steps while their teammates rushed towards them.
Ferguson stood motionless.
He did not want to believe Manchester United had lost.
But the scoreboard had already changed.
Manchester United 1.
New Manchester United 2.
Ferguson's expression darkened.
"Damn that lucky Portuguese."
Tactically, Ferguson had outmanoeuvred Mourinho for most of the match.
His plan had worked.
Manchester United had disrupted New Manchester United's rhythm.
Cristiano Ronaldo had been sent off.
Drogba had been controlled.
Kaká had been crowded out.
For nearly eighty minutes, everything had gone exactly as Ferguson intended.
Then a sixteen-year-old appeared.
Two moments of individual brilliance had destroyed days of preparation.
Ferguson had won the tactical battle.
But genius had won the match.
(To be continued.)
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