Argentina – August 2004
The phone rang just past midnight at La Masia.
Messi, half-asleep, answered groggily.
"¿Hola?"
The voice on the other end was deep. Familiar.
"Lionel, this is José Pékerman."
Messi sat up straight.
His heart stopped.
"You're being called up. Argentina. Senior team. Friendly against Hungary."
Silence.
Then a whisper.
"…Gracias."
He didn't say more.
He couldn't.
The Dream Fulfilled
The next day, Messi sat alone with the letter in his hand — the official call-up from AFA.
Not U20.Not training camp.
The real team.The Albiceleste.
Crespo. Riquelme. Ayala. Sorín.
And now… him.
The Flight to Budapest
The Argentine squad traveled light, but the pressure traveled heavy.
Every step off the plane in Hungary, Messi could feel it:
Eyes.Questions.Doubt.
"The next Maradona?""Too young.""Too small.""Let's see."
The coach patted his back gently.
"Relax, Leo. It's just a friendly."
But Messi knew — nothing is friendly when you wear that shirt.
The Shirt Itself
In the locker room, the kitman handed him the number 18 jersey.
Not 10. Not yet.
But still — blue and white, stitched with gold.
His hands trembled when he pulled it over his head.
"Breathe," he told himself.
He sat quietly.
No jokes. No songs. Just his heartbeat.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The Match – Argentina vs. Hungary
Debrecen, Hungary – August 17, 2005
Minute 63.
Pékerman turned to the bench.
"Leo. Warm up."
Messi stood, jogged down the sideline. The crowd murmured.
Some didn't know who he was.
Others had only seen clips online. Whispers of a child genius.
Now he was here.
In flesh. In motion.
The board went up.
OUT: Lisandro López.IN: Lionel Messi.
Argentina led 2–1.
But the score didn't matter.
This was Messi's debut.
Minute 65 – First Touch
Riquelme sent a short pass.
Messi trapped it, turned, and beat one man immediately.
The crowd gasped.
But the next defender grabbed his shirt.
Messi stayed up.
The ref waved play on.
Minute 67 – The Fall
Messi received a ball near the sideline.
He turned.
Too quick.
The Hungarian defender panicked — and pulled Messi hard by the collar.
Messi threw his elbow back to shake him off.
Not violent.Not dangerous.
But the referee blew the whistle.
Reached to his pocket.
And pulled out a red card.
Silence.
Even the Hungarian crowd froze.
Red? For that?
The Argentine bench exploded.
Pékerman stared in disbelief.
"He just got on!"
Messi walked off the pitch, face blank.
But inside, a storm raged.
**Debut: 2 Minutes.
Touches: 3.Fouls Suffered: 1.Cards: 1 Red.**
In the Tunnel
Messi sat alone on the bench inside the stadium tunnel, head bowed.
A staff member offered water.
He didn't move.
Riquelme came in later, sat beside him.
"They fear what they don't understand," he said softly."Don't let one mistake define you."
Back in Argentina
The headlines exploded.
"Messi's Debut Ends in Red!""Too Immature?""Not Ready for the Pressure?"
But others defended him.
"They fouled him because they couldn't stop him.""He was too fast — and punished for it."
Maradona himself was asked.
He grinned.
"I got sent off in my debut, too. That boy? He'll write a better story than I ever did."
Back in Rosario – Antonela's Call
When he landed back in Spain, Messi had 47 missed calls.
But only one mattered.
He called her first.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "It was stupid."
"No," she said. "It was unfair."
"I wore the shirt for two minutes."
"And you'll wear it for ten more years."
Silence.
Then she added:
"This was just a test. You'll pass the next one."
Back to La Masia
The staff didn't mention the red.
Neither did Rijkaard.
But after one training session, the coach pulled him aside.
"It's easy to shine when things go right," he said."Let's see how you rise after they go wrong."
Messi nodded.
Notebook Entry – Late at Night
Anto,I wore the blue and white. Then they sent me off.People said I failed.But when I closed my eyes, I still heard the anthem.Still felt the shirt against my skin. The badge over my heart.They can take the minutes away.But not the dream.I'll be back. And next time… they'll remember me for what I do, not how I left.—Leo
Rijkaard's Decision
A week later, Rijkaard gave Messi his first start of the season.
Not off the bench.
Not at the end.
A full 90-minute trust.
The Next Match – vs. Sevilla
From the first whistle, Messi played with fire in his eyes.
Every dribble had bite. Every run had meaning.
In the 33rd minute, he curled in a goal so elegant, the commentator screamed:
"¡Red card that, Hungary!"
Barcelona won 3–1.
And Messi… was back.
Chapter End Reflection
He wore the Argentina jersey for 127 seconds that day.
He didn't score.Didn't assist.Didn't even get to sprint once in space.
But what he carried from it was more than a stat sheet.
He carried a fire.
A hunger.
A mission.
Not just to play for Argentina.To lead them. One day. To glory.