105:28. New Jersey.
Nahuel Molina glanced over his shoulder. Nico Williams crawled back a few yards. The Argentine right-back assumed he would cover if a cross came from the opposite side.
Molina set himself to meet the delivery of Pedro Porro. Then came the cold. Williams was no longer behind him. He was in front.
Molina was defeated by a sprint.
That’s what Williams does. Second among Spaniards in top speed, third in number of sprints per 90 minutes.
He scores, creates, dribbles and dances. Mostly, though, he runs.
He runs as the other two once walked.
***
1994. Akim Oda, Eastern Ghana.
Maria Comfort is unable to provide Arthur and Felix Williams with their jobs – hairdresser and electrician respectively. He had learned that England was a thriving center for Ghanaian immigrants – Haringey, Southwark, Croydon.
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“Go to Spain instead,” suggested the friend. “That would be a lot cheaper.”
Cheap, it was. What they were not told, however, was the excruciating pain they endured during their 5,000 kilometer journey. They used to cross most of the Sahara desert on foot. The temperature reached 50 degrees. If sand could melt flesh and four bones, it would.
Nico always knew his father was lame. It was only later that he came to know of the injury he had suffered in the desert.
Maria, three months pregnant with her eldest son, Inaki, was certain that she would not go to Spain. On a route that crossed five nations – Burkina Faso, Niger, Algeria, Morocco and finally, Spain – she would bury – literally, not metaphorically – many friends. Many have given up what they had in search of a better life.
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However, she entered Melilla – an autonomous Spanish city located in Morocco. Only civil guards should be caught. There wouldn’t be a Spanish fairy tale without the lawyer who suggests Williams destroy every document he can find in Ghana and claims he fled the Liberian civil war. Only in this way will they be eligible for asylum.
A goal depicting Spain winning the FIFA World Cup! 🏆 pic.twitter.com/haCKMQYzOL
— Santino (@TheRealSantino) 20 July 2026
Felix got a job at a chicken slaughterhouse. Maria took all the jobs like pizzeria, supermarket, airport. Inaki is set to become Athletic Bilbao’s first black star and Nico is one of the brightest talents the country has ever produced.
Talent on display at the Euros. A goal in the final against England. This World Cup was even more brutal – mainly because of injuries. A sports hernia at the start of the season, a hamstring problem at the end and then a contact injury in the World Cup match against Uruguay.
“Today is one of the worst days of my life,” he lamented after the game. Sunday was one of his best.
***
105:33. New Jersey.
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The angle was acute when Williams met Pedro Porro’s cross, but on 24 a rare chance to become a national hero came on. Charmed, he – perhaps to the surprise of Argentina goalkeeper Emiliano Martinez – dropped his header in the direction the ball had come from.
Growing up, Williams was raised on a maxim. It was his mother Maria’s favorite saying, Inaki has it tattooed on his arm.
“If you want to go fast, go alone; if you want to go far, go together.”
Heroes usually remember to choose themselves.
Williams made a good choice. Ferran Torres.
***
Spain’s Ferran Torres, left, celebrates next to Nico Williams after scoring the opening goal during the World Cup final soccer match between Spain and Argentina, Sunday, July 19, 2026, in East Rutherford, N.J., near New York. (AP Photo/Ashley Landis)
2024. Barcelona, Northeast Spain.
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A rare season without a trophy. A 4-1 El Clasico loss in the Supercopa de España. Same scoreline against Paris Saint-Germain in the Champions League.
When seasons unfold at Barcelona, blame is rarely claimed. Ferran Torres became his patron.
Signed for €65 million at a time when the club could hardly afford to splurge, he scored just 25 goals in his first 113 appearances. 0.22 per game.
The vitriol was relentless. Social media became a conveyor belt for mockery. Torres muted most of it, but not enough. He didn’t want to play football anymore. Happiness had left him and all that was left was the burden of existence.
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“I fell into a bottomless pit; I didn’t know how to get out. I was in a place where I lost faith in my abilities. When you’re in that place, you don’t want to do anything. I even lost the joy of playing football.”
Torres underwent therapy.
Wait, psychologist? Shouldn’t football – the male kind, at least – be all about machismo, masculinity, bravado? Why didn’t Ferran feel better to make Roy Keane feel better?
He never cared enough about stigma. Just as brazenly, he declared himself Swifty, once naming Taylor Swift’s Blank Space among his favorite songs.
‘Oh God, look at that face// You see my next mistake.’
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One can only imagine Keane finding these lyrics with a raised eyebrow.
The sessions helped. Over the next two seasons he would score 40 goals in 94 appearances. 0.43 per game.
“It (seeking a psychologist) shouldn’t be a taboo subject. I don’t go to a psychologist because I’m sick. I go outside my family and inner circle to get perspective and vent. Sometimes, letting your feelings out frees you.”
***
105:36. New Jersey.
Williams headed Porro’s cross into the path of Torres. A stunning right-footed shot found its way into the roof of the net, past a scrambling Martinez and a helpless trio of Argentine defenders. There is another star on Spain’s jersey — courtesy of their two stars.
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One – a self-proclaimed ‘citizen of the world’ – broke the shackles of geographical boundaries. Another broke the shackles of his mind.
Two escapists. escape into bliss.