No sooner had Lucas Leiva finished parading his Golden Samba around Anfield than the expectation heaped upon his young shoulders had catapulted him in to Liverpool's next saviour. As he trudged around the famous stadium clasping an award that his achievements merited, it was a personal victory on many levels.
"There is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure." - Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist
Lucas Leiva had become the protagonist embarking on a journey. He defied his fears to set off on a passage that would not only transform him as a player, but elevate him into one of Liverpool's most heavily relied upon players of recent times.
It's almost approaching 4 years to the day, when Liverpool were playing Fulham on a cold November afternoon at Anfield. Xabi Alonso was stationed on the bench and a young Brazilian was attempting to engineer Liverpool to a victory that would have vaulted them to the summit of the league. Lucas Leiva was trying to stake a claim for a regular starting spot, but not all was going to plan. With the game in dying need of a creative spark, the crowd grew impatient with every pass. Nothing much transpired. The game ended 0-0. Lucas' departure from the pitch was met with a chorus of boos. Already low on self-esteem, Lucas' confidence was shattered. Liverpool's newest scapegoat had been unveiled. The pitchfork yielding mob, who had been gathering pace for a number of months had reached the precipice.
So numbingly potent was the sound of a boo and so far reaching was the crowds vociferous disapproval against a player, that it hurt Lucas. His world was being shattered. That mind numbing fear of rejection had entrapped him. An opportunity squandered. He was in a dark place. So far he must have seemed from Gremio. So arduous that journey appeared now.
In fact, Lucas' journey had just begun.
"People just don't know how good Lucas is" - Rafael Benitez
It wasn't a cryptic clue. Rather a show of unconditional support from his manager. A statement discarded at the time with the expectation to see Brazilian exuberance, a touch of South American flair, and the box-to-box forays that were the hallmark of his Gremio tenure. Benitez knew it. Somewhere, entrenched in his inner workings, Lucas knew it too. But it wasn't manifesting itself in the way he'd hoped. He had to improve. In fact, Lucas' path to glory wasn't via the sublime pieces of skill or vulgar step-overs so often associated with his Brazilian counterparts. He wasn't the one who kickstarted our imaginary kick swipes towards goal. Rather one that required redefinition. Lucas re-wrote the art of bouncing back.
The Brazilian General. The boy from Gremio who caught the torrent of abuse from rooftops and terraces, chewed them up and spat them back like a curve ball of fire, shot from a golden arrow. The man who wouldn't take no for answer, when every armchair football fan up and down the country rendered him 'useless', and one of the worst players to don the famous red jersey. The abuse was deafening. A 21 year old, in a new country, fighting to make a name for himself. He tried desperately to force his way in to a midfield containing a trio of architects at the pinnacle of their careers.
Lucas thrived on the criticism. He welcomed the challenge, and so began his journey to prove every critic, every doubter, and naysayer that he could make the grade his potential warranted. That he deserved to be at one of the biggest clubs in the world. He fought, and rose again again, like the Dark Knight who sidesteps from the street shadows on to center stage. With every match, with every kick of the ball, Lucas re-invented himself, he re-aquainted himself with the player that was always underneath the surface. Presented with an opportunity to play the holding midfield position, he had to re-model his game to play as a defensive midfielder.
He acquired a belief in himself that he belonged at Liverpool. He remained resolute in his goals, and with the boos still echoing in his ear like a reoccurring nightmare, he began to drown them out. With Xabi Alonso's departure, and Alberto Aquilani's malfunctioning Liverpool career, Lucas became a mainstay in the team. Slowly, but surely, with every performance he improved. He began to impose himself on matches, snapping at the heels of opponents, and tackling like a hungry predator. The fans warmed to him with every passing game.
Finally we reached a point where realism had replaced hyperbole. This was the real deal. When Manchester City visited Anfield in the league last season, Lucas kept both Yaya Toure and David Silva in his back pocket with the authority of a general commandeering his troops. Lucas began patrolling the area in front of his defence like a sheriff protecting his territory. He was relentless, and he was firmly on this way to becoming one of Europe's most respected defensive midfielders. What made Lucas was what couldn't break Lucas. He was inspirational. If Daniel Agger was the heart of the defense, Steven Gerrard the fulcrum of the midfield, Luis Suarez the forefront of the attack; Lucas was the lynchpin of the team.
By the time that sickening feeling of an ACL tear had settled in to the stomachs of every Liverpool fan, they had already emotionally invested themselves in to his qualities. They'd come full circle. Lucas Leiva, the player that wasn't good enough for Liverpool, and now Liverpool weren't good enough without Lucas Leiva. The turnaround was complete. Albeit, a brief comeback in August, his absence has been a stark reminder to us that we've missed him terribly. His Welsh understudy has done an admirable job to fill his shoes, plugging the holes in front of the patch of grass Lucas makes his own. There is though, no one like Lucas.
The days are fast approaching where we pencil him in to our formations as an automatic starter, which hopefully coincide with a triumphant return to first team action. With it, Liverpool's feel good factor will further be boosted.
