There is a lot of theatre in football, a rich choreography of 22 players displaying their talent on a gigantic stage (up to 90 metres long) from the moment the referee blows the whistle and the curtain opens until, an hour and a half later, the show ends, divided into two acts. In stadiums there are boxes and a cockpit; backstage and dressing rooms (tunnel and changing rooms); typical errors of stage fright; a prompter (coach) who scolds his cast from the technical area when they disobey his instructions and who often changes the plot on the fly, forced to improvise due to an unfavourable score, an injury or a surplus of cards on the field. Sometimes, when they score a goal, the footballers break the fourth wall and climb into the stands to celebrate with the public. There are also divas who get off the bus without looking at the children who have come to wait for them, hoping to get an autograph, and grateful stars who hug the little one who looks at them with devotion in the pre-match pose. On the stage, the players take on different roles: protagonist, substitute, false 9… pool boy. It is easy to see great performances: throwing himself on the ground, writhing in pain trying to move the referee to get a penalty, or making dramatic pauses, counting to 100 before kicking off when they are winning, like those actors who take time to remember a line from the script. And we have become so accustomed to these dirty tricks that it is worth highlighting the gestures of honesty and nobility. Virtue deserves as many incentives as fouls are punished. Recently, Aimar Oroz, from Osasuna, tried to prevent the expulsion of Alfon González, from Celta, when he was shown the red card for dangerous play: “Arbi, he doesn’t see it,” he said to Martínez Munuera. He didn’t pay attention to him, but the Galician club thanked the red-and-white player for his attempt on their social networks: “Honour, Osasuna.”
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