What he had done was a reminder of the power of enjoyment, further evidence that a grin isn’t a handicap and a joke isn’t a crime, still unprofessionalism; that scowling seriousness is not the only route to success, and happiness helps. Everyone’s favourite cheeky scamp, more famous for his gags than his goals, Joaquin isn’t just a comedian, he is also a competitor; he’s not still playing because he’s funny, but he may well still be playing because it’s fun, another way of clinging to your childhood. “I have kids of 19 and one of 38 in my team,” Rubi said. Emerson, who provided the assist for the first, was one the day Joaquin made his first-team debut. Diego Lainez, playing alongside him, was two months old. Loren Moron made the third. His dad played against Joaquín, now he plays with him, just like Sergio Canales. “Granddad,” Canales wrote on the ball, “it’s an honour to play with you.”
“The dickhead,” Joaquin laughed as he read it out on the radio.
“If I had known how much hassle there would be, I wouldn’t have done it,” Joaquin joked on Sunday night. He might even have scored more, the clock showing 90.57 when he raced into the area and drew a sharp save from Unai Simon. “I was as stiff as dried cod: If I’d stopped to control it, I’d have fallen over,” he said. Besides, three was just enough. Athletic pulled two back but Betis had won again—that’s three in a row now, a single defeat in six, Europe in sight instead of relegation—and standing pitchside at the end the ball under his arm, Joaquin was beaming, barely able to believe it. “This was my first hat-trick and I think it’ll be my last,” he said. Back in the dressing room, everyone was waiting for him again. When at last he arrived, they got to their feet and gave him a standing ovation.
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