Is this the end, my only friend?

437 months or, in other words, 36 years. Are they a representation of time gone by or a vestige of a future yet to be written?

Many of those who once kissed the ground he walked on, branded him a coward for leaving for Italy. A minor league, they said, a paradise for those with the illusion of retiring early, they stressed. I hate clichés, but on this occasion, I will base my arguments on a classic: time puts everyone in their place. Today the transalpine country is mourning his departure and Calcio, taking a step back, is once again seen as more defensive.

Perhaps it is still early days, but Juventus are currently Serie B fodder, showing a very poor and disjointed game, whose only point of union was once their admiration for the man who wears the 7 on his back. Meanwhile, it has stopped raining in Manchester. The timid light that young Sancho had been predicted to bring has been overtaken by a new sun.

I approve of most of his behaviors, even the ungrateful arrogance associated with him (despite those who know him extolling his respect and commitment) as they have led him to be elevated as a sportsman and to be appreciated as a person for his values. Once again he shows us that the limits are wherever you are willing to go and that age represents the passing of multiple springs and not the arrival of an eternal winter.

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