Once upon a time, in the glorious realm of professional football, where fortunes are made and dreams either blossom or wilt beneath the harsh glare of stadium lights, there existed a player so uniquely average that he made mediocre a fine art. Enter Rafael Cid Martínez, the almost-professional footballer whose journey teaches us that sometimes, the path to athletic fame is paved not with skill but with amusing misadventures and a generous dose of parental support. Rafael was born to make headlines, albeit the kind that appear on the back pages—the ones adorned with the tagline “could have been.” A shining star in the world of youth football, he had all the makings of an idol: a fleeting glimpse of talent, an uncanny ability to be in the right place just slightly too late, and, above all, an enthusiastic entourage of friends who believed, against all odds, that he would break the barriers of mediocrity. How could one not dream of a career that oscillated between the sublime and the ridiculous? His tenure with UNAM, a club wedged somewhere between the titans of Mexican football and the forgotten souls of the sport, served as a crucible for young Rafael. With the fervor of a dog chasing its own tail, he fought valiantly—albeit unsuccessfully—for a first-team spot. Fans rallied behind him, not out of genuine belief in his abilities, but in a collective effort to inject a bit of humor into their otherwise mundane lives. “If only he tried running in straight lines!” muttered one spectator after Rafael executed a particularly spectacular bout of tripping over the ball. With the undying spirit of a child who’s just discovered they have too many LEGO blocks and not enough imagination, Cid was then loaned to Cruz Azul Hidalgo. A move lauded by his coaches as “an opportunity to find his niche,” it quickly spiraled into a series of “oops” moments so monumental that they could inspire a sitcom. Imagine the joy of fans as they watched their team’s championship dreams roll away with a poorly executed pass or an overzealous attempt at a bicycle kick that ended with Rafael crash-landing in the upper stands. Yet, through it all, Rafael persisted. Why? Because the beauty of being an almost-professional footballer lies not in the goals scored or the tackles executed but in the sheer audacity of continuing to chase what most would label an “unlikely dream.” He became the poster boy for a peculiar brand of hope: one that rests squarely on the thin line between gallant effort and tragicomedy. His rise—if one could call it that—was marked by a series of “almost” moments that could have inspired motivational posters if only they hadn’t been so darned embarrassing. Trade marks of his career included stunning fouls that looked less like strategic plays and more like exuberant expressions from a kid let loose in a playground—a whirlwind of limbs that rarely led to results. Awkward camera angles capturing him slipping while attempting to negotiate a simple pivot became the fodder of countless memes, each a gentle reminder that he was just one pass away from ‘glorious failure.’ And then came the inevitable fall from grace. In a stunning twist worthy of the grandest of tales, Rafael decided to hang up his cleats before the world could heartlessly dismiss him. The once-promising career that had danced tantalizingly just out of reach fizzled into oblivion. But alas, he took with him the legacy of an almost-legend, a reminder that every tale of ambition needs its comic relief. In the end, we are left to ponder the enigmatic career of Rafael Cid Martínez: a player who, while rarely taken seriously, provided an endless supply of entertainment. The cautionary tale of his life on and off the field reveals that fame is a capricious mistress, often lavishing adulation on those capable of delivering a laugh—regardless of skill. Indeed, in a world where stars are forged from natural talent, our dear Rafael Cid shall forever be immortalized as the nearly-man, proving that sometimes, the pitch doesn’t remember your name, but it will certainly remember the chuckles you inspired. In the footballing world, if you can’t be the best, it’s much better to be the punchline.