"Football isn't to blame for what happened to me."

Badalona"He ruined my life. He destroyed my life. And it was a simple, normal life," says Raúl Sánchez (Badalona, ​​1979) as he drains a glass of water through a straw. He drains it, but tries to always keep it full. His life changed radically on April 26, 2014, during a veterans' league match: a kick to the back from an opponent left him in a wheelchair forever. Eleven years later, the sentencing of the attacker has arrived: six years in prison and about 750,000 euros.

That Saturday, he almost didn't go to play: they were tough days because he'd separated and was moving, but in the end, he decided to go precisely because football is "the perfect excuse to unwind, to forget about his problems." "To meet up, have a beer, and talk," he adds. He worked as a welder and played in a veterans' league, a context that was initially uncompetitive: "The phrase that was repeated most was 'you have to work on Mondays.'" "That game still resonates with me. It's a game that's been going on for eleven years now. It's been going on for too long," he emphasizes.

It was a heated match. Sánchez asked the referee to blow the final whistle sooner, but he told him that with so little time remaining, it was better to finish. "It could be something to improve, because the referee has the power to say enough and stop the match. But I can also understand them. They're alone and sometimes afraid. If he had blown the final whistle, everyone would have turned on him. He's not to blame for what happened. There's only one person to blame," he says. During a dispute, he collided with an opponent: it seemed like nothing more than a normal charge, but the opponent turned and started hitting him. Punches to the chest and face. The referee sent him off. But from the stands, he continued insulting him and threatening to kill him. Shortly after, a teammate fell to the ground. Sánchez ran to help him. These were the last steps he took: along the way, he felt a kick in his back.

"I felt a whiplash in my neck and fell to the ground. My hand was left under my chest, but I couldn't get it out. I remember hearing a very loud whistling sound. I tried to speak and shout for help, but I couldn't. I couldn't move. I'm a quadriplegic." From the ground, I could see teammates and opponents continuing to fight. When the ambulance arrived, the opponents were already in the locker room. They had taken off their shirts so the attacker couldn't be identified by their number. He remembers the fear of not falling asleep during the ambulance ride to the Can Ruti and Vall d'Hebron hospitals.

He says his life is worse than it was. "Ugh, because of so many things," he emphasizes. He talks about the sadness of "knowing you won't be the same as before and that nothing will be the same as before." He talks about the dangers of asking why. "It's the worst. It sends you into a loop. Nothing changes, it's useless. It happened to you because it happened to you." He talks about the anger of not being able to enter a restaurant via a step, entering a store and having the clerk address the person accompanying him, and feeling like a "second-class citizen" because the world isn't adapted and prepared for people with reduced mobility. He used to go to the beach often. But he hasn't been back since the accident: "I don't feel like it because everyone would watch me go into the water, as if it were a circus."

"I need help with practically everything"

Sometimes the change hurts: from climbing to the top of Pedraforca and being the person who painted his friends' houses to having to ask for help when he drops the TV remote on the floor because he can't pick it up. "I need help for practically everything," he sighs. He has two people hired as caregivers.

He claims that a sentence "can't be fair when it comes so late" and adds that this one is "cheap in every way," starting with the fact that there's no money to compensate for the damage caused. The attacker hadn't contacted him. When they met at the trial, he hung his head. The defense requested a medical evaluation: "They said I was better than we'd given them credit for. The first thing the doctor did was tell me to take off my jacket. I told him we could spend the whole day like that. I can't take off a T-shirt. I can put it over my head and the sleeves, but not pull it down the back."

Sometimes he didn't know how to fill the days, so long, too long, but he found a vital meaning, a mission: to fight violence in football through education and raising awareness. He made a documentary that can be found on 3Cat, Netflix, and YouTube. April 26. Play again, and gives talks at clubs and schools, in a context where violence in football is on the rise: year after year, requests for police presence on football pitches increase, for example. He now regrets ever having insulted a referee or an opponent. "It's hard to stand up there and tell your story, but it fulfills me," he admits. "Life goes on and must go on," he argues.

Sánchez continues to enjoy the ball. Now on television: "In the end, football isn't to blame for what happened to me."