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          Real Betis legend Joaquin says emotional goodbye to soccer after 23 seasons

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          Real Betis legend Joaquin announces retirement (1:12)

          Real Betis' captain Joaquin who holds the record for club appearances at the Benito Villamarin Stadium will retire at the end of the season. (1:12)

          • Sid Lowe, Spain writerApr 21, 2023, 04:31 AM ET

          Joaquin Sanchez has spent most his life crying with laughter. This time he just cried.

          Actually, no, that's not entirely true. How could it be? This is Joaquin, we're talking about: the cheeky scamp with a grin on his face, a glint in his eye and magic in his boots, the winger with the finta y el esprin, as the PA announcer at Real Betis' Benito Villamarin stadium used to put it: the feint and the sprint. The endless jokes, too. The footballer who aspired to art and wanted to crack you up. "The man who made the fans happy," as his president, Angel Haro, said. "Loved by everyone not just for his qualities as a player but as a human."

          And so on Thursday when he announced his farewell to football, joined by teammates, family and friends, an event that might have felt like a funeral instead went like a wedding. Of course there were a lot of laughs, but here were a lot of tears too. "I don't want this to be a sad goodbye; I don't know how to do sad," Joaquin said; only a few seconds later he was crying again, and so were they. It was not the last time. Loosen your tie, he was told. Yeah, good idea, he replied.

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          This came as a surprise to them too: they had thought the 41-year-old was going to go on. But he had decided. Not, he insisted, because his body can't take it any more, or even because his mind can't.

          "The time is right," he said. And so there are nine games left until the end of this, his twenty-fourth season, and then what? He'll stay at Betis but it won't be the same. "I'm ready," he said, but no one really is. "The thing I am worried about is missing it more than I realise: the smell of wet grass, the smell of the dressing room, of boots."

          "It's going to be strange," his daughter Salma said, not really knowing what else to say.

          As Joaquin walked into the room, impeccable in a blue suit, he was given a guard of honour by his teammates, applauding him in. There was the warmth of a wedding, the feeling of one too, right down to the photos at the end with different groups: Joaquin with wife and daughters, Joaquin with mum and dad, Joaquin with teammates, Joaquin with the president, Joaquin with the captains, Joaquin with the whole squad, even Joaquin with the journalists.

          There were speeches: from the president, the captains, his coach. "What can I say about this guy?" Betis midfielder Andres Guardado said. So he said what everyone did really: top man, this man. There were speeches from his agent, from the coaches who saw him through as a kid, from the team delegate Alexis Trujillo, and Betis legend Rafael Gordillo. Sitting at the front together, mics in hand, telling stories and giggling away, those two were like a comedy double act.

          Joaquin's wife Susana and children came up. He went and helped his elderly father, Aurelio, to his feet, leading him gently, carefully, lovingly, to the stage, sitting with his arm around him gazing at him, crying again. Brother Ricardo joined them. Ricardo had been in the Betis youth system before him. He was better than Joaquin too, at least that was what Joaquin tried to get his dad to say, winding him up; this time, he didn't. What Aurelio did say was: "Joaquin was always mad about football. He has a big heart and he's a good person and he's a cachondo mental." A funny bastard, a bit of a lunatic.

          Through the window: the training pitch, perfect in the sunshine. Behind it, the stadium. Asked what he saw when he looked out there, Joaquin said: "my life." And then he cried again.

          It is a lot of other people's lives too, and this is what makes it matter most. For lots of people it really is an entire lifetime. Remember when he wasn't playing? Probably not. Allow a little indulgence here: he is the only footballer spanning this columnist's entire career, the last man left, something ending right here in this room in Seville. "This is hard, s---," teammate Sergio Canales said. "You made us all emotional. We're going to feel your absence a lot."

          Couldn't you reconsider, he was asked, and more than once. Juanito, the centre-back and captain who was there at the start and there here, on the day he announced the end, told him never to stop. Even his wife did, although she did say this way he could take the girls to school every morning.

          Manuel Pellegrini, his coach, had tried to get him to reconsider, repeatedly. Joaquin was reminded that he had said there was no way he could walk away if Betis got into next season's Champions League -- and that looks a real possibility now as they sit fifth in LaLiga. He was reminded too that NBA legend Michael Jordan kept returning. "Well, there's time," he replied.

          He was laughing then. He was laughing too when he said: "I am 41: you have to stop at sometime." But it hurt. A sportsman dies twice, they say. And his loss is lamented.

          It has been some journey, a hell of a career, reflected in the way he bade farewell, the fondness and the impact it had everywhere, how everyone offered thanks, admiration. Joaquin made his debut in 2000 in the second division. His first goal arrived immediately. "A fluke," he called it. More than 100 followed.

          He has played more games than any outfield player in Spanish history. If he plays every game remaining this season -- and surely he will now, even if it is only a few minutes each time -- he will have played more first division games than any one ever. By one. Maybe it is time; perfectly timed.

          He has played just short of 1,000 senior games and won two Copa del Reys with Betis -- they were here, either side of him on the stage, just as the first one had been at the alter on the day he got married. He won another with Valencia. He won those two -- get this -- 17 years apart; if the first was there the day he got married, he had a teenage daughter by the time the next arrived. They are two of the three Betis have ever won, half of the trophies the club have.

          What was the best moment, he was asked. He was taken back to El Puerto de Santa Maria, a kid taking the train to Seville daily, to the uncle, "El Chino" who guided him and who died, more tears appearing when Joaquin mentioned him.

          "I've been lucky to live some wonderful moments but if there is one, it is when I told my dad: 'Dad, we did it: I'm going to play for the best team in the world, Real Betis Balompie,'" he said. "He had given us everything. There were eight of us, four boys, and we all played. I was the one that got the furthest. He was so proud that a son of his played football, that was a dream that he pursued. I was able to make him happy. And I will take that with me as long as I live."

          No one ever played more for them; no player ever represented them more either. "Joaquin is Betis," the president said.

          Joaquin always attributed his longevity and his strength to the fact that he was breastfed until he was 6. The fact that he said so, that he laughed about it, said something about the other reason he lasted so long. "He enjoyed life," one of his coaches says, fondness glowing from every word, "and for all that he was an icon he never, ever acted like it. He helped everyone, made the dressing room a better place, looked after everyone, and was serious when he needed to be."

          Having a laugh didn't mean not working; it meant working better. You don't play in primera almost to your 42nd birthday just because you're funny. It didn't mean not trying. He was countercultural: he broke the barriers, the absurd assumption that a sportsman has to be super serious, that a smile was a problem, a symbol of frivolity. Football is supposed to be fun.

          With Joaquin it was; he made football better, for everyone. If not always for him: at times, he is sure, it counted against him; the silliness, the jokes, the messing about, the dancing and the daftness, projected an image of him that didn't always help. Suspicion from managers which was unfounded according to those who worked with him, especially later.

          "It has been an honour to coach him twice," Pellegrini says. His Spain career, certainly, was shorter than it might have been and that was a thorn in his side. His moment was a painful one: the missed penalty at the World Cup in 2002.

          But that was just him, and those who worked with him welcomed that fun; it is what took him this far and what took some of them this far too. Look at that last paragraph again. His big Spain moment was 2002! He returned to Betis in 2015, most thinking he would play out the last couple of years of his career. It is 2023 now, a little less finta, a little less esprin, a lot less minutes, but still playing. And still somehow better, different to the rest.

          "Joaquin is a mix of two things: first, he enjoys it a lot. Second, physically he is unique," Pellegrini says. "He trains every day, he doesn't get fat, his has a technical quality that's superior to other players."

          Teammate Borja Iglesias said a couple of weeks ago: "He shows you don't have to take it all seriously but you need to take it seriously too. It's true that there is a genetic factor there. But of course he has to look after himself. He has always understood when it's time to have fun and when he needs to be serious, when he needs to train more or less. He shows that enjoying and being professional can be compatible. I see Joaquin at his age, and see him train, and he does things that make you think he's 20-years-old again. They way he accelerates, goes past people."

          "Joaquin is cool because he plays jokes but he doesn't mind you playing a joke on him," Iglesias added, the reference he turns to an indication of just how long his captain has kept going. "I remember being in the residency at Paterna, Valencia's training ground when I was [a youth player there] and he was in the first team. I've seen him playing jokes and winding up the chef. Now I get to enjoy him as a teammate everyday and it's great."

          No longer. That it was this long is extraordinary enough.

          "I can't think of football without happiness," Joaquin said. "Well, football and life. At times I have paid for that, but I was always true to myself and that's the most important thing. I am who am I. I have no regrets. I didn't take this decision lightly and it's not a physical question: I felt like I could continue. It's not a mental one either, a lack of enjoyment or desire. I just thought it was the right time. I wanted to leave my way."

          And so he did, laughing. Crying a bit too. All round the room, they stood and applauded. "Right," he said, when it was finally all over, photos taken with everyone, "where's that beer?"