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The last part of a four-part series in which we made up unearthed exclusive and highly secret chapters of Luis Suarez's new book that explain his biting issue. If you missed the first three parts, read them first. Here, here, and here.
Things went well, for a time. Liverpool was good, I was playing well, and everyone seemed to have forgotten about me and Branislav’s incident. The whole season was amazing, and I was really looking forward to the World Cup.
The World Cup came, and to my surprise we got drawn in the same group as England. I was looking forward to playing against Steven and Raheem and Daniel. It looked like it was going to be fun.
The World Cup in South America is the pinnacle for me. It is my home, and I try to represent it the best I can.
We got beat by Costa Rica in the first game. It wasn’t really that big of a thing. Costa Rica is really good, and we could beat England and Italy. I was sure of it. They were not so good.
I played really well against England, and we won. When I scored the two goals to help beat England, that was the best feeling ever.
But nothing lasts forever, as they say, and that feeling was no exception.
The day after we beat England, I walked into my hotel room in Rio after a massage and Klaus was sitting in my desk chair, facing me. I didn’t know how long he had been there, staring at the door waiting for me with a weird, crazed look on his face, but it didn’t matter. It was unnerving.
“I have bad news,” Klaus said.
“What?” I asked.
“They’re on to us,” Klaus said.
“Who’s they?” I asked.
“Vampire hunters,” said Klaus.
He paused, like he wanted to take a moment for dramatic effect or for his words to sink in, but I had pretty much figured it out. The relationship between vampires and vampire hunters is not a complicated one.
“Vampire hunters,” Klaus continued, “have come to Rio, and you can bet your ass they’re going to come after you. Nowhere is safe. Not even the pitch. Scratch that-especially not the pitch.”
I sat down on the bed.
“Well I hope they came prepared for anything, because nothing is going to take Luis Suarez out of this World Cup,” I said.
The next game, I was taken out of the World Cup.
It wasn’t my fault. Again, I claim self-defense. You see, Chiellini tried the same thing as Cameron’s man Ivanovic, with the stake to the heart trick while pretending to try and hold me back. I reacted and tried to pull his arm out of the way and he shifted his weight and my head swung forward and my teeth sunk in to his shoulder. It was the most incredibly painful thing I have ever experienced. He had smeared himself with garlic! As gross as that sounds for a normal person, imagine how bad it is for a vampire. I was sick for weeks, and my mouth felt like someone had hit me with a hammer. I didn’t believe the stories about garlic and vampires until that moment. The pain from the garlic is the reason I was writhing around on the ground, not my teeth hurting from the bite.
But I was thrown out of the game for biting, which was problematic, because now the vampire hunters knew their plan had failed, and would be gunning for me, so to speak. I had to get out of Brazil and to somewhere safe. But what places could I consider safe? And was my family safe? I called my wife and told her and the kids to lay low for a while. Then I found Klaus, who had been in the stands watching the game. Klaus and I went immediately to the airport, looking over our shoulders the whole time, and boarded a plane for Finland. There was only one place we knew we could be safe.
Or not. We got to Klaus’s cave just as the last remnants of his possessions were smoldering into ash. There was a message nailed to the wall.
“We are coming for you. Your families are safe as long as you are not with them. We want nothing to do with them. We only want you. But we will find you. And we will hunt you. Love, Vampire Hunters.”
The message struck me as a bit odd, especially the closing. I don’t know why they would write “love.” They clearly didn’t love us. I was relieved though, that my family was going to be OK, but saddened at the fact that I couldn’t spend time with them.
To add to my problems, the powers-that-be at Liverpool were none too pleased with my performance against England. Publicly they said it was because of the biting, but I think it was because I ran roughshod over their beloved Three Lions in the game before that. Anyway, they said I was headed to Barcelona. I was fine with that. I love the city, and my wife has roots in Spain.
I decided “the hell with the vampire hunters” and hired some extra security so I could stay with my family, but Luis Enrique told me that wouldn’t be necessary.
“We have somewhat of a tradition here at Barca,” Luis said. “I think you will find everything is all right with your um, condition.”
I figured the Liverpool people had told him, but he continued.
“You see here at Barca, we value being stronger and swifter than the opponent. That’s why we covet players with, um, natural advantages like yours,” Luis said.
“You mean there are more vampires on Barcelona?” I asked.
“Well Pique is a werewolf,” Luis said. “But it’s mostly vampires, yes.”
At that point Lionel Messi, the diminutive gift from the soccer gods, wandered by with a red stain on his mouth and a crazed look in his eye, and I knew I was home.
@SamKlomhaus
