Josimar José Évora Dias, known as Vozinha, arrived at the London Palladium on Monday night to claim a place among the goalkeepers of the year, earning a nomination for the Yashin Trophy at the Ballon d’Or. The 40-year-old Cape Verde goalkeeper, born in Mindelo on the island of São Vicente, has played for clubs in Angola, Moldova, Portugal, Cyprus, Slovakia and now Chile, and his late-blooming career reached its unlikely peak at this summer’s World Cup.
The nomination did not reflect his club form. He has made scattered appearances for Chaves in Liga Portugal 2 and has spent much of his time at Chilean club Colo-Colo as a largely ceremonial figure. It recognised instead his remarkable run at the World Cup, where he gave fans a figure they could identify with, one who had been worn thin and overlooked, and who was touched for two games by something close to pure grace.
Vozinha shut out eventual champions Spain in Cape Verde’s tear-streaked opener and then pushed eventual finalists Argentina to the brink in the round of 32. In the whirlwind days that followed, his Instagram follower count rose from 56,000 to 27.7 million, and fans around the world voted him the starting goalkeeper in FIFA’s Dream XI.
Vozinha, whose nickname is the Portuguese word for “granny”, became a symbol for everyone who refuses to accept that their long-deferred hopes will never come true. He still harbours ambitions of his own, although they are now more modest than his achievements.
A return to reality in Chile
On Sunday afternoon, he was expected to miss a league game to attend the Ballon d’Or. Instead, he finally earned a league appearance for Colo-Colo, where he has struggled to win the starting job from his teenage rival. He played well, and his side drew 1-1 with Palestino. Vozinha made three spectacular saves that left his opponents with their hands on their heads and his manager with some decisions to make.
He then raced to the airport in Santiago to begin his journey to London. Wearing a white tracksuit, he walked through the terminal with a bodyguard who kept an arm around his waist, as though he had handcuffed a briefcase of diamonds to his wrist. Vozinha, whistling softly, waved at the occasional shout of encouragement from fellow travellers.
Accompanied by club president Aníbal Mosa, he flew first to Madrid, where he boarded a private jet for the final leg of his marathon dash. He landed only six hours before the Ballon d’Or was due to begin. His standard-issue tuxedo hung on a hanger at the back of the plane. He put it on quickly and made his way through London’s congested streets and the crowds at the Palladium.
An evening among the stars
French Montana had already opened the festivities by rapping his hit “One Night” on top of a double-decker bus, singing “All I need is one night”, and Vozinha seemed to have accepted the same bargain. He signed more autographs than most. He also asked for photographs with Barcelona’s star and Ballon d’Or contender Lamine Yamal and veteran manager Fabio Capello, behaving more like a fan than a colleague. Before he took his last steps to his seat, he flashed for hundreds of cameras the expression that had endeared him to millions: a little wide-eyed and a little wet-eyed, taking in the moment while marvelling at it.
In a recent interview with The Observer, Vozinha admitted that the burdens of his sudden fame had outweighed its gifts. “A lot of people want to be famous and have a public profile, but they only see the positive side of that reality,” he said. “To be honest, if I were offered the life I have today or the life I had before, I’d choose the one I had before.”
A difficult autumn
In September, Cape Verde lost twice in AFCON qualifying, and Vozinha looked like a man whose brief elevation had proved fragile. He made a costly error in a 3-1 defeat to Mali, and he failed to stop either of the two shots he faced against Rwanda, as his side lost 2-1.
After his noisy arrival at Colo-Colo, he had told reporters: “Despite playing in smaller leagues for clubs that weren’t exactly giants, deep down I always told myself I was a ‘big club’ player.”
World-class goalkeepers rarely escape the attention of big clubs. Vozinha is something less than that. The Palladium’s video presentation of the nominees cut away before his name appeared at all. He had travelled a long way and had not even heard his name, or the cheers that would have followed it.
That was an unforgivable oversight, but it would be unfair to suggest that his nomination will prove a parting gift rather than a sign of greater things to come. It makes what he did last summer all the more special.
Vítor Martins, his manager at Chaves, put it best after Vozinha left Portugal, before he went on to do what he did against Spain and Argentina. Martins’ farewell proved prophetic, and it sounded, beautifully and painfully, like a eulogy. “He’s at a very specific moment in his career and living a unique moment in his life, one he perhaps thought impossible, about to play in a World Cup at 40 years old,” Martins said. “He was a perfect professional until the end.”
The cruel margins
Every goalkeeper knows that some games see every fine margin tip in their favour. Spain hit the bar against Cape Verde, a detail that is less well remembered, and they directed more chances at Vozinha than away from him. That game could easily have ended differently, with Vozinha emerging valiant but beaten.
That was how his World Cup story ended, after a thrilling extra time against Argentina in which he stopped the unstoppable Lionel Messi more than once.
Monday night was his last brush with that kind of greatness, and he knew it. He took a seat in the second row, far from the aisle, knowing he would not need to walk to the stage. He knows he will never enjoy Harry Kane’s sustained brilliance, Kylian Mbappé’s almost unbroken success, or Yamal’s limitless future. He looked across at the kings of his profession, including David Raya and Unai Simón, the predicted winner of the Yashin Trophy, and understood that he would never share their riches, only some of their air.
He does, however, have an enormous heart. Somewhere within it, he knows something his more blessed rivals will never know: how it feels to be overlooked, and how it feels to belong, if only for a while. “The performance is a performance for everyone,” he had sobbed after his transcendent display against Spain.
When his strange, glittering evening drew to a bittersweet close, Vozinha rose and lingered in the aisle, seemingly unsure where to go next. He gazed up at the Palladium’s chandeliers, a little wide-eyed and a little wet-eyed once more. He had made a long journey to be in London, in life and on the day, but for one night he could count himself among the giants of the game, and the rest of us could count ourselves alongside him.
He was more than a perfect professional. He was the perfect stand-in for everyone who loves the game without being loved back, waiting for the moment when it decides to return that love.