On Sunday, aged 39, Sevilla’s Jesús Navas brings down the curtain on Spanish football’s most glittering career

A little after 9am in Montequinto, Seville, and Jesús Navas walks past the Jesús Navas Stadium and up the little slope in the sunshine, gym to the left, training pitch to the right. The first to arrive and he’s moving OK this morning, which isn’t something he can say every day, but still he comes. Soon, too soon, he won’t. “It’s my life,” he says, “what I’ve always done, who I am.” The stand bearing his name wasn’t here when he first turned up, a quarter of a century ago. Most of this wasn’t; the trophies at the Estadio Ramón Sánchez Pizjuán, three miles north, certainly weren’t. Everything changes, except him. “I’m the same as the first day,” he says.

That day, Navas was 15, a small, skinny, shy boy from Los Palacios, 15 minutes south. It was 2000 and he has been coming almost every morning since, apart from four seasons in Manchester which he enjoyed more even than you might imagine. He is still small, slight: 5ft 7in and 67kg. Still quiet, too: warm company, but not a man with any desire for the spotlight, any delusions of grandeur. Only he is the grandest footballer of all here at Sevilla Fútbol Club.