It was the most ill-fitting and bluntest of send offs for the greatest participant of the most popular game in human history. From a Barcelona perspective, given the events that led to this point, it was so painfully, perfectly on-brand that it almost looked satirical.

The fans spilt into the concourses and onto the banks of the Manzanares singing I Can’t Take My Eyes Off You: a dedication to Fernando Torres. Residents stood on their balconies and joined in the chaos, filling the night with song. One merchandise stall, just off the M-30 motorway which bends under the North Stand, was selling ‘Torres 100’ replica shirts, with postcards of El Niño - The Kid - selling rapidly.

Sometimes acting as a conduit, mirroring the emotion of the viewing TV audience, the voices of football are also in place to guide you through the shocking; the hilarious; the vile; and the heartbreaking with a sense of certainty and authority.

Netflix's Pelé goes further than any other documentary at cracking one of the oldest enigmas in football. We spoke to co-director Ben Nicholas on his search for the man behind the myth.

Language requires context. In most of the Spanish speaking world, ‘una pelota’ is almost universally recognised as the translation for ‘a football.’ When Maradona spoke of the pelota, we knew what he meant. But Cuba has always prided itself on being different. In Cuba, if you’re talking about pelota, you’re talking about something altogether different. You’re talking about the national sport: baseball.

Amsterdammers and Rotterdammers don’t like each other. A rivalry born of anger and deceit, the story of two biggest football clubs in the Netherlands is one that transcends colours, identity and friendships.

The midnight sun continued to gleam as one day passed into another. For the weary travellers - setting their eyes upon this new land - it was everything that they had hoped it would be. There had been whispers, from the cold North of Iceland, that another great land lay West.

They say that lightning doesn’t strike twice, but for Forest Green Rovers, it did. This tiny club, preparing for a return to life playing regional football, were somehow spared from relegation for the second time in a decade. Salisbury City were instead expelled for breaking financial regulations and amazingly, the club was safe to fight another day. As footballing miracles go, Forest Green had just been dealt the whole bible.

One response is that of eternal cult status: to be woven into the tapestry of footballing folklore. Think of Socrates and Zico’s 1982 Brazil team. Think of a Colombia side of Asprilla, Escobar and Higuita, led by Valderrama. Think of Cruyff and Resenbrink’s total football.

‘El Pibe de Oro’ - ‘The Golden Boy’. It was a nickname burdened upon the narrow, scrawny shoulders of a 10-year-old Maradona from the day he signed for Argentinos Juniors. A lot of pressure, no doubt, for a prospect plucked from the slums of Lanus Oeste, a notoriously penurious crevice of Buenos Aires. His poverty-stricken upbringing had bestowed Diego with two core values: the weight and demands of an introduction to such barren destitution, and the sanctuary that he found when a ball united with his blessed left foot.

67 goals, meaningless consolations or last minute winners provoking ecstasy or debate long into the night in the local taverna, cafe, bierhalle or bodega. 10 countries, some familiar, some less so, each with a unique culture, language and quirks to be discovered. These stats are just a snapshot, but this isn’t about my stories and anecdotes, this is an exploration into football's best-kept secret; the Cult of Groundhopping.

‘Football Hypebeasts’. I’m coining this term. The term explains the merging of two subcultures, football and streetwear, and how the two have interlinked to share some similar characteristics. One of those characteristics being ‘The Hypebeast’.

The next day, admiring the sprawling views from the hilltop Notre-Dame-de-la-Garde, we’re still drunk on the passion, the ecstasy, the anxiety and the relief that us and 65,000 others felt last night. Our time in Marseille has opened our eyes to the core values of a game that means the absolute world to millions of people across the globe.

Coca-Cola is to the soft drinks arena, what the World Cup is to football. The pinnacle, the crème de la crème, the pièce de résistance - both are simply a somewhat indescribable, yet definitely undeniable, cut above the competition in their respective fields.

In a stadium plastered with Sports Direct advertising that generates £23.9 million from match day revenue (19th in the world), Newcastle United are something of an anomaly: a one city club with football pulsating through its beating heart that continues to draw legions of fans to games despite the fact that many will tell you that their team “is going nowhere.”

Sócrates enhanced his message by using football as his platform, because, before anything else, the Brazilian was one of the best in the world. He embodied joga bonito as he orchestrated attacks and pulled off his signature no-look, back heel passes.

But beneath the bustling terraces, deep down in the locker rooms, Pelé was greeted by a makeshift crew of migrants, students and semi-professionals, in what was a largely amateurish organisation.

After ordering a double shot of espresso I asked the woman behind the counter where I could find some football pitches. She reached down, grabbed a map and proceeded to list out every pitch we would come across as we made our way along the Fjord.

I booked the tour through Club Brugge, meaning it was Club Brugge lead by Club Brugge people. And upon meeting these people, we got chatting about my girlfriend and my own origins. I told them I was from Newcastle and a devoted Newcastle United fan. The answer to that? "Phillipe Albert! Phillipe Albert!"

We continue our exploration in the Quartieri Spagnoli, Naples’ Spanish Quarter. It’s a gritty residential area offering a glimpse into traditional Neapolitan life, worlds away from the flashy high-street shops of Via Toledo just a few hundred metres away. Any available wall space is adorned by street art much of which is, predictably, of Dios.