By the end of Fernando Torres’ desperate spell at Chelsea in 2014, the club’s supporters were doing anything they could to try to argue the £50 million the Blues spent to prise him away from Liverpool in 2011 was worth it. He was almost being pitied.

The Spanish forward—once rightly regarded as the best at what he does on the continent—was being battered from pillar to post, his name held up as an example of excess in the transfer market and of a player who once had it all but now had nothing.

In reality, an injury he picked up playing for Liverpool against Benfica in April 2010 was never fully recovered from, and when he was pressed into service for Spain at the FIFA World Cup two months later, it was clear he wasn’t fully fit.

From being a star in very good sides, he was soon a passenger in great ones, coming on for the second half of extra time in the 2010 FIFA World Cup final in Johannesburg and then struggling to adapt to life at Chelsea after Rafael Benitez lost control at Liverpool, with successor Roy Hodgson’s rigid methods proving less than inspiring.

Between 2010 and 2015, psychologists were probably conducting body-language seminars based entirely on Torres’ movements, or lack of them. The forward seemed consumed by what he had once been and what he now wasn’t.

At Chelsea, he was the bolted-on extra in a side that was never conditioned to play to his strengths, resulting in him becoming a shadow of the player who donned Atletico Madrid and Liverpool shirts.

And for a while, even after what was billed as a sentimental switch back to Atletico, it looked as though this was going to be the way things petered out.

Maybe there would be a final move to Major League Soccer or the Chinese Super League in his future, but his career in Europe always looked like it was coming to a close with the volume turned down. Plenty claimed he had been "Bad Torres" for longer than he’d been "Good Torres," and with good reason.

Then the forward scored his 100th goal for Atletico against Eibar in February, seemingly removing some sort of invisible burden. After scoring two goals in 24 appearances before that game, he’s managed 10 in 19 since, but he’s doing more than just score goals.

As the veteran spearhead of this young, hardworking Atletico Madrid side that stands on the brink of winning the UEFA Champions League, he knows what his role is.

He is not so much reborn as reconstituted, and there are no mentions of “the Torres of old” whenever he scores a goal or offers an encouraging performance because this is a different Torres.

He is there as a reference point for his team-mates, and you get the feeling nothing he has done in his illustrious career—including successes with Spain—would mean more to him than delivering the Champions League trophy for his club and his people on Saturday night.

Of course, the match had to be at the San Siro, where Torres ended up at the lowest point of his career with AC Milan following his failure with Chelsea. And of course, it had to be against Real Madrid: the looming, engulfing presence in the city he calls home.

You can almost hear the dramatic music in the background as we head toward the final showdown. This is Rocky. This is Rambo. This is Sparta.

Here he is as Atletico’s idol. The young hope, the overseas success story, the fallen angel and now the almost statesman-like symbol.

Success for Atletico on Saturday night would mean everything to the club, those impressive young players and to manager Diego Simeone, but you get the feeling it would mean the most to Torres, who must have thought his last chance to give something back to his club had gone.

What he once was can be forgotten. It’s all about what he is for 90 minutes now.