Look at us. We’ve dipped into the global talent pool and come up clutch. Onel Hernández doesn’t just arrive from the long, unromantic road that is Charlton, Norwich, Middlesbrough and Birmingham, no, Hernández arrives with the unmistakable imprint of Cuba stitched into every stride. Born in Morón, shaped by migration, and forged through footballing graft, he carries with him the echoes of an island that has spent decades dancing between hardship and pride, rhythm and revolution. An island of resistance.

Cuba has always been more than a place. More than just a country. It’s a way of life. A syncopated heartbeat of son Cubano, of salsa, of Buena Vista Social Club guitars drifting through humid night air, of ‘60s Chevrolets and light, crisp rum. It’s a cigar in the sunset. An island where struggle is baked into the soil, where scarcity breeds resilience, and where creativity becomes a form of survival.

Was he an assassin for Fidel Castro? Was he that close to Cuba’s revolutionary leader? That was the talk of Tunstall last night. The answer, sadly, is no. A romantic, ridiculous notion. And he wouldn’t admit it even if he was. The assassin’s instinct is there, though – that’s what he brings to Burslem. And in that spirit, Hernández feels like an ideal signing for a Vale still fighting tooth and nail in League One. We were made for each other. He comes carrying the torch.

It is not over yet, despite what my head has been telling me. Despite everything I have said. I’ve changed my stance. Erase and rewind. I’m allowing my heart to rule. It’s the only way to live. Will it break into a hundred million pieces? Probably. But that’s how we want life to be – we don’t minimise suffering by shrinking from it. We want the lot: the joy and the misery, the pain and the euphoria. That’s what reminds us we’re alive. I’m back in the game. I’m dreaming – and living – for survival. I stepped out and now I’m stepping back in.

Hernández: a player moulded in a land where defiance is everyday life. A man who knows what it is to leave, adapt, start again and graft. In my eyes, already a hero. A legend. Someone we will be talking about for years to come.

Hernández: his journey – from Cuba to Germany to the English leagues – is the story of a player moving between cultures, climates and challenges with the determination of someone who has already lived several lives before reaching Vale Park. The first Cuban to play and score in the Premiership. He carries that classic Caribbean flair: direct, fearless, expressive. Layered over it is the discipline learned in German youth academies, the grind of the Championship and the lived experience of constant adaptation. A hybrid footballing identity as rare as it is compelling.

And yes – Hernández, that infamous lover of Argos. A man of the people with an eye for a bargain.

So when we say “comrade,” we say it in the spirit of shared endeavour – the collective fight that football clubs live by. Hernández joins us in the thick of it, battling league pressures and cup commitments, with the hope that his guile, pace and menace can tilt tight matches our way. He arrives ready and willing. Eyes wide open.

And what does Jon Brady, our very own revolutionary, have to say about all this? He has spoken – describing Hernández as someone who will “add another dimension.” And let’s face it, if ever a team needed another dimension, it’s us. Five wins from twenty‑eight league gigs. Piss poor in any currency. Shameful. Bring us dimensions. Bring us all the dimensions.

Hernández arrives not just with a loud fanfare, but with history. Not just with slogans, but lived struggle. Not with guarantees, but certainly intent. And maybe that’s why this feels like a moment. A Cuban international. A Premier League trailblazer. A man shaped by the rhythms of an island that sings even in hardship – now stepping into Burslem, the mother town, to fight alongside us.

Our struggle has added Caribbean steel, German precision and a dash of Havana heat. And now, at last, the horizon begins to glow.

“Bienvenido a Vale Park, Hernández.”