Manu García runs his finger carefully down the long list of names, squinting slightly as he searches for his own. Sixteen years on, he knows where to look but there are 13,200 of them written in tiny white print on a blue and yellow background, covering every millimetre from top to bottom and left to right, so it is not easy to find. Eventually, he sees his father, hidden among hundreds of Garcías. And then, on the line below, he stops. “Here,” he says. “This is me.” MANUEL ALEJANDRO GARCÍA.

When Deportivo Alavés reached the latter stages of the Uefa Cup in 2001, they paid homage to their socios [members] by listing them all on the kit, literally part of the fabric of the club. Which is why the night they played their first ever final, against Liverpool in Dortmund, Manu García’s name was on the front of the shirt, two-thirds of the way down. On Saturday, when they play their second final, against Barcelona in Madrid, his name will be on the back. It will be stitched into the captain’s armband, too.

Now 31, García was born in Vitoria in 1986. “While the other kids wanted to be Romario or Laudrup, I wanted to be Manolo Serrano,” he says. He was an Alavés fan because of his dad and a socio too. He still is: the seat he sits in as he talks is his seat, even if he’s barely been up here in five years – he has been down there instead. “I remember games, moments, flashes, details,” he says softly, pointing out corners of the ground. Across the pitch is the general where he stood when he was a kid. No one stands at Mendizorroza now; it looks different these days, but the memories remain.

“Sitting here, I see things like a fan again and that perspective is something you lose a when you’re down there,” he says. “I can see an 8-5 against Real Unión, a penalty at that end, everyone standing, celebrating goals hanging off the fence. I can see myself another time asking my dad for permission to climb over …”

Permission? “I was a good boy, a good son,” García smiles. “When Alavés were promoted to the first division against Rayo Vallecano [in 1998], I remember standing there with my cousin and looking back at my dad, him saying ‘OK’. I climbed over and went around the pitch with the players. For me, it’s moments like those, or Serrano’s goal knocking Madrid out the cup, but my dad remembers everything. Alavés hadn’t been in primera for 42 years and that day I remember him saying: ‘I didn’t think we’d go up again; I didn’t think I’d ever see it.’”

“He’s seen them go back, he’s seen a Uefa Cup final, and he’s seen his son play in the first division for Alavés.” Now, Alejandro García will watch his son lead them out for the Copa del Rey final, too. “I feel lucky to be about to live something this club has only experienced once before. My dad and I talk about it a lot, we get quite emotional,” García says. “I feel emotional now, just thinking about it.”

“We know what lies behind it: the work, the sacrifice, the effort. His effort. My mum’s, my sisters’, mine. What we’ve been through, the bad moments,” García continues, puffing out his cheeks. “It’s a dream, really.”

Only he never even dreamed this. “Very few people get the chance to experience something like this; very few even think it’s possible. When you’re a kid, with that innocence kids have, maybe you think you’ll play for your home-town team. I remember local players like Sivori, Pablo, Salcedo: I wanted to be like them. You think if they play for Alavés why can’t you? But realistically you don’t think it’s possible, not once you’re inside football and you see how hard it is, how unlikely it is for the circumstances to be right. You just don’t see it.”

And that’s the thing. This is not just “local boy makes cup final with his team”; it is making it at all. Him and them. Although Real Sociedad spotted him at 14, until last August García had never played in La Liga before. The midfielder hadn’t even played in the second tier until 2013. For eight years, he played at second division B level, for Real Sociedad’s B team, Real Unión, Eibar and Logroñés. García was still there when he finally got the chance to play for Alavés – and when it came it was not because he had risen to their level, it was because they had dropped to his.

Manu Garcia showing his name on the shirt. Photograph: Josu Izarra

Miraculous Uefa Cup finalists in 2001, Alavés were relegated in 2003, returned in 2004 and, by then owned by the infamous Dimitry Piterman, were relegated again in 2006. Piterman disappeared, leaving the club in economic crisis and on the verge of going out of business, another relegation following in 2009. With Alavés in administration, in 2011 the owners of Baskonia basketball club were persuaded to embark on a rescue mission. The following summer, García got a call.

“I was with my parents when they called to say they were interested. I knew then that I’d play for Alavés: there was no way we wouldn’t reach an agreement. I’d been through a hard time and it meant coming home, joining the team where I was still a socio. I went with some very close friends, some of whom had struggled too, and that first year was pure ilusión [hope, optimism, enthusiasm]. It was home, my club, my people. I can see the first training session, coming through that door over there,” he says, pointing. “I can remember the laps round the pitch, seeing the stands, the drills. I still have photos.”

“I was a socio, even when I played elsewhere. I remember a play-off against Lugo to go up to the second division. I was desperate for them to win [but] if they had, I’d never have played here. My history would have changed completely. If Alavés had been in the first division, even the second, they would never have thought of me.”

So they came together as “amateurs”, but they didn’t stop there. In that first season, Alavés were promoted to the second division; the following year, they survived on the final day thanks to a 94th minute goal at Jaén, when relegation back to Segunda B might have been catastrophic; in the fourth, they won the title, returning to the top flight after almost a decade away. García scored the goal that effectively secured it, then got their first in primera – in the 94th minute against Atlético at the Calderón. On Saturday, they return there in the Copa del Rey final, the stadium’s last ever match.

This is huge for Alavés, historic. The memory of the game against Liverpool in Dortmund underlines just how big. In the groundsman’s office in the corner, where the lawnmowers are kept, one wall is decorated with a massive mural of the ticket from that match in 2001. García could not go; he was playing for Real Sociedad B. “I came back to Vitoria to watch it here with my dad,” he says. “Vitoria was deserted. It was a day like today: hot, sunny. It was: suffer, enjoy, suffer, enjoy … and end up crying. We were very sad but with time we only felt pride – and that’s still there.”

Sixteen years on, they’re back to another final. García didn’t expect this, but he did expect Alavés to get back to primera; what he never anticipated was that he would be there with them. “No, not that,” he admits. “No, no. Not that.”

“But the club? I knew the club would make it: they had everything. A strong group running the club, working well: they signed good players, good coaches. And above all, they had a fan base that would never abandon them. It’s only six, seven years since Alavés went through very, very bad times and if those fans hadn’t taken a step forward and spoken up, the local authorities would have abandoned the club, left it to die. It would have folded. The fans didn’t let it happen.”

“I was sure Alavés would return to the first division, but not for it to all happen so quickly. And I thought I’d be here a year, maybe two. ‘One season, then let’s see.’ And it’s been five seasons like that.”

García is the only one left from 2012. Does that make you sad? “Yes,” he says. “Because …” For a moment, he can’t find the words. “Look…” he starts. He blows out his cheeks. “There are so many people who went through so much, who made such an effort for this club, who were so dedicated, and for them to not live this moment now with us is a huge pity.

Manu Garcia in his seat. Photograph: Josu Izarra

“I think about the people who won promotion, and especially about those who were in Jaén fighting for survival: people like Borja Viguera, Luismi, Jago Beobide, Ion Vélez, Iñaki Goitia. People who did that but haven’t been able to stay and enjoy this moment like I am. I think of them a lot and it saddens me. I keep them present, talk about them publicly. I know they’re enjoying this and they’re part of it: without them, Alavés wouldn’t be here today.”

It’s different now, players are different. García’s car stands out parked under one corner of the stadium, precisely because it doesn’t stand out, and it feels like he is a case apart. It’s not so much that players are different as the surroundings are, he says: “life makes you, life takes you.” Asked how much an average player earns in Segunda B, he says “poco …” There’s a long pause. “It wouldn’t reach €2,000 a month. [Less than £21,000 a year]. A long way from the figures we’re talking about now, wow! It’s nothing like it. But the demands were the same in our minds. We were very professional, entirely dedicated. That hasn’t changed; what changes is everything around us. We’re very lucky.

“It’s not just the salaries, it’s everything. The pitch is always in good condition. There are so many more people with us. There are assistants, fitness coaches, physios, recovery staff. Before, there was one physio, now it’s three. We travel by plane, it was bus then. The hotels have changed. Everything that goes with being in the first division is magnificent and players should appreciate that. I’ve done 10-hour journeys by bus, stopping twice, arriving in the middle of the night after a defeat. Now, in two hours, we’re home. It’s all so comfortable.”

Until they step onto the pitch, that is. “You see it when new team-mates join: they’re faster, more impressive physically, better technically. Every single one of my team-mates is brilliant at something. They’re all complete, too. Before, maybe you had team-mates – or you yourself – who can do one or two things but are weak in others. Or you’re only decent in everything. Now, everyone can do a bit of everything and they’re all brilliant at something. And when you play Barcelona, Madrid, Atlético … pfff … they’re another level. You have to make a huge effort to compete with them.”

So how do you? After all, Alavés drew with Atlético and won at the Camp Nou, finishing ninth, their fourth highest finish in history. How can they beat Barcelona?

“To match them, we have to be smarter, cleverer, understand what the game requires at every moment. This is a team game and that’s what gives us a chance. If it was individual, they’re better footballers. But as it is a team game, you can think: what do we need? What can I do to help my team-mate? How do we make this work? You’re thinking that every second. How can I make it difficult for the opponents, help my team-mate take advantage? How do we create that opportunity? That’s our weapon. We’re a great team.

“The way we play isn’t intuitive; it’s worked on. We have clear movements, a mechanism that has been built very consciously. The way we shift across, a long way, the way we keep the lines close together, the small distance between players. All teams defend in similar ways but then there’s the attacking phase where people think that it’s all inspiration and creativity. It’s not. If you look from high up, one camera, a wide angle, you see how we’re positioned, how defined our roles are. The duty every player has is clear; we all put our qualities at the disposal of the team. No egos, solidarity.”

Still, it’s hard. Even the little guys are tough. At the Bernabéu, García admits his surprise at how one Real Madrid player barely flinched when he clattered into him. “You see how good they are but also how they press, how they work …” he says admiringly. “That’s why they’re the world’s best: they do everything. I was very impressed by [Luka] Modric. I suffered him. Isco, too.”

Suffer is the word. Asked if he enjoys it, García pulls a face. “Not much. Not me. Those games demand so much from you, so much effort and concentration, that it’s hard to enjoy it. Sometimes when you’re playing, you have so much to do and think about that you can’t. You enjoy it more as a fan. Maybe at the end, you do.”

So why do it? “Because you like that feeling afterwards,” he says, adding: “And before as well, sometimes. The nerves, the doubts. Will I play well? Am I ready? There’s something about making demands of yourself, knowing you have to really push yourself. And if it works, if you get your reward …”

If they get their reward on Saturday, especially. It’s a unique moment, but the sensations may not be new. “I think I know how I’ll feel if we win,” García says. “The way I felt when we won promotion, both times; the way I felt when we survived; the way I felt after Celta [in the semi-final]. You feel plenitude, fulfilled, complete. Nothing hurts, you’re happy, you’ve made people happy. That’s a feeling I’m lucky enough to have experienced a few times here, one you can share. They’ll all be there: my dad, my friends, those team-mates, my family, my girlfriend, the people I love. If we win, we’ll celebrate together.

“We’ve already made history playing in the second final; if we win, we’ll touch heaven. If we win, we’ll be Alavés’s champions, the first at the club. And it’s a club with a 96-year history.” It is his club; it says so on the shirt.