"Ronaldo approached pretty much every one of his 600-odd games like a puppy who has just seen water for the first time, and is going in headfirst no matter how many times you call or whistle and, if he drowns, well fuck it, because it was fun while it lasted. Even towards the end of his career, with millions in the bank and knees that hated him, his delight at getting on the ball and taking the piss was palpable.
Watching him elicited feelings like that first grope at your teenage disco or climbing a podium on your original lads’ holiday and reaching for those fucking lasers. It was a shot of pure adrenaline that could eviscerate cynicism, shred club loyalties, and render whole pubs mute. Whole actual pubs full of men wearing ill-fitting jeans covered in today’s paint and yesterday’s curry left speechless by a bald blur with teeth like a Disney character.
In remembering only the milestones and tragedies in our endless search for bite-sized pub-chat, we have allowed some of the greatest things ever seen on a football pitch to slip down the cracks of our bleary-eyed storytelling. We have forgotten one of the Titans.
"
It's also a repost, but eminently worth it. The first time it was linked I got Alfie to read and watch the vids, and it was great to watch a boy born in 2002 find out about the original Ronaldo.
I like to think the Mundial magazine love letter to R9 kicked off all the retro boot/shoe tributes.
It's a cracking read/watch
http://mundialmag.com/2017/10/17/o-fenomeno/
"Ronaldo approached pretty much every one of his 600-odd games like a puppy who has just seen water for the first time, and is going in headfirst no matter how many times you call or whistle and, if he drowns, well fuck it, because it was fun while it lasted. Even towards the end of his career, with millions in the bank and knees that hated him, his delight at getting on the ball and taking the piss was palpable.
Watching him elicited feelings like that first grope at your teenage disco or climbing a podium on your original lads’ holiday and reaching for those fucking lasers. It was a shot of pure adrenaline that could eviscerate cynicism, shred club loyalties, and render whole pubs mute. Whole actual pubs full of men wearing ill-fitting jeans covered in today’s paint and yesterday’s curry left speechless by a bald blur with teeth like a Disney character.
In remembering only the milestones and tragedies in our endless search for bite-sized pub-chat, we have allowed some of the greatest things ever seen on a football pitch to slip down the cracks of our bleary-eyed storytelling. We have forgotten one of the Titans.
"