Abandoned by football, Cristiano Ronaldo left the pitch of the Al Thumama stadium with Cristiano Ronaldo.
After the defeat against Morocco, he wanted nothing to do with his teammates, whom he did not comfort, and rivals, whom he did not congratulate.
Heartbroken, CR left crying and crying with CR to the dressing room, which is what the changing rooms are now, especially for vedets like the Portuguese.
On his catwalk of tears, the totemic player, always with the
egometer
through the roof, ruminated on something more than elimination.
He suffered from news because, first of all, he had lost CR, without a seat at Manchester United, possibly without a World Cup return at 37, and fired from Qatar as a substitute.
An improper closure of someone who leaves a football will for the treasure archive of this sport.
As much as he could not surpass the record of his compatriot Eusebio — eight goals for CR in 22 games in five World Cups and nine for the Black Panther in one, in six games in England 1966.
Or no matter how much the ex-Madridista never scored in one of the eight qualifiers played.
Or no matter how much Messi, an obligatory reference, reached a runner-up position and still resists in Qatar.
The images of CR's emotional outpouring humanized the greatest soccer diva like almost never before, at least so far this century.
He moved who came to proclaim himself the object of universal envy for his money, beauty and body sculpture: "They envy me because I am handsome, rich and a great player."
There were others
obligated:
"I am the top scorer, the Champions League should be called the CR7 Champions League."
In Qatar, Cristiano, who already arrived with disturbing notices from his last clubs —Juventus and United—, from which he left with anger, did not know how to score the most difficult goal for a great athlete: listening and internalizing the soundtrack of the sunset.
CR, a gifted man, and soccer, so intricate, no longer matched the same.
Over time, Messi and he symbolized a change of needles.
The physique withered, the Rosario took a step back.
From winger and striker to goal writer, of some of his own and many of others.
CR, in the opposite direction, was anchored in the area.
Over time, the closer he got to the goal, the more intimate he became, the more the crush faded, the one that made him a legendary footballer.
One off the charts.
An absolute jackal.
A decline that is difficult to metabolize, and even more so for those who thought they were infinite, for those who lost as bad as winning (Kiev, the 13th: “It has been very nice to play for Real Madrid...”).
As CR only recognized the tremendous CR, the real CR did not measure his rudeness to Fernando Santos, the coach, which sat him on the bench, outside the center of the stage.
To top it off, his dressing room neighbors thrashed Switzerland (6-1) without him, with three goals from his replacement, Gonçalo Ramos.
Damn fate stuck out his tongue.
It didn't matter, CR insisted on bargaining for reality and his family, wife and sisters, did not delay in fanning the viral lynching of Santos.
Today, CR, a great among the greatest, is helpless.
Without a team, without ownership, without a goal, without a World Cup and without consolation.
CR, so attached to CR, never made him see that football will also sob for him when he agrees to a truce with the time that is due and stops beating his chest.
Cristiano would have deserved to leave the World Cup - to which he will hardly return at 41 years old and without a leading team in sight - with a return to the ring at Al Thumama.
With the fans, their own and that of others, colleagues, opponents and the whole universe on their feet.
He preferred to go with CR.
Being like almost always: me with me.
In Christian mourning, in Morocco the state of optimism was perpetuated.
Because this feat is more than a dream.
And with historical evocations.
If they beat France in the semifinal, three colonial powers will have succumbed.
Walid Regragui, the coach, has a lot of fault, who in eight games at the helm of the team —the five most friendly in Qatar with Chile, Paraguay and Georgia— has only regretted one goal against.
For greater astonishment, against Canada and at his own goal (Aguerd).
Of 127 centers into his area, only 33 have been finished off.
If there is something that connects Modric, Perisic, De Bruyne, Hazard, Lukaku, Morata, Asensio, Ferran Torres, João Félix and CR, it is that they have not been able to score a goal against Morocco.
A team that has only been shot on goal nine times.
Bono, their wonderful goalkeeper, has only made five saves.
With this dam everything is possible.
Until the African group prevents France from renewing the title, a feat only achieved by Italy (1934, 1938) and Brazil (1958 and 1962).
Morocco, the Morocco of Bono and En-Nesyri —the worst Seville of the decade has five semifinalists, the two Moroccans plus Acuña, Montiel and Papu Gómez—.
The Morocco of the imposing Amrabat, from Ounahi, the phenomenal midfielder of the bottom team in Ligue 1, Angers.
And of El Yamiq, pride these days of Valladolid, where he enlisted in 2020 after a stint in Zaragoza.
In Pucela they rub their hands because they already have 500,000 euros guaranteed.
FIFA pays clubs $10,000 per day players are in Qatar.
The Moroccan miracle has its shock wave.
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