Standing outside the box...
That dead round thing at his feet..
6 of the best kickers of the ball in front of him..
The red hot stopper from España between the sticks..
You're losing 2-3...
But he wasn't thinking about that..
He closed his eyes...
Warm Madeira summer breeze on his face..
Cement road under his feet, torn shoes and torn clothes...
Those skinny legs tanned in the sun..
Lips dry and the throat..
He imagined himself in those streets of Madeira where the skinny little kid kicked the ball around the whole day..
That boy is long way from home..
Long way in his life..
How many times he fell down? How many times he cried? How many times has there been obstacles between him and his goal?
He soaked it all in...
The crowd cheering....
The humid air...
The aching feet..
He opened his eyes...
Slowly ran to the ball...
CRISTIAAAAANOOOO RONAAALDOOOOO!
ABSOLUTELY SENSATIONAL!
HE DELIVERED WHEN IN MATTERED!
HE IS THE BEST!
He ran to the crowd. Did his jump in the air. Signature finishing move! Teammates applauded him; but he was searching for someone else...
That boy with torn shoes and skinny legs..
That boy with those curly hair...
The boy who believed...
The boy...who refused to give up...
He looked up the sky, to thank his father...
But on the big screen he found someone he had been looking for..
That same boy..
The boy who conquered...
