When you came to Lisbon at the age of twelve, full of tears and hopes, they said that you were just another Madeiran kid. In less than five years you were playing in the main team of Sporting.
When you did the first games with the seniors, they said you were just another skillful fuck. A few months later you signed for Manchester United.
When you arrived in England they said you were only a promise. In six seasons you made 118 goals.
When Real Madrid hired you, they said you were just a name to sell jerseys. Since 2009 you have scored 422 goals in 418 games and you've practically beat all the records you had to beat the club.
When you received the first Golden Ball in 2008, they said it was going to be just that. You've earned four more.
When you became captain of the national team, they said that you were just another captain with no charisma, no spirit of leadership. In 2016 you were the first Portuguese ever to raise the European Champion Clubs' Cup.
Now that you do not score as an extraterrestrial there are two or three games, they say you are just another late-career player, almost finished, to take the last, down the curve. Do not worry. When you smile with a trophy in your hand at the top of an Eiffel Tower of this life, or when you score another decisive goal, or when you hit another record, you'll have them there watching. To applaud, of course. Poor people. That's all they have left.
#The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.
