The secret diary of Cristiano Ronaldo
Most people write their diaries daily. Not me. I am unique. I write when I want to.
January 20, 2016
For the first time in my life, I am missing Rafa Benitez. He might be a fat Spanish waiter, but he didn’t make you feel inferior. In fact, I felt like the Einstein of football whenever his clueless face was around me.
Now, however, with Zinedine Zidane, it is an entirely different story.
Zidane is a great guy, a legend—and that is good. What is not good is the fact that he is still a great player. The other day, Arbeloa was telling me how he went on from feeling like the Spanish version of Paolo Maldini to…well…a cone, which is technically feeling like himself.
He further added that he is having a very tough time getting up from the bed and coming to training because he gets nutmegged by Zidane once every 10 seconds. And we all have a terrific laugh. The man’s a genius in every sense.
His presence has lightened up the environment in the dressing room and it was all merry until…until he schooled me in a free-kick session. While I was perfecting my already-awesome [American football] free-kick skills, Zidane came up and told me that his nan’s free-kicks are more accurate and that he will show me how to take them.
I accepted the challenge since I thought that he is no match to the greatest player ever. And then I was humiliated. He took 10 shots and scored them all while I took 10 shots and killed 10 birds. For the remainder of the day, I couldn’t look him in the eye (for the record, none of us can look him in the eye, his beautiful bald face shines like the moon, attracting our vision towards it).
January 25, 2016
All these days, I was so busy getting my hair done that I hardly had any time to pen down my awesome feelings. Finally, I found some time today after setting my hair quickly by spending only 4 hours and 52 minutes on it.
They say that the club tried to sign Messi 3 times in the last few years and that they want to sign Neymar now. I find these rumours very offensive. I mean, seriously, what have these guys done since I came to Madrid?
Champions League titles? Ballon d’Ors? La Liga dominance? Meh. These things are not important, except when we won them. What is more important is my line of underwear garments.
Sure, Messi and Neymar may have won more, but do they own a fine line of underwear garments? Nope. To be a Real Madrid player, you can’t just be a skilled player, you need to be commercially hot and I am just that.
January 28, 2016
Today, I schooled Jese. The kid thought that he could outdrive me, so I zoomed past him while leaving the training ground.
Many folks said that he was my natural replacement at Real Madrid. Not only were those claims outrageous, they were hilarious. The guy can’t even rap properly. Since he couldn’t take over me on the pitch, he wanted to get the satisfaction of driving ahead of me after training, but I robbed it off from him.
Let me get one thing straight: I hate losing, be it a football game or pebbles counting. When I and Irina were together, we used to have these swimming competitions which I never let her win after our first encounter, which she won and I started crying.
Furthermore, I don’t even let my son outcry me. There are times when we cry together and my mother Dolores sticks a lolly in our mouths to shut us up.
So when Jese raced ahead of me, I couldn’t take it. The news folks have made a big deal out of this as if I did something satanic. They make it sound like I drove over a baby and squashed it under my tire. Yes, I ran the risk of doing so, but I didn’t now, did I?