King is dead, long live the king: the ball never lies | OneFootball

My dear friends, today I woke up with a famous quote from our great prophet, Nelson Rodrigues, echoing in my mind: "The audience is only respectful when they do not understand anything..." Ah, Nelson, how delightfully intriguing it is to see unfold before our eyes what your genius vision brought us decades ago. If you were present at Maraca, in this last round, you might smile at what was recently staged in the tricolor ranks. Because, on the stage of so many passions and dramas, we watched not a fictitious theatrical play, but the dawn of a simple and brutal truth: the ball does not lie. And in it, lies the only true meritocracy.

Half a century of life in the stands of Maracanã taught me that football, beyond tactics and technique, is a mirror of the human soul. For sure, because they are human beings, filled with a thousand feelings, who make the imaginary passion of the fan come alive. And, sometimes, this soul gets tangled up in squabbles, in suppressed grievances, in hierarchies forged by sympathies and antipathies - and not by the sweat shed on the pitch. This contaminates, corrodes. But behold, like a purifying Apollo, comes Zubeldía and, as far as we can tell, seems armed with an immediate action antidote, capable of erasing the maculate crooked scribbles of the recent past.

This is because, my friends, in the humble view of this writer, modernity in football is not only translated into algorithms or performance analyses, in cold numbers, physiological or not. It resides, above all, in the locker room culture.

It is necessary, my dear ones, that in the altar of football the logos — this relentless reason that measures sweat and dedication — prevails over the seductive, and often treacherous, pathos of sympathies and backstage friendships. And that everything, like in the Greek tragedies that Aristotle deciphered more than two thousand years ago, rests on a ethos firm as Doric columns: character, honor and credibility that cannot be bought or borrowed. Ah, Aristotle, you old warrior... two millennia have passed and, deep down, the field and the world still obey your oracles.

To put it simply: what matters is the logic of who plays better and tries harder (logos), and not the emotion of who is more of a friend or "close" to the boss (pathos). All this guaranteed by the character and justice of the leader (ethos), who applies the same rule for everyone.

It is in this renewed environment that meritocracy flourishes — where opportunity is a crown offered to those who stand out the most, to those who strive the most, to those who, without beating around the bush or flourishes, deliver more. Priority, finally, returns to those who sweat the shirt, not to those who whisper in the coach's ear.

The Fluminense we saw against Atlético Mineiro was a team that, in its rediscovered lightness, proved to be more than competent. It was a statement. If before there was an invisible burden, now the team seemed to run like the messenger Hermes: unimpeded. More dedicated players, more focused, doing what they love with visible tactical obedience, but — and this is crucial — also with pleasure. The ball, once a weight, has become a toy in the hands of adults again.

And the conclusive proof, the evidence that validates all this catharsis, did not come from a spectacular goal, but from a celebration. Keno, who previously seemed a lost fragment of a group, comes in, scores the third goal and... behold, the entire bench erupts in celebration, runs towards him and embraces him in the South sector, behind the still swinging nets. That, my friends, is the anthem of unity, the cry of fraternity that real football evokes. That is the materialization of a group that, under the yoke of the past, may have been underutilized, undervalued in its own collective value. That Keno that we got used to admire in flashes reappears — and with him, the "we" above the "I".

In the subtext of the post-game interviews, we perceive the echoes of this transformation. The words, carefully chosen, hint at a relief, a veiled dissatisfaction that now, with the turning of the page, seems to have been dissipated. There are no more ghosts in the locker room, only the smell of liniment and the eagerness for the next battle.

Fluminense, with this new culture, with Zubeldía as the conductor to rescue the score of pure football, has only to win. It is the ball that has returned to rule. And so be it, because the true Tricolor, like a mighty river, never loses its course — it only sometimes encounters obstacles that, with the strength of unity, are always overcome. May the saga continue, with the ball rolling and the truth prevailing.

And let's not confuse cold analysis with the heresy of ingratitude. This pub chronicler, who today applauds the dawn, is the same one who yesterday got drunk with the unprecedented glory that the old commander gave us. Gratitude is eternal, but football, my dear ones, is a tyrant that does not forgive those who live off memories. Yesterday's glory does not win tomorrow's game. One thing is one thing, another thing is another thing, as the wisdom of the pub has already philosophized, between sips. When a reign is exhausted, the liturgy is relentless: "The king is dead. Long live the king!" There is no time for lamentations or to mourn the past when the next battle is already lurking around the corner, with a knife between its teeth.

Onward, then! Towards the G4, to conquer Brazil! Next, towards the reconquest of the crown of America.

The saga demands the now. And the now, friends, is made together.

Tricolor Greetings Washington de Assis

This article was translated into English by Artificial Intelligence. You can read the original version in 🇧🇷 here.