Time tunnel: The day Fred’s dance banished Engenhão’s ghosts | OneFootball

That Sunday afternoon, back in 2012 at Engenhão, there was a kind of tricolor insolence in the air. And above all, there was Fred. The "dancer"—a term that might sound frivolous, but there it became a signature—did something odd twice, as if his own body was writing the story on its own. Fluminense beat Vasco 3-1, lifted the Taça Guanabara, and ended a wait that was already bordering on folklore: since 1993, the club hadn’t tasted the first-round victory.

The match, which in theory was just a first-round title, felt like something bigger. It felt like absolution, like a response, much more than a simple stamped ticket guaranteeing us a spot in the Carioca final. And, as with every afternoon that becomes a memory, it carried its characters in a state of tension: Abel Braga, previously squeezed by doubts and threats of dismissal, left with his jacket feeling a little lighter. And the offensive quartet—Deco, Thiago Neves, Wellington Nem, and Fred—left with the look of those who had found a map.

Fluminense started with an elegant urgency, with short passes and people moving as if the pitch were on fire. Just 20 seconds in, they complained about an offside called on Wellington Nem, one of those plays where the linesman’s imaginary line was often more subjective than poetry. With just over a minute, Nem passed Dedé with almost indecent ease and entered the box; Fred offered his body as an option, but Nem shot wide, as if he had too much desire and not enough calm.

Vasco took a while to wake up. William Barbio, alternating wings, didn’t fit in at first. So the team turned to its ritual: Juninho, set pieces, danger. Nilton rose unmarked and headed, just missing. But Fluminense, cooler, faster, more in control, kept circling with a greater knack for striking.

Thiago Neves, with a tricky shot, forced Fernando Prass to make a save almost like a volleyball dig. Fred, under pressure, shot over the bar from close range. And the match would still see another wrongly called offside—this time with complaints from the Vasco side—as if the assistant referee also wanted to take part in the plot.

Vasco grew in a burst, pushed by Barbio and a shot off the post by Diego Souza in the 33rd minute, after a clumsy miss by Anderson. The crowd was fired up. And, just as the opponent was getting excited, Fluminense found its decisive moment: Nem entered the box and was stopped by a reckless challenge from Fagner. Penalty. Fred shot high into the right corner in the 36th minute, while Prass dove the other way. Engenhão, at that moment, had the sound of great confirmations.

At 42 minutes, came the disorienting blow: Deco received the corner and, with a knowing look, noticed Prass’s position and scored a masterpiece from distance. The ball went into the right corner, and the goalkeeper, trying to get back, was already too late.

“I noticed he came out thinking I was going to cross to the far post. I tried to shoot and got lucky,” said Deco at halftime, with the humility only geniuses possess.

The second goal left Vasco stunned. Rodolfo made a basic control error, Thiago Neves stole the ball and went in alone, but shot wide. It was as if Fluminense, even when wasting chances, still controlled the narrative.

In the second half, the deficit forced Vasco to push forward. And pushing forward that day meant insisting in the air: there were 33 aerial balls during the match, a pilgrimage of crosses. Fluminense, however, managed it with the calm of those who had the scoreboard as an ally and speed as a dagger.

In the 56th minute, the counterattack went from foot to foot, like a well-rehearsed song, until Thiago Neves set up Fred. The number 9 finished low: 3-0. And with that, the tricolor stands found their ready-made mockery, starting the chant of “runner-up again,” stripping the rival of hope and filling the air with that typical cruelty of days when everything goes right.

Diguinho almost scored a fourth. Vasco, disorganized, resorted to the improbable: Dedé left defense and became a striker, as if desperation were a position. There was still a chance for Juninho, parried by Cavalieri; a dangerous cross cleared by Leandro Euzébio; and the shout of “we’re champions” even before the clock allowed it.

At 83 minutes, Eduardo Costa headed powerfully to pull one back: 3-1, a reminder that a derby never truly dies. In the next play, Dedé headed against the right post, threatening to bring drama to what already seemed settled. Kim shot wide. And Cavalieri, like a true final’s goalkeeper, made spectacular saves from Diego Souza and Alecsandro inside the six-yard box, with part of the Vasco fans already leaving—a silent exodus, the kind football provokes when faith is defeated before the whistle.

In the end, what always remains when Fluminense wins and lifts the trophy: the feeling that history had been written in bold strokes. The Taça Guanabara, which hadn’t come since 1993 (when Ézio scored against Volta Redonda), returned to the trophy room as the club’s ninth. And another invisible weight also fell: the 12-derby winless streak, which already seemed like an old curse, melted away there, on the pitch.

In 2026, looking back through the Flúnel of Time, 2012 still feels like that day when Fred danced twice and, between one awkward step and another, Fluminense recovered not just a trophy, but a piece of its own pride.

That year, that team would still go on to win the Brasileirão and, of course, the State Championship itself. But those are stories for another Flúnel of Time.

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