The Bell Tolls

Euro 2024.

The 17th edition of the European Men’s soccer championship takes place in Germany. 24 nations vie for supremacy. Without doubt, even amidst global conflict and highly charged political shifts, major sporting events continue to have value. Legions of fans, supporters of every competing team, ensure a backdrop of vibrant colours. Grandstands, outside viewing areas, and local pubs in the host cities turn into seas of orange, yellow, red, and white.

A decent number of games provide an array of thrills and spills. There is joy and heartbreak, tight scorelines, breathtaking counterattacks, dramatic late goals. A slick and polished Spanish side moves smartly through pool play and then three playoff rounds en route to becoming worthy finalists. Some of the less fancied entries, gallant Georgia and obdurate Slovenia for example, shine brightly in underdog roles.

Along the way, certain individuals sparkle. Enhance reputations. To name just a handful, consider the Turkish defender Ferdi Kadioglu, the Slovenian goalkeeper Jan Oblak, the Swiss striker Ruben Vargas. None of them necessarily household names, but certainly not afraid to step up on the big occasions.

And then there is Christiano Ronaldo.

Of course, the Portuguese forward needs no introduction. An incredible 212 appearances for the national team, the first back in 2003. In this day and age of celebrity status and culture, he is instantly recognizable and revered. Impossibly handsome, bronzed, a sculpted body. Richer than Croesus. Worshipped world wide for his 130 international goals. By all accounts, more Instagram and Twitter (X) followers than anyone else in the world.

Alas, he is also clearly well past his “sell by” date.

Indeed, the 2024 Euro tournament becomes the eighth consecutive major competition in which he fails to score a goal in open play. Slow and disjointed, gone is his ability to move, to shake free from defenders. Gone an ability to pass accurately. Too many poor first touches. Gone the spring heeled ability to reach crosses into the box, to finish chances.

Nowhere is the latter more evident than in Portugal’s gripping quarterfinal match vs France. Late in regulation, Ronaldo fails to convert what surely would have been the game winning goal. Somehow, wide open in front of the net, a mere six yards between him and glory, he balloons a shot well over the cross bar. An opportunity he once would have buried without a second thought goes to waste.

The cameras immediately swing to the Portuguese dugout. Perhaps they pan reactions of several of the precocious, young players, the disconsolate who should actually be out on the field. Certainly, the cameras catch the manager, arms waving, knees sagging, irritation and extreme frustration obvious. Then, a split second later, realizing the culprit, he instead claps in phony appreciation of the effort. It is embarrassing to watch.

Must it always be all about Ronaldo?

Note the free kick pantomime, even though he has not scored for ages from a set piece. Still, apparently only he can take them. Ball tucked safely under his arm, he goes to the spot. Teammates reduced to the role of observers. Yet, the end results predictable. The kicks either blocked easily by a wall of defenders, or more likely soaring high into the end terraces. What follows is equally unsavoury, the gestures. Eyes cast heavenward in disgust, the shrugging, the pouting. The finger wags, the sarcastic grins, arms reaching out, palms up.

There is more. Whatever the situation, the cameras continue to seek him out. How else would the millions watching live on television know that, on failing to convert an extra time penalty kick vs Slovenia, Ronaldo literally breaks down, sobbing like a baby, during the actual match? And, though he makes immediate amends of a sort in the ensuing penalty shootout, the post game chatter focuses more on his behaviour and reaction than the brilliance of teammate Diogo Costa. The acrobatic netminder smothers three consecutive spot kicks to spare Portuguese blushes.

Flash forward to the quarterfinal vs France. What should be a mouthwatering spectacle instead becomes something rather more tedious. Incredibly tense and suspenseful yes, but hardly action packed. Iron clad defence rules the day, crunching tackles and shot blocks celebrated wildly. Scoring chances few and far between. For a record sixth time in the tournament, a scoreless draw results.

Ronaldo struggles. Perhaps not surprisingly, he appears sluggish and ineffective. Like a heavy anchor up front, he severely limits Portugal’s attacking options. Yet, as if deemed irreplaceable, as if his own participation trumps the actual team performance, he plays out the full 120 minutes.

Penalty kicks are again required. The shootout commences. Ronaldo does do his part, with an emphatic strike. Others follow, the quality of the penalties superb, the respective goalies given no chance to make a game defining save. Yet, eventually, someone must miss. In this case, it is a devastated Joao Felix. His wicked, low drive, while beating the keeper, crashes against the goalpost.

Immediately, the Portuguese squad rushes to support their grieving teammate. Wrap him up in a loving embrace. All led by the magnificent Pepe, in his last game for his country.

Up above, the spider cam hovers. Significantly, for a brief second, it broadcasts a sole Portuguese walking alone, heading away from the pack.

On his own. It is Christiano Ronaldo.

Hopefully, there might soon come a day when a Portugal match is just about Portugal, and not primarily about Ronaldo. Yet, it appears that day is still some way in the distance. Recent news, via social media, suggests the fading superstar plans to forgo a rumoured retirement in order to reach the 2026 World Cup.

Say it isn’t so. Two years from now, Ronaldo will be 41 years old. Father Time remains, and always will remain, undefeated. Surely Portugal cannot tolerate another two years watching a footballing legend, now a frustrated and vastly diminished figure, slip further away. Regardless of his looming presence, management must not hamper the development of a cadre of young, highly skilled performers. Legitimate chances to win major tournaments come about rarely. They cannot be sacrificed at the altar of one man’s ego.

Perhaps the words of John Donne, a 17th century English poet and scholar, merit consideration. In a famous meditation, penned in 1624, he wrote the following.

“No man is an island, entire of itself.…..never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee”.

CR 7, please take heed. The bell tolls. It is time to go.