As an Arsenal Gooner and believer in the triumph of good over evil, I loathe Cristiano Ronaldo. He’s a diving puss-in-boots that deserves a solid kick to the neck. As such, I’d like to think that if he ever crossed my path, I’d choke him out and break his knees but the truth is – he’s a mesmerizing talent and the best footballer on the planet. It’s not enough that his body is capable of doing things that others cannot; he pulls off moves that others can barely conceive of, let alone attempt. No one is as fast and agile, nor is anyone more inventive or cunning, and it’s for that reason that he’s rapidly becoming the face of football.
But when you become the unofficial ambassador of a sport, it’s important to remember that you’re not just catering to over-tanned Euros who know that beneath the crotch-hugging Pepe jeans and Louis Vuitton man purse is a man that frequently has orgies with hookers. You’re also serving Americans – Americans that are finally realizing how lame and fraudulent David Beckham actually is.. Americans that will snatch their kids off youth pitches and run for the hills upon noticing that their little boys are wearing the kit of a preening Mediterranean gigolo:
Come on, Cristina – we have to do better than this! You represent a sport that has long fought for credibility in a pathalogically hypermasculine country where "real men" speak with "you-talkin’-ta-me" pugnacity and do pushups with their dicks. And yet here you are, prancing around Hollywood with shaved legs, booty shorts and a fauxhawk. You are the greatest talent of a generation; not one of Ricky Martin’s dancers. Do the game a favor and put on some cargo shorts and grab your crotch every once in a while. There are Americans to impress!
HT: Just Jared