Ronaldo as God

What Ronaldo’s bank account receives in a week  takes the average worker five to six years to earn. Then again, the average worker can’t score from forty yards. The thieving bankers take millions for themselves and play golf, that most twisted of Freudian perversions (little balls and little holes). At least Ronaldo has to run for his money.

But of what of him, as a footballing God. Notice how his teammates  celebrate his thunder strikes with awe in their eyes. His tempestuous anger, just like Zeus, always petty in handing out lessons to the mere mortals.  And feared. As Gods are.  Hatred from his victims, cursed, savaged, and doubted, all the plaintive cries of the lesser flesh. His thunderbolt strikes charge the air, bristling with turbulence. His power stronger than a horse. His looks, the chubby cheeks on the warrior hero body.  Dodger of death. Kisser of female lips.  Ronaldo is mythology. He joins Best, Law and Charlton  in the Manchester pantheon.

Kick the Balls (Plume/Penguin) is out now in paperback.  In bookstores now and at amazon.com

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