LOS ANGELES – We make them believe they are invulnerable. And we do it until they themselves believe they are invulnerable.
We make them believe they are unbreakable. Until they believe they are unbreakable.
We make them believe that they are eternal. Until they themselves believe they are eternal.
We make them believe that they are invincible. Until they themselves believe they are invincible.
We make them believe that they are immortal. And we do it until they themselves believe they are immortal.
We make them believe that they should only be winners, otherwise they will only be losers. Until they themselves believe that they should only be winners, otherwise, they will only be losers.
We demand that they be superhuman. Until they themselves believe they are superhuman.
We demand that they be fictional heroes. Until they themselves believe they are fictional heroes.
We demand that they be the engendering machines of our fantasies. Until they themselves believe that they are the engendering machines of their fantasies.
We make them believe that they are the champions, the colossi, of our illusions and dreams. Until we make them believe that they are the champions, the titans, of our illusions and theirs.
Until one day, they simply collapse. One day they just collapse. One day they just collapse.
Because footballers, athletes in general, are not, have not been, and will not be, that already imperfect perfection that they and we believe they can and should be.
And one day they fade before us. Like Christian Eriksen. Like Christian ‘Chucho’ Benítez. Like Aldo de Nigris. Like Vivien Foé. Like Iker Casillas. Like Serginho. Like Fabrice Maumba. Like so many others …
In the mixed zone, at the World Cup in Brazil, Javier ‘Chicharito’ Hernández explained: “We are not supermen, nor perfect people. We are as fragile and as strong as any of them (the fans) ”.
Milan Kundera, in ‘The unbearable lightness of being’, writes: “He who permanently wants to reach higher, has to count on one day that vertigo will invade him.”
Morten Boesen, the Denmark national team doctor, was brutal in his statement. “(Eriksen) was dead and we resuscitated him”, after cardiac arrest, while the Danes faced Finland in the European Championship.
This Monday, Eriksen sent a message through La Gazzetta dello Sport. “I’ll not give up”.
“I feel better now. But I want to understand what happened ”, explains the 29-year-old footballer, according to a statement delivered by his representative.
A tale of terror, fiction and victory. Eriksen crossed the threshold between life and death. And it came back from nothing to everything. With just one shock from the defibrillator. Yes: “The unbearable lightness of being.”
The relevant truth is that soccer has become a heartless act of cannibalism. Swallow, burp, and swallow again.
Unfortunately, Eriksen is news today, tomorrow it will be anecdote, statistics. From the “man’s game”, Ángel Fernández would say, to “The Hunger Games”, Hollywood will claim.
That FIFA should review its calendars. That clubs should review their health protocols. Angry claims of others, of which we must also feel guilty. Frustrated crows at the open and empty coffin.
Is Eriksen more of a victim of his passion or of our consumption? Maybe both. Or maybe none. But, let’s discuss Einstein: “I will never believe that God plays dice with the world.”
Certainly, there are indecipherable scenarios. Eriksen, according to his surroundings, is a disciplined and orderly character. The football almanac records dramatic cases of disorderly and almost eternal, perennial footballers.
Unfinished tragedies sometimes end up being useless, sadly, especially among soccer masters of meanness.
In the end, because this time the ravens did not dress in mourning, it may happen that this message goes unnoticed, this claim by Eriksen and The Unbearable Lightness of Being: “But (if) an event is not so much more significant and privileged, is it? How many more coincidences are necessary to produce it?