The end honors the beginning…
There
is something almost ironic about the final chapter in Cristiano Ronaldo’s story with the Portuguese national team. A man who, for nearly two decades, taught everyone that the sky’s the limit, never to settle for less, and to demand the best from themselves every day, today seems unable to do the hardest thing for a great athlete: to realize that the time has come to take a step back and prepare for retirement.
Ronaldo left Portugal’s training camp after being told he wouldn’t start against Denmark either, following the previous match against Norway, where he remained on the bench. This is no longer speculation or a rumor. It’s a fact. And the fact is even more revealing than the buzz surrounding it. And this is where the big debate begins. There’s no shame in being benched by your coach at age 41. The shame would be in not being able to accept it.
ΣΧΕΤΙΚΑ ΑΡΘΡΑ
Cristiano Ronaldo is one of the greatest soccer players to ever step onto a field. That doesn’t change. We don’t need to defend the obvious. Five Ballon d’Or awards, the Champions League, the Euro, the Nations League, hundreds of goals, the all-time leading scorer in Portugal’s history and for every team he’s played for, setting legendary records. But precisely because he is so great, he should know something else: Legends aren’t judged solely by how they rose to the top. They’re also judged by how they step down from the throne and lay down their crown. And Ronaldo risks ruining the ending. He’s seriously jeopardizing his legacy.
This isn’t the first time his personality has overshadowed his unimaginable soccer talent. We’ve seen it many times. His infamous walk-off and the throwing of his captain’s armband during the match against Serbia in 2021. His reaction to being substituted against South Korea at the 2022 World Cup, when Fernando Santos admitted he didn’t like his behavior. What the cameras captured when he wasn’t in the starting lineup against Switzerland, where Gonçalo Ramos scored a hat trick and Portugal crushed the Swiss 6-1.
And, of course, there’s the Manchester United chapter. The public clash with Erik ten Hag, the infamous interview with Piers Morgan, the statement that he has no respect for the coach because the coach doesn’t respect him, and finally his departure from Old Trafford. Each incident on its own may have its own explanation. Ronaldo may have been right in some cases. He may have been wronged in others. But when the incidents pile up, a pattern emerges.
And that pattern suggests that CR7 is finding it incredibly difficult to accept that he is no longer the Cristiano of 25 or 30 years ago. That doesn’t mean he’s become a bad soccer player. It means he’s grown older—that what happens to everyone has happened to him—that, in the end, he, too, is merely human. At one point, Portugal had to adapt to Ronaldo. Now Ronaldo has to adapt to Portugal. And that’s the point he seems unable to accept.
What’s most interesting, in fact, is that reality decided to give him an immediate and resounding answer. Portugal beat Denmark 4–2 without Ronaldo and then Norway 2–1, also without him, securing their spot in the Nations League quarterfinals with four wins in four games. Gonzalo Ramos, who started in his place against Norway, scored the winning goal. This doesn’t mean that Portugal suddenly became a better team because Ronaldo was absent. It does, however, mean something much simpler and much more important: Portugal can now exist and triumph even without him. And that is perhaps the hardest lesson for a man who, for years, had grown accustomed to being the center of the soccer universe.
What’s surprising is that the situation has even reached the political sphere in Portugal. Prime Minister Luís Montenegro reached out to the key figures involved, and even a government minister spoke publicly about Ronaldo’s value as a “brand” for Portugal. That alone speaks volumes. How many soccer players on the planet can leave a national team and turn a soccer incident into an issue that concerns a prime minister, ministers, the federation, the media, and the entire country? Very few. Perhaps none. That is Ronaldo’s greatness. But it is also his curse.
Because when, for twenty years, the world has been telling you that you’re the most important, the best, the most popular, the most marketable, the most influential, at some point there’s a risk of confusing “I’m huge” with “I’m irreplaceable.” They’re not the same thing. And that’s where social media comes in. Ronaldo realized very early on something that most athletes were slow to grasp: it’s not enough to just be a soccer player. You have to have the means to influence the media. As early as 2014–15, there was an organized team managing his digital presence, with people strategically managing his posts, content, and the commercial exploitation of his image. In fact, in 2015—before the massive explosion of social media—he had over 160 million followers in total across the major platforms. Today, this has become an entire image-driven industry. And that is immense power.
When you have the ability to speak directly to hundreds of millions of people, you don’t need a journalist, a newspaper, or a TV channel to shape the narrative. One Instagram post is enough. “In due time, I’ll tell the truth.” One sentence. And suddenly, the entire planet is waiting for his version of the story. This isn’t just communication. It’s control over the narrative. And Ronaldo is perhaps the world’s top athlete at this game. His millions of followers rushed to take a stand and demand that he return to the national team’s starting lineup.
But soccer isn’t played on Instagram—it’s played on the field. And on the field, time is relentless. It doesn’t care about followers, contracts, brand value, or golden balls that are reminders of past glories. The body ages. Explosiveness wanes. Intensity fades. Distances become harder and longer. And at some point, the coach must decide who helps the team the most. That is his right; that is what he is paid for; that is his job.
And Ronaldo, more than anyone else, should know that. Because there’s a wonderful way to end this story. He could say: “I was the best I could be. Now the team has to move forward.” To become the iconic captain who comes on in the final minutes. To offer advice. To mentor the younger players. Be the towering presence in the locker room. Help Gonçalo Ramos, Rafael Leão, João Félix, and the rest write their own story.
To leave with his head held high. Glorified. Not because he was forced to. Because he decided it himself. Because the greatest achievement of a great champion is not to refuse to admit that he has grown old.It’s to be the first to realize that the time has come to retire. Cristiano has already earned his place in eternity. No one can take that away from him. Not even Jorge Jesus, not even a spot on the bench, not even Gonzalo Ramos, not even a poor showing at his last World Cup. What he might lose is something else: the respect that comes with a grand finale. And that would be a shame.
Because Ronaldo doesn’t need another victory of his ego over a coach, a team of teammates, a federation, or millions of fans. He needs one last great victory over himself. He needs to accept that even living legends must eventually step aside and retire. And they must do so before history—which until now has deified them—casts them into the dustbin of time in a crude and inelegant manner.
