No Bursting My Babble

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I happened upon this in skysports.com, the virtual couches of which find me a frequent lounger:

And when asked if he had a name for his free-kick style, he smiled: "Rocket!" "I like to hear people say 'the Ronaldo rocket'. I am joking."

Cristiano Ronaldo, footballer, fine specimen of the XY chromosomal pairing, clueless boy

He says he says it in jest. Somehow, I do not think so. This, after all, is the same person who, at the grand old age of 22, bewilderingly authored an autobiography entitled Moments: Cristiano Ronaldo.

Follow up:

Moments? I can think of 1) the Rooney red card in the 2006 Word Cup match between England and Portugal and the infamy of a wink (which in my winker self’s estimation ranks high as far as winks go); 2) the two goals against Arsenal in that fateful second game of the 2005-2006 EPL season-- which ended the Gunners’ 49-game unbeaten run and from which Arsenal, it seems (and myself most certainly), has not completely recovered; 3) the allegations of non-consensual carnal knowledge of someones-or-others (yes, plural); 4) less substantially, and not to point to fine a point to it, his silly incidentals (but to put too fine a point to it: mustard boots, garboesque eyebrows, smarmy hairdo); 5) not much else.

It’s not that he hasn’t had his, well, moments (FWA and PFA Footballer of the Year, two years running. Natch. How about that, Rooney?), but only the most self-indulgent would pen an autobiography at 22. I do suppose he would be laughable if he weren’t such a terrific-looking terrific player (minus the diving, which I am glad to report is now seldom-seen).

As it is, I shall be Fangirl No. 1 and declare “Awww. How darling.”

Disclaimer: Photos are not mine