I remember, 4-5 years ago, watching this young, nifty lad on the TV in a red jersey running down the wing with his partially bleach-blond hair and not-too shabby looks, and asking my cousin: who is that? (I’ll admit, it wasn’t exactly the swift running that sparked my initial interest, hahaha).
And he said, Ronaldo, and I said, isn’t there already a Ronaldo. And he said yes, but this one is going to be better.
From that moment on, for completely unknown and not superficial reasons, I decided I wanted to watch football, support Manchester United and root for this pseudo-Ronaldo guy. And 5 years on, I’m still pretty amazed at how my random pick of favourite footballer turned out to be one of, if not the, best players in the world.
Now, one spectacular season, one speculative summer, one annoying season of whining and tantrums (okay, and a few nice goals), and a couple of convincing interviews about not leaving the club later, he’s going to leave the club. Liar.
I remember, 4-5 years ago, looking at this guy my friend was talking to, in his dark blue singlet and possibly shades (this memory is a little fuzzy) at the CJ grandstand, and asking my friend: who is that?
And he said, ______, and I said oh.
From that moment on, for pretty much entirely superficial reasons, I decided to have a teeny-weeny little crush. (I know you don’t exactly decide these things but lets just give me a little bit of dignity here, eh.)
But many sneaky glances, several daydreams, one movie, a couple of strange but fun times and one slightly traumatic asking-out experience later, let’s just say at least I’ve learnt why, screw feminism, girls should never ask a guy out. Jerk.
I think what I’m really saying is that cute guys tend to screw you over.