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Journalism of Courage
We, fat men, are invariably underestimated and thought to be sluggish both in mind and body. We are regularly condemned for our eating habits and our lack of exercise. We are laughed at as we waddle from place to place. The wife insists I visit a dietitian to get some sort of order into a body which she complains is going haywire. The parents list out various maladies that afflict the fat. The sibs, long distance from the US, having heard that their bro is bloating up like a balloon, suggest various exercise regimens. As I tuck into another hamburger I feel condemnation all around.
And then comes the World Cup. And then comes Brazil. One glance at Ronaldo in the famous yellow T-shirt is enough to see that the Brazilian president is right. He is overweight. But even in the Brazilian president8217;s words I find encouragement. He makes it sound more like Brazil8217;s, rather than Ronaldo8217;s, problem. This shift in responsibility is promising. Further reassurance comes when, soon enough, there is a public outcry and the Brazilian president has to eat his words as Ronaldo eats another chocolate. Even before the first touch of the ball it is clear Ronaldo is the poster boy of all fat men.
Brazil may be out of the tournament but, for me, Ronaldo is my hero of the World Cup. In my view he has already done enough to earn the gratitude of every fat man in the world. My room is now dominated by a big poster of Ronaldo. And then I remember there was also another fat man in years past who set the soccer field ablaze. A certain Diego Maradona. The genuine article who played football with his hands and his legs.
