So as you may have gleaned from the Master of the Extraordinary’s “kind words”, I have spent the last few months in Brazil. While I won’t go into too many details about my time here (remember what they say about Vegas?), I have found a talented, funny Brazilian writer from the interior of São Paulo, who has agreed to share his own perspective on this tropical paradise that he calls home. Please give a big, warm TES welcome to Mr. João Ferrrari Pinto.
– Carlos de la Gringa
One of the first requests I always get from foreigners is to show off my “soccer moves”. Just because I’m from the country of the jogo bonito, I automatically must have prodigious abilities with a ball. Does nobody realize how annoying that assumption is? It would be like going up to a French guy you met in a hostel and asking him to make you foie gras, quiche and snails for dinner or telling the waiter at the Chinese restaurant that you want to become his disciple and learn the subtle art of Kung Fu.
Not all Brazilians can dribble past twenty defenders before springing into the air and bicycle kicking the ball into the goal. Nor have they all played on professional teams in Europe with the likes of David Beckham and Cristiano Ronaldo. And yet somehow I was always picked first for impromptu games when I was in the US (never mind the fact that I really was better than any of the Americans).
The truth is, I hate soccer. It is a boring low-scoring sport filled with spoiled narcissistic crybabies, who spend more time grooming their hair and shopping for trendy clothes than they do preparing for games. Personally I prefer mixed martial arts. There’s no pretending to fall down or whining to the ref because that big jerk from the other team “touched you”. It’s just two men duking it out to prove who is tougher. Give me Anderson Silva over Pelé any day.
Nonetheless, I still plan on watching Santos (Pelé’s old team) play Barcelona this Sunday in the Club World Cup at 8:30 in the morning. Although this may seem to contradict everything I just wrote, I assure you that it is out of no love for the game that I am waking up at that ungodly hour. Instead, the idea of watching a Brazilian team beat a European team with an Argentinean star is worth upsetting my precious Sunday morning beauty sleep. Moreover, if Barcelona does manage to win, you can be sure that the three Brazilians on their side had something to do with it.
– João Ferrari Pinto