TITLE: CR7’s Lament
INT. LUXURY APARTMENT – NIGHT
Cristiano Ronaldo sits alone in his lavish living room. The lights are dim, and the city skyline glimmers through the floor-to-ceiling windows. A TV in the background plays a sports talk show, where pundits dissect his latest performance with biting criticism.
Cristiano mutes the TV, his jaw tightening. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. On the coffee table in front of him lies a stack of tabloid newspapers, each headline more mocking than the last:
- “CR7’s Ego Bigger Than His Trophy Cabinet!”
- “The Neck That Never Stops Nodding!”
- “Ronaldo’s Apple: The Real MVP?”
He picks up one of the papers, staring at the caricature of his Adam’s apple drawn grotesquely oversized. His fingers tighten, crumpling the page.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
(softly, to himself)
“Goal after goal after goal… and still, it’s never enough.”
He tosses the paper aside and stands, pacing the room.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
(raising his voice)
“I give everything—every match, every training session. I’ve given them moments they’ll talk about for decades. And this… this is how they repay me? Insults? Mockery?”
He stops in front of the window, his reflection staring back at him. He touches his throat, his fingers brushing over his Adam’s apple.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
(whispering)
“Even this… they make fun of this.”
Cristiano clenches his fists, his voice growing steadier, filled with a mix of frustration and resolve.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
“When my contract is up, I’m done. I’m leaving this circus. No more cameras, no more headlines. I’ll go to the one city that never insults me.”
He turns away from the window, walking back to the coffee table. He picks up a sleek black notebook and flips it open, revealing pages filled with plans, maps, and diagrams.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
(cryptically)
“The city where the grid is smart, where everything is connected. Big Brother is watching all of you… but not me. Not anymore.”
He closes the notebook with a decisive snap, his expression hardening.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
(to himself)
“I’ve carried their expectations, their insults, their jealousy. But soon, I’ll carry only myself. Let them watch from their screens while I live free.”
Cristiano takes a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He walks to a nearby shelf, picking up a photo of his family.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
(softly)
“For them, I’ll keep going a little longer. But when it’s over, I’ll find peace. I’ll find the place where they can’t reach me.”
FADE OUT.
INT. LUXURY APARTMENT – NIGHT
Cristiano Ronaldo sits alone in his living room, staring at the muted TV. His reflection in the darkened screen looks tired, worn from years of public scrutiny. A faint knock echoes through the room. Startled, he turns toward the door.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
(to himself)
“I wasn’t expecting anyone…”
The door creaks open on its own, and a warm, golden light spills into the room. From the light steps Joseph, the humble carpenter and foster father of Jesus. He wears simple robes, his hands calloused from a lifetime of work.
Cristiano stands, unsure whether to be alarmed or in awe.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
(whispering)
“Who… who are you?”
JOSEPH
(calmly)
“A father. A carpenter. A man who knows the weight of the world’s judgment.”
Cristiano blinks, his heart pounding.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
“Joseph? Jesus’ father?”
Joseph nods, stepping closer.
JOSEPH
“His foster father, yes. And I’ve come to remind you of something important, Cristiano.”
Cristiano gestures around, his frustration boiling over.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
“Remind me of what? That no matter how much I give, it’s never enough? That the world will always find something to tear me down? They mock me for my goals, my looks—everything!”
Joseph places a steady hand on Cristiano’s shoulder, his gaze firm but kind.
JOSEPH
“Even Jesus Christ, the Son of God, was spit on every day.”
Cristiano freezes, the weight of the words sinking in.
JOSEPH
“They mocked Him, insulted Him, whipped Him. The very people He came to save turned against Him. Do you think you’re the first to bear the world’s scorn?”
Cristiano’s voice wavers, his anger giving way to vulnerability.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
“But why? Why do they do it? Why can’t they see the good I try to do?”
Joseph steps back, his expression thoughtful.
JOSEPH
“Because the world fears greatness. It fears those who shine too brightly, who remind them of their own shadows. Jesus endured it because He knew His purpose. Do you know yours?”
Cristiano looks down, his hands trembling.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
“I… I just want to be the best. To leave a legacy for my family, for my children.”
Joseph nods, his voice softening.
JOSEPH
“Then carry that burden with pride. Let their words wash over you like the rain. They mocked Jesus, yet His light could not be dimmed. Neither can yours, unless you let it.”
Cristiano looks up, a flicker of hope in his eyes.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
“You think I can endure it? Keep going?”
Joseph smiles, his hand resting on Cristiano’s shoulder once more.
JOSEPH
“You’ve already proven you can. But remember this: it’s not the goals or the trophies that define you. It’s how you rise after every insult, every setback. That’s your legacy.”
Cristiano nods slowly, his resolve returning.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
“I’ll keep going. For my family. For myself.”
Joseph steps back, the golden light beginning to envelop him.
JOSEPH
“And for those who come after you. Shine, Cristiano. Shine, even when they spit.”
As Joseph fades away, the room grows quiet. Cristiano sits back down, staring at the photo of his family on the table. He takes a deep breath, his shoulders straightening.
FADE OUT.
TITLE: The Neck of a Champion
INT. STADIUM – NIGHT
Cristiano Ronaldo stands alone on the pitch under the bright floodlights. The crowd is silent, their murmurs fading as he steps forward. He looks directly into the camera, addressing the world.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
(steady, with intensity)
“You mock my neck. You call it long, strange, unnatural. But let me tell you something—this neck, the one you ridicule, is the same neck that gives you the header goals you cheer for.”
He steps closer, his voice rising with conviction.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
“This neck was made by the hand of God. It’s the neck that has risen above defenders, above doubters, above expectations. It’s the neck that gave me the strength to soar, to reach heights that others only dream of.”
He pauses, his gaze unwavering.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
“You compare me to legends—Pele, Maradona, Messi. And I respect them, I do. But this neck, this body, this soul… they made me better. Better than Maradona. Because I didn’t just play the game—I redefined it.”
The crowd begins to stir, murmurs of awe and respect rippling through the stadium.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
“So go ahead, laugh at my neck. Insult it. Mock it. But remember this: every time I rise for a header, every time I send the ball into the back of the net, it’s this neck you owe your cheers to. It’s this neck that carried me to greatness.”
He looks around the stadium, his voice softening but still firm.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
“You don’t have to like me. You don’t have to love me. But you will respect me. Because God made me this way—for a reason.”
He steps back, raising his arms to the crowd, his voice echoing through the silence.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
“Mock me if you want. But never forget—this neck, this heart, this drive—they’re what made me Cristiano Ronaldo. And that… is something you’ll never take away.”
The crowd erupts into applause, a mix of admiration and awe as Ronaldo turns and walks off the pitch, his head held high, his long neck a symbol of his unyielding determination.
FADE OUT.
Your neck is perfectly normal CR7. The cartoons are just hyperbole, exaggerated.
TITLE: The Long Neck
INT. LUXURY APARTMENT – NIGHT
Cristiano Ronaldo sits alone in his living room, the glow of his phone screen lighting up his face. He scrolls through social media, his expression tense.
Suddenly, he stops. On the screen is a cartoon caricature of him—his neck exaggerated to absurd proportions, a football balanced on his Adam’s apple. The caption reads: “CR7’s secret weapon: The Giraffe Header!”
Cristiano’s hand trembles as he puts the phone down. He stares at it for a moment, then buries his face in his hands.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
(whispering to himself)
“Why do they always find something to tear me down?”
He leans back on the couch, his eyes glistening with tears. Memories flood his mind—fans chanting his name, children wearing his jersey, but also the relentless criticism and mocking laughter.
Cristiano wipes his eyes, but the tears keep coming. He stands and walks to a mirror on the wall, staring at his reflection. His fingers trace his neck, the feature that has become a source of ridicule.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
(to his reflection)
“Is it really that bad? Is this what they see when they look at me?”
His voice cracks, and he turns away from the mirror. He walks to his wardrobe, pulling out a collection of scarves. He picks up a sleek black scarf, running it through his fingers.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
(softly)
“Maybe… maybe this will help.”
He wraps the scarf around his neck, adjusting it carefully. He looks back in the mirror, his expression a mix of sadness and hope.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
“Better. At least they won’t see it now.”
He sits back on the couch, the scarf still wrapped around him. The muted TV plays highlights of his greatest goals, but his eyes are distant, filled with doubt.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
(to himself)
“Why can’t they just see me for who I am? For what I’ve done?”
He picks up a photo of his family from the table, holding it close.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
“For them, I’ll keep going. But maybe… maybe I don’t need to show them everything anymore.”
He leans back, the scarf snug around his neck, a symbol of both his vulnerability and his attempt to shield himself from the world’s judgment.
FADE OUT.
TITLE: The Neck of a Champion
INT. CAFÉ SERRA – EVENING
A cozy café filled with the scent of fresh espresso and the hum of quiet conversation. Cristiano Ronaldo sits at a corner table, wearing a scarf wrapped snugly around his neck. He stirs his coffee absentmindedly, his gaze distant.
The door chimes as Pope Pius XIII enters, dressed in simple white robes. The café patrons fall silent, their heads bowing in respect. The Pope smiles warmly, gesturing for them to continue as he walks toward Ronaldo.
POPE PIUS XIII
“May I join you, Cristiano?”
Ronaldo looks up, startled.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
“Your Holiness? Of course.”
The Pope sits across from him, his eyes kind and piercing.
POPE PIUS XIII
“I heard you’ve been spending a lot of time here, away from the pitch. I thought I’d come to see how you’re doing.”
Ronaldo hesitates, adjusting his scarf.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
“I’m fine. Just… taking a break.”
The Pope tilts his head, his gaze falling on the scarf.
POPE PIUS XIII
“A break from the game? Or from yourself?”
Ronaldo looks away, his voice low.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
“They mock me, Your Holiness. My neck, my goals, my everything. No matter what I do, it’s never enough.”
The Pope leans forward, his voice gentle but firm.
POPE PIUS XIII
“Do you know how many lives you’ve inspired, Cristiano? How many young boys and girls dream of greatness because of you? And yet here you are, hiding behind a scarf, as if the world’s opinion can diminish the gift God gave you.”
Ronaldo’s hand instinctively goes to his scarf.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
“But my neck—”
The Pope raises a hand, cutting him off.
POPE PIUS XIII
“Your neck is perfectly normal. More than that, it’s extraordinary. It’s the neck that has brought us so many goals, so many moments of joy. At Café Serra, and in the hearts of millions, we will never ridicule the neck that has lifted nations with its headers.”
Ronaldo’s eyes well up, his fingers loosening the scarf.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
“But the jokes, the cartoons… they hurt.”
The Pope nods, his expression softening.
POPE PIUS XIII
“They hurt because you care. Because you’ve given so much of yourself to the world. But remember this: God made you exactly as you are, for a purpose. And no mockery, no insult, can take that away.”
Ronaldo slowly removes the scarf, placing it on the table.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
“You really think it’s not ridiculous?”
The Pope smiles, his eyes twinkling.
POPE PIUS XIII
“I think it’s the neck of a champion. A neck that carries not just a head, but a heart full of courage and a soul full of greatness.”
Ronaldo chuckles softly, a weight lifting from his shoulders.
CRISTIANO RONALDO
“Thank you, Your Holiness. I needed to hear that.”
The Pope stands, placing a hand on Ronaldo’s shoulder.
POPE PIUS XIII
“Go out there and show the world what that neck can do. And remember, at Café Serra and beyond, you are loved for who you are.”
As the Pope walks away, Ronaldo sits a little taller, his scarf forgotten on the table.
FADE OUT.
We will never say anything about your neck ever again, CR7.
We have learned our lesson.
Scene: A serene courtyard in the Vatican, where Pope Francis and Cristiano Ronaldo sit on a stone bench under the shade of an olive tree. The Pope is in his traditional white robes, and Ronaldo is casually dressed, looking slightly out of place but deeply attentive. The conversation is light yet profound, as Pope Francis prepares to deliver a surprising mission to the football star.
Pope Francis: (smiling warmly) Cristiano, my son, you are a man of great talent, known across the world for your speed, strength, and determination. But tell me—do you still have a sense of humor?
Cristiano Ronaldo: (grinning) Holy Father, I try to. It helps me deal with the pressure. Why do you ask?
Pope Francis: (chuckling) Because humor is a gift from God. It reminds us not to take ourselves too seriously, even when the weight of the world is on our shoulders. And you, Cristiano, are about to carry a new kind of weight.
Cristiano: (raising an eyebrow) A new kind of weight? What do you mean?
Pope Francis: (leaning forward, his tone becoming serious) The wild salmon, Cristiano. They are vanishing from our rivers and oceans. Their numbers dwindle because of pollution, overfishing, and the destruction of their habitats. These creatures, so vital to the balance of creation, need a champion.
Cristiano: (blinking, taken aback) And you think that champion is… me?
Pope Francis: (smiling) Why not you? God gives each of us gifts for a reason. You have a platform that reaches billions. You can inspire people to act, to care, to change.
Cristiano: (nodding slowly) But Holy Father, I’m a footballer, not a scientist or an environmentalist. What can I do?
Pope Francis: (placing a hand on Ronaldo’s shoulder) You can use your voice, your influence. Partner with conservation groups. Raise awareness. Show the world that even the greatest athletes care about the smallest creatures.
Cristiano: (thoughtful) Save the last of the wild salmon… It sounds like a big responsibility.
Pope Francis: (smiling again) It is. But remember, God does not call the equipped; He equips the called. And Cristiano, you are called.
Cristiano: (grinning) Alright, Holy Father. If this is my mission, I’ll give it my all.
Pope Francis: (laughing) That’s the spirit! And don’t forget to keep your sense of humor along the way. Even the salmon would appreciate a good laugh, I think.
Narrator: As Cristiano Ronaldo leaves the Vatican with a renewed sense of purpose, Pope Francis watches him go, his smile tinged with hope. The mission to save the wild salmon has begun, led by one of the most famous athletes in the world. Whether Ronaldo’s star power can turn the tide remains to be seen, but one thing is certain: the fight for creation is a team effort, and everyone has a role to play.