For the past four days, I have hated Cristiano Ronaldo. I generally like CR7, both for his talent and skill and for the hypocritical pearl-clutching he induces in fans and pundits alike.
But last Sunday evening, he and Silvestre Varela combined to break my heart. With the U.S. a mere 30 seconds away from victory and advancement out of the Group of Death, Ronaldo – who’d done nothing all game – chose that moment to loft an excruciatingly beautiful cross onto Varela’s head. “Damn that Ronaldo” was the contents of a text I sent to my sister who was traveling but eagerly awaiting game updates. For the past few days, I’ve cursed the reigning World Player of the Year for putting that particular hurt on my team.
Today, I could kiss CR7 – even with the 12 layers of bronzer he’s no doubt wearing. His 81st minute goal against Ghana helped My USMNT move on to the round of 16. We survived the Group of Death, even though we lost 1-0 to Germany.
This Tweet from me summed up my feelings at the end of this wild group stage.
— gillianrosh (@gillianrosh) June 26, 2014