Rain poured like the sky had opened its veins
The pitch was heavy
The ball slowed with every pass
But Cristiano's boots didn't
It was a League Cup match
Midweek
Cold
Forgettable for most
But not for him
Every match was a message
Every minute was a battlefield
He had been benched the week before
Media said he was all tricks and no end product again
He read the headlines
Memorized the insults
Tonight
He answered with fire
First touch
A sharp turn that sent the left back sliding off balance
Second touch
A nutmeg that brought gasps from the wet crowd
Third touch
A whip of the ball that kissed the post and went in
Goal
He didn't celebrate
He just stared at the bench
Right at the coaching staff
Then turned away like he hadn't even scored
Minutes later
He got fouled hard
Studs-up
Straight to the shin
The crowd groaned
Cristiano rolled on the grass once
Then stood up like it was nothing
Eyes blazing
Jaw tight
The next time he got the ball
He didn't dance
He charged
Like a storm
The same defender who fouled him
Froze
Then reached
Too late
Cristiano flew past
Crossed it to the box
Assist
By the end of the match
He had one goal
Two assists
And eight successful dribbles
But more than that
He had made a statement
After the final whistle
Sir Alex walked up to him
Didn't say anything
Just patted his back once
Cristiano nodded silently
Soaked
Mud on his socks
Rain dripping from his hair
In the tunnel
A journalist asked
"Do you think you've done enough to earn your place?"
Cristiano didn't stop walking
Just said quietly
"I don't want my place
I want the whole stage"
And the storm continued
But now
It had a name