So, U.S. Soccer is rolling out the red carpet in Atlanta. Not just for one game, but for two. In the same stadium. They’re bringing over Portugal and Belgium for a little pre-World Cup showcase at the Mercedes-Benz Stadium, and the marketing machine is already churning out press releases about strengthening ties and building a legacy.
Give me a break.
Let’s call this what it is: The Cristiano Ronaldo Farewell Tour, American Leg. The entire spectacle is built on the premise that a 40-year-old superstar will single-handedly sell out a 71,000-seat NFL stadium. And the USSF is so desperate to make this work, to justify their shiny new headquarters in Georgia, that they’re staging this highly unusual two-game homestand. They’re betting the farm on nostalgia. They’re selling us a legend, a myth, a highlight reel from 2016.
They’re selling a product that, as of this week, might be showing some serious cracks in the foundation. Because while the suits in America are busy planning photo ops and fan-fests, the actual product—the Portuguese national team—was busy fumbling the bag back in Lisbon.
The Record and The Reality
I watched that game against Hungary. And honestly... it was the perfect encapsulation of the entire late-stage Ronaldo experience. On one hand, you have the relentless, history-chasing machine. He scores in the 22nd minute. Boom. Goal number 40 in World Cup qualifying, a new world record, passing some guy from Guatemala nobody’s ever heard of. Then, right before halftime, he does it again. Goal 41. His 948th career goal. The numbers are just absurd at this point, like something from a video game.
He did his job. He delivered the moments the cameras came to see. If you just read the stat sheet, or a headline like Cristiano Ronaldo Sets New Goal Record; Portugal Still Await World Cup Spot, you’d think it was another routine victory, another chapter in the hagiography of Saint Cristiano.
But soccer ain't played on a spreadsheet. For all his individual brilliance, Portugal looked fragile, disjointed, and utterly incapable of closing out a must-win game at home. It was a brilliant performance. No, 'brilliant' isn't right—it was a desperate, heroic act of defiance against time itself. Ronaldo is like a world-class architect meticulously designing and building two perfect, ornate pillars on a house that has a cracked foundation and leaky plumbing. The pillars are stunning, a marvel of engineering. But the damn house is still about to collapse.
And collapse it did. In the 91st minute, Liverpool’s Dominik Szoboszlai—a player 16 years Ronaldo’s junior—slams home an equalizer. The stadium goes quiet. The script is shredded. Portugal, minutes away from booking their ticket to the World Cup, is suddenly left staring at a 2-2 draw and another two agonizing qualifiers in November. They still have a five-point lead, sure, but this was supposed to be the coronation. Instead, it was a warning shot.
What does it say when your living god can break a world record and it’s still not enough to beat Hungary? What are we even celebrating here? The individual achievement, or are we just ignoring the collective failure it was wrapped in?
A Tale of Two Cities
The irony is almost too perfect. While the soccer world was obsessing over Ronaldo's record, the actual city of Lisbon was dealing with actual problems. They were in the middle of a heated mayoral election, one overshadowed by a tragic streetcar crash that killed 16 people just a month prior. Voters were talking about housing prices, garbage collection, and whether the mayor was politically responsible for failing infrastructure. Real-life, messy, unglamorous stuff.
You have a city creaking under the strain of its own success, where locals are being priced out and public services are stretched thin. And in the middle of it all, the national obsession is a soccer game. It’s a jarring disconnect. It feels like everyone’s focused on the palace intrigue while the village is on fire. For Ronaldo and Portugal it's a different story. The focus is always on the one man, the one record, the one last shot at glory.
This is the circus the USSF is so eager to import. They want the spectacle, the glamour, the easy ticket sales that come with a global icon. They’re not buying a team; they’re buying a traveling museum exhibit. They’re hoping to fill 71,000 seats with people who want to see the Mona Lisa, even if the frame is chipped and the wall it’s hanging on is crumbling.
The plan is to drape off the upper deck for the Belgium game, the one without Ronaldo, because they know it won’t sell as well. That says everything you need to know. This isn’t about preparing the USMNT for the World Cup by playing top-tier opponents. It’s about cashing in on one man’s fame before it fades for good.
But what if the product they’re buying is already past its expiration date? Ronaldo will still score goals. He’ll probably score until he’s 50. But can he still will a team to victory when it matters most? The evidence from Lisbon suggests that era might be over. He can still write his own name into the record books, but he can’t write the final score anymore. Not by himself. And that’s the one thing the marketing brochures and the TV promos will never tell you.
The Legend is Lighter Than The Team
Look, I get it. Ronaldo is a phenomenon. A 40-year-old athlete performing at this level is medically and logically astounding. But we’ve become so obsessed with celebrating the individual that we’ve forgotten this is a team sport. Portugal’s draw wasn’t a fluke; it was a symptom of a team that has relied on one man’s magic for so long it’s forgotten how to win without it. He’s the ultimate safety net, but even the strongest nets eventually tear. The USSF can sell all the tickets they want, but they’re selling a memory, not a guarantee. And as Hungary proved in the 91st minute, reality always, always has the final say.