41 Years old. The fifth time. Last time.
The odds are seventh. Twenty for one. Knees were shattered, ankles were crippled, and the media had written eulogies.
Young people stared at my number seven jersey. The whole world is asking the same question: When are you leaving?
I smiled and tied my shoes.
Let me get something first.
"What?"
Hercules Cup.
"You can't get it."
Then try it.
Four years ago I cried on my knees. This time, I'm going to win standing.
Stand and let 700 million people shout with me: SIUUUUU!!!
Me, 41 years old, going to win the World Cup.
Not to make up the numbers. It's not used as a backdrop. Not to make way for young people.
It's about winning.
Whether you believe it or not is none of my business.
