Cristiano Ronaldo during his stay in Hong Kong

I set myself the task of following Cristiano Ronaldo during his stay in Hong Kong, at the risk of being perceived as a passionate fan by those who follow me on social media. I am the antithesis of what might be assumed when I turn my radar toward an elite footballer: a sharp critic of the media construction of both idolatry and hatred toward figures like CR7. Of course, I identify with several of Cristiano’s traits, among them self-confidence and obsessive commitment in the pursuit of perfection in one’s craft. But from there to idolizing him or hating him for the same reasons—or for others that circulate within the superficial discourse of football fans—there is an enormous distance.

I distance myself as well from the construction of such obtuse narratives as the supposed rivalry between Cristiano Ronaldo and Lionel Messi. A story that does not align with reality: two players who respect each other beyond their sporting duels that have lasted over fifteen years. The two most outstanding footballers in the world—at least of the past two decades.

At this stage of my personal and professional life, what others may conclude about me is not at the center of my actions. So I decided to take advantage of the available time and the proximity between my home and his base of operations. Al-Nassr, the Saudi team where Cristiano plays, stayed at The Regent Hotel, a 12-minute walk from my house or just one MTR (subway) station away.

Some of their training sessions were held at JSC in Kowloon Tong, also in the area where I live. The Portuguese star also took advantage of his presence in Hong Kong to visit the CR7 Life Museum K11, inaugurated this past July, where images and objects related to his football career and personal life are displayed. Another place located in my neighborhood. How could I not attempt an approach, given that football is one of my central professional subjects?

I recalled Gay Talese and his fruitless pursuit of a direct dialogue with Frank Sinatra. And there he was, silently tracking the singer’s movements, speaking with others who offered clues, weaving the chronicle through resources outside of the direct word with the protagonist: thus was built Frank Sinatra Has a Cold, an iconic piece of New Journalism.

I arrive at training on a rainy night, August 14th: I pass several security cordons, greeting those I encounter politely. I walk toward the pitch with such confidence that no one asks me anything or tries to block my way. It sounds incredible, but within a few minutes, I manage to exchange a brief greeting with Cristiano—one I failed to capture because my phone had run out of battery. An unfortunate consequence of heading unexpectedly to the training ground, news of which I had only learned along the way.

I am left with a bittersweet feeling similar to the one I experienced in 2005, when I shared moments with Messi at the U-20 South American Championship but kept no photographic or video record for posterity. I didn’t want to relive something similar, and that fueled my reporter’s spirit: while securing even a short interview seemed impossible, a photo or video appeared highly probable.

I return the next day. I see crowds packed behind a cordoned-off area, waiting for an autograph or photo. “You can’t go in there,” the security guard tells me. I approach from the other side, with better results: I show my press pass, and they place me in a more exclusive area, next to a reporter and a cameraman, waiting for the players to exit toward the bus. And from there, to training. In front, farther away from the path that CR7 and his teammates will take, are the fans—mostly children and teenagers.

Several police officers guard the area, ensuring no one jumps over the barriers. “Are you related to Ronaldo?” one of them asks me. “No.” “Are you Portuguese?” she counters. “No.” We both smile. I resume my mission. The players come out…