When he made his Manchester United debut in 2003, Cristiano Ronaldo took the field with small ribbons sewn into his hair. In motion, he looked like an overloved Shih Tzu.
From that first moment, Ronaldo rubbed most people the wrong way. And when I say 'rubbed,' think more along the lines of 'virtual facewashing.' This is a man who once praised his agent and chief enabler, Jorge Mendes, as "the best, the Cristiano Ronaldo of agents." Few athletes in history have been more admired and less liked.
Apparently, that notion extends to his teammates. Ronaldo famously hates anyone who threatens to steal away any part of his glory. Since moving to Spain seven years ago, he has semi-publicly warred with most of his star colleagues. If you believe the Spanish tabs, his current list includes Karim Benzema (for being a different sort of jerk and scoring goals) and Gareth Bale (for being expensive and not scoring them).
Asked ahead of Wednesday's Champions League first knockout round if he thought a team worked better if the guys on it like each other, Ronaldo shrugged.
"When I was at Manchester winning the Champions League, with some players like [Ryan] Giggs, [Rio] Ferdinand and [Paul] Scholes, our discussions were limited to 'Good morning' and 'Good night.'"
I'm not sure that qualifies as a discussion.
In response, Ferdinand – a bit of a flash character himself – said, "He used to live next door to me … He used to come in in tight jeans and we used to murder him. He didn't get it."
Ferdinand said it gently, but you get the sense that Ronaldo has just added a new name to his Nixonian enemies list. In his world, every insult is grave and every doubter is tabulated.
By his own ridiculous standards, Ronaldo is having a bit of a down year. He is among the goal leaders in La Liga, rather than the leader. Real Madrid sits seven points behind Barcelona in the league table – too large a gap to close. He's already had one coach fired under him. The sacking seemed to pass largely unnoticed by the team's biggest star.
He's spent a great deal of time trying to prove that he, rather than Bale, is the most expensively bought player in soccer history. Why he cares remains a mystery to all of those who haven't paid 10 seconds of attention to the man at any point in his career.
He cares because he needs not only to be the best, but to be acknowledged as such. For a man that so disdains the opinions of others, he seems to care about them an awful lot.
The knock on him going into Wednesday's game against Roma was that he no longer scores goals away from home. He has 'only' 11 this season (to go with 21 goals at home).
For perspective, 11 goals would currently make him the eighth-highest scorer in the Premier League – home and away.
That's Ronaldo's curse – he's working at so high a level, he can only be compared to himself. And there's no competing with that guy.
Pressed on it in Rome, Ronaldo said huffily, "Who else has scored more goals away from home than me since I arrived in Spain? Name one player who has scored more than me? One."
After a brief, uncomfortable silence: "No answer? Okay. Thank you everyone."
Then he got up and left. It was hard to begrudge him.
The game on Wednesday evening was the sort that does not suit Ronaldo. Roma is not a top side, but it is hard-minded. Rather than the players sit back and allow themselves to picked apart by Real's players, they ran at (and often into) them. Ronaldo spent most of the first half lying on the ground, looking aggrieved in that especially annoying way he has.
Two thirds of the way through, he went on one of his frolics down the flank. At full sprint, he tapped a square ball to himself, completely undoing his marker. Then, unsighted, he snapped a curling shot into the far corner, 30-odd yards away. Say what you want about him, but the man is a kinetic aesthete. He is incapable of an ugly movement.
Real won 2-0 – the first time it has beaten an Italian team in Italy in 12 years. It is headed back to the Bernabeu for the second leg, where it has lost one Champions League game over the past three seasons. You don't want to say it's over, but it's absolutely, definitely, positively over.
You can imagine how Ronaldo will celebrate – with a four-hour bout of cryotherapy, followed by a quiet evening colour-sorting his underwear collection. He's won so much, and derived so little apparent joy from it, there is no more exciting this man. Everything that isn't very specifically about him ends in a tired shrug.
Across the way, Barcelona is back on top of the world, which you know just kills Ronaldo. Its three-man threat – Lionel Messi, Luis Suarez and Neymar – act as though they spend their nights in custom-made bunk beds, telling fart jokes and giggling about girls. Whether any pro athlete actually likes another is always in question – you don't stick two tigers in the same cage – but Barcelona's bromantic trio make a pretty remarkable show of it. Every goal has to end in a 30-second, look-into-my-eyes embrace.
Ronaldo continues to cut his own path. He still hates passing the ball. He loves to receive congratulations, but rarely gives any of his own. His most effective mode of communication is flapping his arms in disgust. During really bad games, he looks as though he's trying to take flight.
It probably wouldn't be the way you or I would choose to do it, were we granted a scintilla of his talent and drive. Which may be why we don't have it.
Cathal Kelly