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Messi just won his second consecutive World Cup against France
World Cup final
Argentina 🇦🇷 1 : 0 France 🇫🇷
English
Mr Frank 🇵🇹🐐
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Mr Frank 🇵🇹🐐
@AliFrank_
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Manchester, England Bergabung Ekim 2025
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Ronaldo
yeah the picture that comes to your mind that's him
Joe nerves if I slap you
English
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Mr Frank 🇵🇹🐐 me-retweet
Drake, Wizkid and Kyla’s “One Dance” was the first song I ever tweeted about.
At 1:11PM PT, exactly one decade ago.
English
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🇨🇮 Yan Diomandé’s letter to his sister through @PlayersTribune:
“Dear Roxane,
Remember when someone bought me a fake United shirt, and I wrote “Ronaldo 7” on the back with a black Sharpie? We didn’t know what rich or poor was. We only knew happiness.
Remember the 25 people sleeping in just one house back in Abidjan? Mom wanted to watch her soap operas. Everyone wanted to watch movies. Remember how I’d always pretend I was asleep and then sneak to the TV room after midnight? I’d turn the TV way down low. Like, just two volume bars. I’d watch soccer in the dark and dream.
Remember when the grown-ups saw me playing soccer on the dirt and gave me the nickname “Roberto Carlos” because of how hard I kicked? And remember how I secretly got so mad about it, because CR7 was my idol?
Remember when I went to play so far from home? I was 9 years old. Inter Foot Sud Comoé, way out near the border with Ghana. Just a little boy all alone. I don’t know if I ever told you this story, but me and the other kids used to go to the village and steal potatoes because we were so hungry. We called it a “bank heist.” Two kids would distract the shop owner, and the other 18 would run off with two potatoes. They weren’t even good. But they tasted amazing. Hahahah. Even today, it’s my favorite thing to eat. Boiled potatoes with a little oil. It takes me back to those times.
Remember when I got my first real pair of cleats, and I slept with them? Growing up, I always played in those white plastic sandals. Even when I go back home now, I still play in them. It’s our tradition.
Remember when I’d come back home, and you’d tell my neighborhood friends: “Why’d you stop training? Yan’s not gonna buy you cars. You gotta keep working.” You were 10 years old, and you were already my agent.
Remember how we’d sit and dream about moving to France? How we’d go shopping, have our own apartment, and I’d be a rich soccer player, with cars and a big house, and you wouldn’t have to worry about anything. You were the one who always believed I could be the next Cristiano, when everyone else was laughing.
Remember when I moved to the United States for high school, at 15 years old, and I missed home so much? For months, I couldn’t understand what anyone was saying. They sat me next to a French boy, and he’d try to translate everything the teacher said. Remember when I called you and said: “You won’t believe it, the kids here argue with the teachers.” Back home, you know, we wouldn’t even dare blink at our elders.
Remember when I couldn’t believe the boys smoked after school? You used to say it felt like I was in an American TV show.
Remember when they took me for trials at Bournemouth? At Chelsea, Rangers, Olympiacos, Crystal Palace? Eze and Olise came up to me after a training session and said: “Hey, kid, you’re really good.”… but even then, they didn’t sign me.
Even the MLS B teams didn’t want me. I didn’t even know why. They never gave me a reason. The adults handled everything. They just kept taking me all over Europe, and everyone kept saying no.
My visa expired. My dream was over. They sent me back to Africa, and we cried together. You were the only one who never stopped believing. A few weeks later, I signed with Leganés, and we cried different tears.
That was back when I still had emotions. Now, I don’t feel anything. It’s like I’m not even human. Since you died, I’m just empty.”
English
Mr Frank 🇵🇹🐐 me-retweet
This is fucking heartbreaking. Hope this kid smashes his career
Polymarket FC@PolymarketFC
🇨🇮 Yan Diomandé’s letter to his sister through @PlayersTribune: “Dear Roxane, Remember when someone bought me a fake United shirt, and I wrote “Ronaldo 7” on the back with a black Sharpie? We didn’t know what rich or poor was. We only knew happiness. Remember the 25 people sleeping in just one house back in Abidjan? Mom wanted to watch her soap operas. Everyone wanted to watch movies. Remember how I’d always pretend I was asleep and then sneak to the TV room after midnight? I’d turn the TV way down low. Like, just two volume bars. I’d watch soccer in the dark and dream. Remember when the grown-ups saw me playing soccer on the dirt and gave me the nickname “Roberto Carlos” because of how hard I kicked? And remember how I secretly got so mad about it, because CR7 was my idol? Remember when I went to play so far from home? I was 9 years old. Inter Foot Sud Comoé, way out near the border with Ghana. Just a little boy all alone. I don’t know if I ever told you this story, but me and the other kids used to go to the village and steal potatoes because we were so hungry. We called it a “bank heist.” Two kids would distract the shop owner, and the other 18 would run off with two potatoes. They weren’t even good. But they tasted amazing. Hahahah. Even today, it’s my favorite thing to eat. Boiled potatoes with a little oil. It takes me back to those times. Remember when I got my first real pair of cleats, and I slept with them? Growing up, I always played in those white plastic sandals. Even when I go back home now, I still play in them. It’s our tradition. Remember when I’d come back home, and you’d tell my neighborhood friends: “Why’d you stop training? Yan’s not gonna buy you cars. You gotta keep working.” You were 10 years old, and you were already my agent. Remember how we’d sit and dream about moving to France? How we’d go shopping, have our own apartment, and I’d be a rich soccer player, with cars and a big house, and you wouldn’t have to worry about anything. You were the one who always believed I could be the next Cristiano, when everyone else was laughing. Remember when I moved to the United States for high school, at 15 years old, and I missed home so much? For months, I couldn’t understand what anyone was saying. They sat me next to a French boy, and he’d try to translate everything the teacher said. Remember when I called you and said: “You won’t believe it, the kids here argue with the teachers.” Back home, you know, we wouldn’t even dare blink at our elders. Remember when I couldn’t believe the boys smoked after school? You used to say it felt like I was in an American TV show. Remember when they took me for trials at Bournemouth? At Chelsea, Rangers, Olympiacos, Crystal Palace? Eze and Olise came up to me after a training session and said: “Hey, kid, you’re really good.”… but even then, they didn’t sign me. Even the MLS B teams didn’t want me. I didn’t even know why. They never gave me a reason. The adults handled everything. They just kept taking me all over Europe, and everyone kept saying no. My visa expired. My dream was over. They sent me back to Africa, and we cried together. You were the only one who never stopped believing. A few weeks later, I signed with Leganés, and we cried different tears. That was back when I still had emotions. Now, I don’t feel anything. It’s like I’m not even human. Since you died, I’m just empty.”
English
Mr Frank 🇵🇹🐐 me-retweet
@utdBrett No major trophy for England over 55years plus
Ronaldo has more trophies than England
English
Mr Frank 🇵🇹🐐 me-retweet
This is not funny anymore and it’s honestly so childish…
I can’t wait to post it again tomorrow.
Martien 🇳🇱@MartienBall
Happy 18 day anniversary to all those celebrating
English
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🚨🚨💣 BREAKING: Real Madrid are considering SENDING an OFFICIAL OFFER up to €220 MILLION to sign MICHAEL OLISE. @marca
English
Mr Frank 🇵🇹🐐 me-retweet
Não era o arranque que queríamos, mas isto está longe de ter acabado. Cabeça levantada e foco no próximo jogo.
Português
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We win together
We lose together
With or without the World Cup, you’re the GOAT forever. You have nothing to prove anymore King
Forever @Cristiano ❤️
English
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Español
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