Great careers do not need fairytale endings. Sometimes, the most compelling part of an athlete’s story is watching them fight to the very end.
There is something deeply romantic about an athlete walking away at the peak of their powers. Leaving the audience wanting more, preserving the image of greatness and avoiding the inevitable decline. But I have never quite understood why that is considered the ideal way to retire.
The willingness to play is perhaps the most basic instinct of a footballer. Beyond the trophies, records, contracts and individual accolades, there is a simple love of the game that makes players want to keep going. And perhaps we should celebrate that instinct rather than constantly demand that they know when to stop.
Cristiano Ronaldo’s international retirement has reopened this conversation. For a player who has spent more than two decades carrying Portugal’s expectations, the prospect of an unceremonious farewell feels particularly uncomfortable. His final chapter may not have been the one many imagined, but does that diminish the extraordinary story that came before it?
A great career does not necessarily need a fairytale ending. In fact, perhaps the expectation of one is fundamentally unfair.
When athletes reach such extraordinary heights, their eventual decline is almost inevitable. Yet, because they have given us so much, we struggle to accept that there is nothing more to come. Every diminished performance becomes a disappointment, every missed opportunity another reminder of what they once were.
Roger Federer captured this beautifully in his retirement speech. Reflecting on the end of his playing career, he said:
“We all hope for a fairytale ending. Here’s how mine went: Lost my last singles. Lost my last doubles. Lost my last team event. Lost my voice during the week. Lost my job. But still, my retirement could not have been more perfect, and I’m so happy with how everything went.”
There was no perfect sporting farewell in the conventional sense. Yet Federer found contentment in the entirety of his journey rather than the results of his final appearances.
Perhaps that is the lesson.
There is something equally compelling about athletes who refuse to surrender their careers simply because they are no longer at their best. Ronaldo, who has continued playing long after the physical dominance of his younger years, represents that stubborn attachment to football. He wants to play, to compete, to score and to remain relevant. Why should that instinct be treated as a failure to recognise his own mortality as an athlete?
Isn’t there something admirable about fighting against the dying of the light?
Decline is part of the story, just as ageing is part of life. We celebrate the rise, immortalise the peak and often become uncomfortable when the inevitable descent begins. But the descent does not erase the ascent. It completes the journey.
Not every great athlete gets to leave with a trophy, a standing ovation or a carefully choreographed farewell. Some lose their final matches. Some struggle for form. Others simply run out of opportunities.
And that is fine.
Perhaps the most romantic thing about Ronaldo’s career is not that he remained extraordinary for so long, but that he kept wanting to play even when he was no longer the extraordinary player we remembered.
Greatness is not only about knowing when to leave. Sometimes, it is about loving something so much that you keep showing up until you physically cannot anymore.
