The worst feeling for Cristiano Ronaldo was not that he didn’t score against a team that last played the World Cup before he was born; or that his two attempts were weak and wayward; or that he looked a burden for the team; or that he disrupted the system or barely contributed to the defensive rigours. It was just that the ball had fallen out of love with him. Like a jilted lover, it shirked away from him, turned away his glances, turned back unreciprocated. Certainly, Ronaldo can still win his love back — the tournament is long and arduous, it could have been just a one-evening falling out.
Portugal drew 1-1 with DR Congo in Houston on Wednesday, a result that felt as flat as Ronaldo’s performance.
But at 41, in a squad bursting with attacking gifts, every bad outing evokes scrutiny. With every bad day, he seems to be moving closer to the horizon.
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Despite the age, the waning explosiveness, Ronaldo still has the bearings to sweet-spot the ball, fetch it where he wants. Against Congo, he simply couldn’t. In the 68th minute Francisco Conceicao stabbed a cutback to Ronaldo, a little behind him. It was maybe a yard away from his liking, but in his prime he would contort his body suitably and find the best position. Even if not, he always found a chunk of his glittering boot. Here, he flayed the shot wide off the near post. He sneered and gritted his teeth, wondering how the touch had forsaken him.
The worst part was not that his attempt was horrible, but that he had stolen it off Bruno Fernandes’ toes. The Manchester United midfielder was beside him, with more space and a better angle. But Ronaldo’s instinct is not to facilitate goals but to score them. When the touch leaves, the instincts betray. It was not the first time he had infringed on Fernandes’ space. The coaching staff has to find a solution for the continued disruption.
Portugal’s Cristiano Ronaldo argues with referee Abdulrahman Al-Jassim, of Qatar, after he showed a yellow card to Bernardo Silva, left, during the World Cup Group K soccer match between Portugal and Congo in Houston, Wednesday, June 17, 2026. (AP Photo/Ashley Landis)
Six minutes later came more concerted proof of his diminishing touch. Conceição produced another, better cutback, but Ronaldo shanked it away. The shot was hurried and without power, bothered perhaps by Axel Tuanzebe’s challenge. But those were moments that barely troubled him once. He could find the target through a maze of legs, unfazed by shirt-pullers and pickpockets, outmuscling and outwitting them. Here, he was vexed, riddled with doubt.
There is a cruel paradox. A man whose career was built on smouldering self-belief has begun to doubt himself. Perhaps that is at the heart of his malaise — the absolute faith in himself blinding him to the reality of his tottering prowess. Ronaldo is no longer who he thinks he is. He is still supernaturally fit, with the vaulting ambition to win the only crown his head has not worn, that of a world champion. But he is making a parody of the great player he once was. He is the aged leading vocalist of a heavy metal band living in the guttural grandeur of his past, unaware that his voice box has only been creaking
There is a cruel paradox. A man whose career was built on smouldering self-belief had begun to doubt himself. Perhaps, that is at the heart of his malaise… Ronaldo is no longer who he thinks he is.
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When he cannot score, he becomes a liability — he is not involved in creative or defensive duties, his real estate of influence limited. Some numbers capture his horrid game. He made only 20 passes in 90 minutes, the thirteenth best in the game. His defensive contribution was one. His progressive actions merely two. He occasionally dropped deep to facilitate link-up play but could not match his colleagues’ pace. His immobility is slowing the whole team down, a blend of supreme attackers and midfield conductors. Otherwise he lurked ahead of Congo’s high line, then retreated to gather the ball inside, waiting for crosses played behind the line. Try as his colleagues did, none could establish a working relationship with him. He was like a vintage Morris Minor caught amongst Ferraris.
Parallels with Lionel Messi will inevitably spring. Messi is slower than Ronaldo, but he creates more — his spatial awareness is superior, his passes defence-piercing, his movement still pulling defenders out of shape even when his legs have nothing left. Messi has runners around him who compensate for what age has taken. Ronaldo has superior technicians around him who cannot compensate for what he no longer provides. That is Portugal’s great dilemma.
Certainly Ronaldo was not the only Portuguese footballer who endured a horrid day, but he was central to their afflictions. For Portugal to mount a serious title challenge, the Ronaldo riddle has to be solved. Hard decisions have to be made — whether to use him as a substitute, or replace him earlier than Roberto Martinez did on Wednesday. The manager defended him, as he has throughout his tenure. “We don’t treat Cristiano for his age, we treat him according to his symptoms and how he feels,” he said.
The diagnosis, though, reads differently. The ball has fallen out of love with him. Portugal should find a solution before football does the same.