Heartbreaking letter from Hadrian: “I drink every other day; and the other days, too”

Adriano Leite Ribeiro has been sincere in an extensive letter published in The Players’ Tribune titled ‘A letter to my Favela’. The Brazilian forward speaks openly about his addiction to alcohol, about how the death of his father affected him and about his life in Vila Cruzeiro, which he defines as his place. Adriano wrote the letter a few days after some images of the footballer in the favelas with symptoms of having ingested alcohol went viral.

The Brazilian does not deny in his writing that he drinks alcohol. On the contrary, it confirms it in a resounding way. “I don’t take drugs, as they try to prove. I’m not involved in crime, but, of course, I could have done it. I don’t like to party. I always go to the same place in my neighborhood, the Naná kiosk. If you want to meet me, Come on. I drink every other day, yes. (And the other days, too.) How does a person like me get to the point of drinking almost every day? I don’t like to explain myself to others. “It’s not easy to be a promise that remains in debt. And at my age, things get worse.”writes.

Before that part, Adriano begins the letter with a heartbreaking, forceful beginning: “Do you know what it feels like to be a promise? I know. Even a broken promise. The biggest waste in football: me. I like that word, waste. Not just because of how it sounds, but because I’m obsessed with wasting my life. I’m fine like this, in a frantic waste. I enjoy this stigma.”.

The former Inter, Parma and Flamengo striker, among others, then takes the reader on a journey through his childhood and his neighborhood, Vila Cruzeiro. He talks about the death of his father, about the first time he saw him drinking alcohol and about how the lack of his family and the warmth of his friends affected him during his time in Italy.

The first time his father saw him drink:“I took a plastic cup and filled it with beer. That fine, bitter foam that went down my throat for the first time had a special flavor. A new world of ‘fun’ opened up before me. My mother was at the party and saw The scene went silent, right? My father… Shit. When he saw me with the glass in my hand, he crossed the field at the hasty pace of someone who can’t afford to miss the bus. “Stop right there,” he shouted. thick, as always. I said: “Oh, man.” My aunts and my mother quickly realized and tried to calm things down before the situation got worse. “Come on, Mirinho, he’s with his little friends, he’s not going to do anything. madness. He’s just there laughing, having fun, leave him alone, Adriano is growing up too,” my mother said. “But there was no conversation. “I didn’t. “I taught you that, son.”said.

The death of his father:“My father’s death changed my life forever. To this day, it is a problem that I still have not been able to solve. All the shit started here, in the community that I care so much about”.

His childhood:“Damn, my father was shot in the head at a party in Cruzeiro. A stray bullet. He had nothing to do with the disaster. The bullet entered through his forehead and lodged in the back of his neck. The doctors had no way to get her out. After that, my family’s life was never the same. My father started having frequent seizures. Have you ever seen a person having an epileptic seizure in front of you? You don’t want to see it, brother. I was 10 years old when my father was shot. I grew up living with his crises. Mirinho was never able to work again. “The responsibility of running the house fell entirely on my mother.”.

Christmas at Seedorf’s… and a bottle of vodka

Adriano tells how some teammates like Seedorf were good to him during his time in Milan. The Dutchman invited him to spend Christmas at his house. He came but missed the warmth of his people in the cold capital of Lombardy.
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“I said goodbye quickly and went back to my apartment. I called home. “Hello, mom. Merry Christmas,” I said. “My son! I miss you. Merry Christmas. Everyone is here, the only one missing is you,” he responded. There was laughter in the background. The loud sound of the drums that my aunts played to remember the time when they were children. I could see the scene in front of me just by hearing the noise on the phone. Damn, I started crying immediately. .

“Are you okay, my son?” my mother asked. “Yes, yes. “I just got back from a friend’s house,” I said. “Oh, have you had dinner yet? Mom is still setting the table,” he said. “There will even be cakes today.” Damn, that was a low blow. Grandma’s cakes are the best in the world. I cried a lot. I started to sob. “It’s okay, mom. Enjoy, then. Have a good dinner. Don’t worry, everything is fine here.”

I was devastated. I grabbed a bottle of vodka. I’m not exaggerating, brother. I drank all that shit alone. I filled my ass with vodka. I cried all night. I passed out on the couch because I drank too much and cried. But that was it, right, man? What could I do? I was in Milan for a reason. “It was what I had dreamed of all my life.”

Leaving Italy: “There are no rats here, brother”

Adriano spoke about his departure from Inter and explained the reasons why he feels comfortable in his neighborhood.
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​When I “escaped” from Inter and left Italy, I came to hide here. I toured the entire complex for three days. Nobody found me. There is no way. Favela rule number one: keep your mouth shut. Do you think someone would rat me out? There are no rats here, brother. The Italian press went crazy. The Rio police even carried out an operation to “rescue” me. They said they had kidnapped me. You’re kidding, right? Imagine that someone is going to hurt me here… me, a child from the favela.

They all destroyed me.

Whether I liked it or not, I needed freedom. I couldn’t take it anymore, having to always pay attention to the cameras every time I went out in Italy, to whoever crossed my path, whether it was a journalist, a scammer, a scammer or any other son of a bitch.

In my community, we don’t have that. When I’m here, no one outside knows what I’m doing. That was his problem. They didn’t understand why I was going to the favela. It wasn’t because of the drink, nor because of the women, much less because of the drugs. It was for freedom. It was because he wanted peace. I wanted to live. I wanted to be human again. Just a little bit. That’s the damn truth. And?

I tried to do what they wanted. I negotiated with Roberto Mancini. I tried a lot with José Mourinho. I cried on Moratti’s shoulder. But I couldn’t do what they asked me to do. I stayed well for a few weeks, avoided alcohol, trained like a horse, but there was always a relapse. Again and again. Everyone criticized me. I couldn’t take it anymore.

People said a lot of nonsense because everyone was embarrassed. “Wow, Adriano stopped earning seven million euros. Did he give up everything for this shit? That’s what I heard the most. But you don’t know why I did it. I did it because I wasn’t well. I needed my space to do what I wanted do.

Now you see it for yourself. Is there something wrong with how we’re hanging out here? No. I’m sorry to disappoint you. But the only thing I’m looking for in Vila Cruzeiro is peace. Here I walk barefoot and without a shirt, only in shorts. I play dominoes, sit on the sidewalk, remember my childhood stories, listen to music, dance with my friends and sleep on the floor.

I see my father in each of these alleys.

What more do I want?

I don’t even bring women here. Much less do I mess with girls who are from my community. Because I just want to be at peace and remember my essence.

That’s why I keep coming back here.

I am truly respected here.

Here is my story.

Here I learned what community is.

Vila Cruzeiro is not the best place in the world.

Vila Cruzeiro is my place