Dear Neymar, thank you for teaching a generation what Joga Bonito looked like
There is an unwritten rule in most Bengali households.
Sooner or later, football will find you. And when that happens, someone older, louder, and infinitely more insightful than you will ask you a question that has divided living rooms for generations.
Brazil or Argentina?
There are no neutral answers.
It is almost hereditary. You inherit a football nation long before you understand what offside means.
In my family, Brazil has already won this battle.
So when I was born in 2001, there wasn’t really much to choose from. The yellow shirt was waiting for me before I could even walk. a year later, Brazil lifted their fifth World Cup in Yokohama. Unfortunately, I wasn’t particularly interested in the annual. I was probably more occupied with learning how to stand upright than watching Ronald Nazario push Germany in the World Cup final. Looking back now, it seems like a terrible piece of timing.
Because here, 25 years later, I’m still waiting.
That 2002 triumph remains the last time Brazil conquered the world. Somehow I was born into the most successful soccer nation on the planet and grew into adulthood without ever seeing the Selecao lift another World Cup.
But strangely enough, it’s not the first thing that comes to mind when I think of supporting Brazil.
Neymar is.
MY BRAZIL WAS NEYMAR
I belong to the generation that heard rather than lived the stories about Ronaldinho.
Ronald Nazario’s genius arrived via grainy YouTube compilations, old DVDs, and endless conversations with older cousins that always ended the same way: “You should have seen him in his prime.” Rivaldo, Cafu and Roberto Carlos felt like figures from football folklore. We knew what they did, but we never felt it in real time.
My Brazil was Neymar.
It became my introduction to what everyone called Joga Bonito. Not because Brazil always won, or because every tournament ended with confetti in yellow and green, but because Neymar played football like someone hopelessly in love with the ball.
There was a softness in every touch that made you lean forward in your seat. Every dribble held the promise that something ridiculous could happen next time. Roulette, elastico, rainbow swing or no-look pass – not because it was necessary, but because football in Neymar’s world was supposed to be fun.
This was the Brazil I inherited.
Not the one measured only by trophies.
The one measured by joy.
Even Zlatan Ibrahimovic, a man who rarely doles out compliments, may have summed up Neymar better than anyone. He once said that people will always feel that Neymar could have achieved more because everyone expected him to win the Ballon d’Or. In the next breath, Zlatan admitted that Neymar will always be remembered as a great footballer because his talent was simply “crazy”.
This contradiction has followed Neymar throughout his career.
The world remembers what he didn’t win.
Those of us who grew up watching him remember what he evoked in us.
THE PRINCE WHO NEVER HAD A CROWN
For most footballers, winning the Champions League, becoming their country’s top goalscorer and collecting league titles across Europe would define a legendary career.
It’s clearly not enough for the Brazilian No.10.
The World Cup has become Neymar’s biggest dream and biggest burden.
Looking back now, it almost seems like fate kept finding new ways to interrupt his story.
In 2014, everything seemed to be heading for the perfect scenario. Brazil was hosting the World Cup, Neymar had already scored four goals and the country was pinning its hopes squarely on the shoulders of a 22-year-old who carried the weight of an entire footballing nation.
Then came Juan Camilo Zigo’s knee.
A broken vertebra ended Neymar’s tournament in an instant. days later Brazil suffered an unimaginable 7-1 defeat by Germany. and football was left pondering one of its biggest “what ifs”. Would the semi-final play out differently if Neymar was on the pitch? No one will ever know.
Four years later, another injury interrupted his preparation before Russia. He battled back from a fractured metatarsal but never quite looked like the Neymar who dazzled the world before.
Then came Qatar.
His goal against Croatia remains for me one of the best goals I’ve ever seen a Brazilian goal in a World Cup. Deep into extra time he danced his way over defenders, rounded the keeper and finished with the composure of a man who thought fate had finally smiled on him.
For a few minutes, it looked like this was going to be Neymar’s World Cup.
Then Croatia equalized.
Brazil lost on penalties.
And even one of the biggest goals of his career somehow became just a heartbreaking footnote.
If football can be unfair, it was relentlessly so with Neymar.
THE END OF OUR BRAZIL
When I was growing up, Brazil always felt different.
They weren’t just another football team.
They were a team that smiled while playing. The team that danced after scoring. A team whose football felt more like street art than organized sport.
For my generation, Neymar carried that identity almost single-handedly.
He wasn’t perfect.
Criticized for diving, questioned for his decisions, mocked for injuries that were often beyond his control endlessly compared to Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo. Each World Cup ended with another “what if”, another conversation about what could have been, another reminder that he never lifted the one trophy every Brazilian dreams of.
Still, none of these things will be the first thing I remember.
I will remember the defenders backing up not because they were afraid of getting hit, but because they were afraid of embarrassing themselves in front of 50,000 fans.
I will remember Olympic gold at the Maracán, the tears that followed and a nation finally breathing again after years of grief.
And now I think of New Jersey.
Met Life Stadium, where 18-year-old Neymar announced himself to the world.
The stadium where 34-year-old Neymar said goodbye to him.
As a Bengali boy, I inherited Brazil before I even knew what football was. Like countless others, I was still waiting for the day when the Selecao would finally win that elusive sixth star. It never came. Instead, every four years became another lesson in hope, heartbreak, and thinking, maybe next time.
He won’t be with Neymar next time.
Perhaps history will remember him as the prince who never became king.
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– The end
Issued by:
Saurabh Kumar
Published on:
06 Jul 2026 11:23 IST