#sao paulo headers

[isanna142]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀🇧🇷⠀⠀⠀݁ ˖ ◜⠀⠀ ♩󠁼󠁼⠀⠀⠀𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗂𝖺, 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖻𝖺 𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗁𝗆𝖺⠀⠀.ᐟ

[twicouleur]

taylor swift the eras tour at Brasil part. I

[callerigoni]

⋆ Headers Calleri ⋆ Like ou reblog se gostar ou salvar ⋆ Crédito automático no twitter

[iconsfind]

nahuel ferraresi icons

[franzinhas-stuff]

Minha capa para twitter 💙 curta se baixar!

[superm4ks]

Actually such an iconic triple header for max I feel like there's a storyline that gets started and completed for him within those 3 races

Thats so true it's like a Verstappen speedrun like how much do u wanna fuck around and how quickly do u wanna find out. To me Max's 'story' always been about him redefining his space in F1 in the most brutal way possible. Like the more u put him in circumstances that seem inescapable the more he leans into what makes him inevitable. When u deep it he's been doing this shit for like 10 years. Mclaren landed in Austin wid Lando well positioned to finally build some momentum and they hadn't even left Sao Paulo before Stella went on record to basically forfeit the wdc. His driver not even out of contention yet, rb20 prolly gonna get scalped by both Ferraris around the pig, but they dare not wait to tell us it's a constructors only event. Like we all had to read the words papaya rules and carry on living and now we gotta pretend it never happened. In 3 races or less. At some point Max had but 20 seconds to his name and was getting outpaced by an Haas. 1 week later u have Lewis and Nando in the same comment section to congratulate him like genuinely what the fuck ‼️‼️‼️ What the fuck

[ctimenefic]

just had to write this out of my brain, I'm sorry pierresteban lorekeepers if I have fucked up the dynamic, I'll go back to my corner at once

2k of post-Brazil stuff tentatively titled something like slow lane, fast lane, parallel lines

Pierre didn’t pack a podium-worthy outfit for the triple header. Certainly not for Brazil. A party outfit, sure, in case Charles did well – that’s still fucked, a crumpled bundle rank with sweat at the bottom of one of his cases, shipped back home without him two weeks ago after Austin. He hadn’t seen this coming.

No one had seen this coming. 

He has to settle for a creased button up, undone so far the team will be able to see his heart still thudding against his ribs, hours after the last bubbles swirled away into the standing water on the track. It’ll do; he tries to smoulder into the mirror, but he can’t stop smiling. It’s just going to get soaked with sweat anyway, in whatever bar backroom they’ve secured. It was Harriet, he heard, shaking with hope from the moment the red flag came, ringing round Sao Paulo venues with broken Portuguese and her heart in her mouth.

It is strange, being alone for this clutch of minutes, to shower and shave and press cologne against his skin like anointing oil. The team had been all around him the moment he was out of the car, all the way to the hotel. Esteban next to him for hours, hip to hip. Pierre had been warm, despite the rain, the perpetual grey of track and sky.

The shirt is not so white that he’ll look filthy, later, if he’s touched. He undoes another button, just in case. Kiki said, once - if he won, and she wasn’t there. Then it was fine. She’d been joking, maybe, but he hadn’t pressed her. There are many beautiful men and women in Brazil. 

He goes down to the lobby early, already sick of the quiet. He wants the roar back, the force of it against his skin. He wants hands on his back, fingers on his neck, in his hair. Three girls from the team are huddled waiting for a taxi, by the doors, but they hover six inches away now, like without their uniforms he’s unsafe to clasp. Apart, again. 

Pierre drifts away, to the spot where the lobby leaks into a bar and - George Russell is there. As out of place as usual, squinting at his phone, folded up in an armchair that’s too low for him. It turns his knees into a ski slope. He only looks up when Pierre gets right up beside him; then he unbends upright, gets halfway to a handshake before he’s gripping Pierre’s shoulder instead. “Good racing, today,” he announces, like he hadn’t said it hours ago, dripping wet and still horribly sincere, all his natural animosities tucked away.

“Thank you,” Pierre replies, automatic. “I did not think Mercedes were slumming here though?” It is a fine hotel, but not so very nice. The lifts are slow. And Mercedes take up space. They have a sponsor deal, he thinks; some foolish video Charles had sent him last year with a string of emoji. 

Russell snorts. “No. Meeting Alex for our sad bastards dinner.”

Of course. Because for Mercedes, fourth is a disappointment. Which trophy did Russell imagine he’d be snatching today? Pierre’s? Max’s? He hopes Alex charges his meal to Russell’s card. 

“I am going out with the team,” Pierre offers. Immediately feels foolish. He meant- the point was to not invite Russell. It is fun, usually, being rude to him, watching his jaw tic. He is very English about it. 

Now, though, he seems unfazed. His eyebrows jump just a little. “I gathered.” 

His gaze drops briefly down the deep V of Pierre’s shirt. It is perhaps not an achievement with the most notorious homosexual on the grid, but still. There’s some satisfaction to it.

“Where are you- oh!”

The cooldown lap had felt a hundred years long, after an impossibly drawn-out race. Pierre had felt like he could count every drop of spray between his and Este’s cars. 

It is a little like that now, watching Russell’s eyes slide over his shoulder, the way his face changes slowly and utterly. Cheekbones lifted, so his eyes get a little smaller, the start of crows feet at the edges. The top of his face starts smiling before the rest catches up. His shoulders roll too, back and down and open. It happens in a blink, and yet it changes the whole shape of him. Like sunlight through clouds. 

Pierre doesn’t need to look round to guess what he’ll say next. “There he is,” Russell adds, regardless. “Have a good evening, Pierre.” He strides off before Pierre can find the right sniff for such an abrupt dismissal. 

He turns to wave at Alex, but he’s already turned back towards the lift, shoulders up around his ears until Russell slings an arm over them. He hears Russell teasing: “Don’t be a lazybones, Albono, you’re on the fourth floor, we can walk it.”

And then they are gone, and the girls from the team come to collect him for the car, and they are squashed up close enough that he does not have to think about it for too long. Just long enough. 

How many people look at him like sunshine? He had friends like that, once. More than one of them, once.

Tonight, he will say something gracious. Tell Esteban he raced better. That Pierre could not have caught him if he tried. (Perhaps not if he tried. Perhaps that is ungracious. Perhaps he should not remind Esteban that he is the better teammate. That he is keeping the team.) He has a whole taxi ride to find the right words, the olive branch that Esteban will not reject, or discard, or ignore.   

They will hug, and it will not be the last time. The Haas is not so bad; that will help. And ten, or twenty years from now, Pierre can walk into a room somewhere in France, some gathering of old men who raced fast cars, and someone will smile to see him. 

It is twenty minutes to Harriet’s bar. By then he can see it; where in windswept Normandy it will be. Snow on the ground and overcast. He will keep most of his hair, he decides, somewhat against the odds; he gives Esteban a little gut but fewer lines, no jowls. Silver in his stubble, but not his hair. Comfortable shoes. Bracelets on their wrists. 

The bar is good, for a last minute get. The staff on the door know his face, gesture him through. There are beautiful people in clusters, grapes on the vine, ready for picking. And on the dancefloor, Alpine, Alpine, Alpine. In the centre of it, Esteban, tall even there. 

There’s a whoop from near the edge of the throng as someone spots him - one of the pit crew, Marc. It spreads, fast, a sea of heads turning his way, a cheer Pierre thought he might not hear again. They tug him in, hands on his shoulders, back, feet already bouncing, the strange wistful sadness in his stomach already lifting as he raises his hands, shouts with joy and-

Esteban looks across to Pierre and smiles like clouds parting.

---

The carpet in the hotel stairwell has a dizzying pattern, geometric but impossible for the eye to follow. Or perhaps only impossible for someone who has been awake for 24 hours now, staring at it in the half-dark of emergency exit signs. But Pierre has to try, has to trace the thick black lines up and left and down over and over, or the choking gluk sounds Esteban is making round his cock will drive him mad. Tip him over ten seconds into the best-worst blowjob of his life. 

They had taken the stairs because it would be quicker than the ancient lifts. Not quick enough, for Esteban. Despite the risk, Pierre does not want to make up the distance. He wants this to last.  

Esteban pulls off for a moment; his smile is a slice of white in the darkness. Pierre doesn’t mean for his hand to drop to his face, thumb along his bottom lip, down his chin, but it does so anyway. He catches Esteban’s spit on his thumbpad; sucks it into his own mouth. There’s salt to it. 

“You are very wet for me,” Esteban murmurs, matter-of-fact, and Pierre gives up on the carpet, shuts his eyes and lets his head fall back into the corner with a thunk. He has been wet all day, drenched in rain and champagne and sweat. What is one more? He can feel it, the way precome rolls down the underside of his dick to Esteban’s fingers, until Este’s tongue drags back over him, a long side up the inches he cannot fit in his hand. 

(“It’s bigger,” he’d said, and Pierre had failed to hide his smirk. He hadn’t made it up, tripod. And Esteban’s hands are bigger now, too.)

His shirt is undone, bunched at his elbows where hands - some familiar, some strange - had dragged it down to trace the shape of his shoulders, the rise and fall of his arm muscles. He’d tugged it back up in the car back, but not enough to stick, not with Este’s long fingers at his neck. It makes him feel on display now, naked from his thighs up, Esteban’s dark head the only modesty he’s been afforded. 

He’s cold where Esteban had slicked down his happy trail with his tongue. It makes him shiver when Este gets back to bobbing back and forth, and his hair whispers over Pierre’s stomach. He has been touching him all night, never a hand off him, and yet Pierre is still so sensitive to each new collision. He can feel Este grin, smug, around him, like he’s noticed. It doesn’t rankle like it should. 

Esteban divebombs down Pierre’s dick again, and he comes before he can get out a warning, choking on thick air, hot and tight in his lungs. Este surfaces seconds later, cracks Pierre’s mouth open with a finger and thumb on his jaw, and feeds him his come in long, loving licks around his teeth. He’s still got his other hand wrapped around Pierre’s softening dick. As Pierre blinks up at him, stupefied, those clever fingers slide to cup his balls instead. A single digit taps at his taint. 

“Dry here,” Esteban muses. Pierre’s mouth falls open, panting. He thinks his come must still be gleaming on his tongue. He can still taste it. “We can fix that.”

And then there is light, crashing through the dark, as the door to the stairwell on the floor above opens, and the perpetual glow of the corridor shines through. Pierre clutches Este to him like cover. The bastard still has all his clothes on, at least, even if Pierre’s bare thighs are obvious either side of his too-skinny frame. 

The shaft of light falls a little to their left, not quite a spotlight. Perhaps they will not be noticed. Perhaps there is still enough luck for one more miracle. 

Soft steps, on the stairs. And then-

“Fuck,” someone hisses from above them. 

Not someone. Familiar. Far too English. 

Someone who should not be in the stairwell of the Williams team hotel at 4am. But. Pierre is in no position to throw stones. His stones are still in Esteban’s large, warm hand. 

Esteban is being no help. He snickers into Pierre’s neck for a moment, so lightly his lips barely leave his skin. Then: “Take the lift, George,” he calls, apparently deciding plausible deniability is for other motherfuckers. 

His voice is a little rough. Well-used. 

Russell, at least, understands how to play the game. It is silent, except for the hurried steps up and away. The whine of the door. 

“Shit,” Pierre groans. Esteban’s finger presses again at the space between his arse and his balls. “Shit,” Pierre says again. It echoes differently. Higher. 

Esteban is snickering again. “Always so dramatic,” he chides. But his hands are gentle as he pulls Pierre’s slacks back up his legs; does up precisely one button on his shirt and slides his palms down the sides like that will make him presentable for the CCTV in the corridor. “Come on, two floors more to mine. I shall have to fuck you in the morning, you are too spooked now.” 

Pierre doesn’t like the needy sound he makes; Esteban’s eyes gleam. He won’t beg for it, but: “When is your flight?” Pierre’s is late, commercial. They book different flights, more often than not. Esteban’s gaze wavers for a second. But only down to Pierre’s mouth, his navel, and back up. 

“The same. It is the same. I asked- said to change it. After. At the track.” Este must bite his lip – his bottom teeth disappear for a moment. Pierre wants the light back, wants to see his face. “We were-” he says the rest with his hands, palm to palm, parallel – two cars moving in sync around a curve. “And in the cooldown. You smiled at me.”

“I smiled?”

Este huffs. It is just enough like his cruel silences to make Pierre feel alert again, hands twitching to grasp a wheel he cannot see.  “I cannot change it back. It will be sorted by now.” 

There is an inch between them that has not been there all night. Esteban’s weight shifts, like he means to step back further. Pierre has to lunge for him, cram their mouths together. They had not done this at the bar. Touching, yes, everywhere they could get away with, but this was different. Private. 

Este whines a little into the kiss. His fingers get grabby again.

“Fuck me now, and later,” Pierre demands against his mouth. Esteban nods; in the dark his lips leave a smear against Pierre’s temple. 

His echo sounds like a promise. “Now and later.” 

[russellius]

2023 MEXICO GP : P6

"Throwing it forward, we finish the triple header going to Sao Paulo, where you had your day of days last year..."

[f1tfballetc]

Hang up tight, folks! Its part 3 of the 2nd triple header....

Turn on the engines for more action at Sao Paulo! 🏎️💨🏁

[formulatrash]

Hello Hazel!

Everyone on twitter is talking about the 4 races in 5 weeks/6 races in 8 weeks thing and I saw that thread by Joe Pompliano about how teams are jumping to and from all these continents (i.e. Baku then Miami, only to go to the US again later) and so was wondering about how F1 said they were trying to arrange a region based calendar for next year since the current calendar isn’t sustainable.

So I was thinking, are the travel/hotel costs of the teams part of the cost cap? Because if they are, wouldn’t F1/the teams just decide to have a triple headers all around so that they don’t have to pay the costs that come with flying their employees back or paying for hotels for the extra week when there isn’t a race if it’s overseas? Sorry, I feel like I can’t articulate what I mean that well but I hope my point is coming across.

I know they’re still doing double and triple headers even if the races aren’t in the same continent but the frequency of them would be waaay more and I feel like that still wouldn’t be a sustainable way of living for the people working in this industry, even if it is more sustainable for the planet that they aren’t having to go back the same continent 2-3 times and only having to go there once.

Thanks!

F1 sort of mumbled about a regionalised calendar but it doesn't seem to be happening. there's feeling that having a European or say, North American leg of the calendar would create a situation where less popular races lost out to more popular ones and the event bosses are keen not to have direct geographic competition next to their event.

that is, of course, rubbish. F1 traditionally had a European chunk of the calendar and despite the exorbitant price of events, people often do chain them together as a road trip, when they can. home crowds will go to 'their' race regardless - and in the Americas, Montreal and Sao Paulo are a pretty goddamned long way away from each other, while Vegas and Miami only exist as premium events that dont share a market with the others.

teams do pay for their logistics and freight out of the cost cap; last year when the price of freight quadrupled there was a cost cap increase to reflect the fact it was impossible to have allowed the right amount, under massive price hikes. this didn't just affect F1, it was all global logistics; some freight was up as much as 800% and logistics costs remain sky-high, as well as very unreliable, I wrote a load about it here if you're interested.

so: human and freight logistics are one of the hardest puzzles to solve in F1 generally and made harder by the complicated calendar. would untangling it somewhat help? yeah, probably; it's not totally straightforward because there are times when events need to be held because of weather (like, good luck moving Silverstone and expecting anything other than freezing sleet and Jeddah clearly can't be held in summer) but there are definitely efficiencies that can be made.

proportional to freight, people movement is relatively less of a problem. F1 uses charter jets most of the time so the costs are pretty different to just putting everyone on a British Airways flight and honestly, the finances of it aren't the issue.

the problem, both for trackside and factory staff, is that it's not possible to perform at an F1 level 30 weeks a year. a grand prix isn't the Sunday race, it's prep work that starts months in advance, it's hours of programming an computer development, tooling, parts coordination and design, it's running a garage and fluid lab and IT operation trackside and the operations and simulator back at the factory for five days straight for each event. it's just not possible to make that work to a high enough level for the sport for that much of the year.

F1 isn't a spec series, it is a development race and it is ludicrous but there's also a reason it's so popular whereas the series with objectively better racing that are more spec, running on lower budgets and with less setup time and resources across a weekend, just aren't. I'm the last person to buy into the mythology about F1's pinnacle of technology - it's the pinnacle of the sport of F1, not automotive tech - but the reason people like it is because it does what it does at an unbelievable, impossibly high level.

you can't do that if either no one wants to work in it because it's basically a hotel jail sentence or there's no time to do the development that lets F1 teams play the game as well as they do.

[f1]

Formula E reveals record calendar for 2024 but three venues are to be confirmed | 2024 Formula E season

Formula E has revealed its provisional calendar for the 2024 season, with 17 races taking place in 13 urban locations across the globe. Three of those venues are yet to be determined, while the planned addition of Tokyo still awaits confirmation from the Japanese motorsport federation. If all the races go ahead, it will be the longest FE season ever. FE has been working for several years on adding a race in Tokyo, and major progress was made last October when an agreement was signed for a race to take place. It gained local political support as part of a zero-emissions initiative in the city, and the track will use “roads around the Tokyo Big Sight convention centre on the Tokyo Bay waterfront”. Two demonstration runs of FE cars in Japan’s capital city took place in 2015 and 2016. There were reports another demo would take place ahead of the Tokyo joining the calendar next season. Should it receive ASN approval, then Tokyo’s race will be the seventh of the season and will run on 30th March, 2024. After assuming the season-opener slot for this year, Mexico City will kick the action off again for the championship’s 10th season next January, with a Diriyah double-header taking place at night time later in the month. February’s two rounds have no location next to their race dates. Following those the series will head to Sao Paolo for a second time in mid-March. The Brazilian city was first supposed to host FE back in 2018, but the race was postponed into the next season and then cancelled before finally taking place this year. Advert | Become a RaceFans supporter and go ad-free After Tokyo, FE heads to Europe for a double-header in Rome, a race in Monaco then another double-header in Berlin. There is another ‘TBD’ slot on the calendar after that, then the season concludes with trips to Jakarta and Portland in June and then a London double-header in July. FE says it is in “advanced discussions with a range of potential host cities” for the yet to be determined rounds, with the indication that all of the candidates would be new locations for FE rather than returning venues such as Hyderabad and Cape Town which are included in this year’s calendar. Alberto Longo, FE’s chief officer, explained the logic behind the series’ venue selections for 2024: “The season 10 calendar represents our ongoing mission to create a dynamic schedule of new cities hosting races for the first or second time like Tokyo, São Paulo and Portland alongside established hosts like Berlin, Rome, London, Monaco, Diriyah and now Jakarta.” The FE grid will continue to consist of 11 teams for next season, which will be the second using the ‘Gen3’ car. If all 17 races take place it will be a new record for the series, which held 16 races last season and is scheduled to do so again this year. This article will be updated Formula E Browse all Formula E articles via RaceFans - Independent Motorsport Coverage https://www.racefans.net/

[twicouleur]

taylor swift the eras tour at Brasil part. III

[xtruss]

'The King 👑 of Football': Brazilian Legend of Legends Edson Arantes do Nascimento, Pelé, Dead at 82 After Cancer Battle

— Sputnik International | December 29, 2022 | Ian DeMartino

Born Edson Arantes do Nascimento, Pelé would later go on to be known as the "king of football" as a result of his athleticism and grace on the field. The Brazilian star died Thursday aged 82 after battling cancer.

Decorated football legend Pelé spent the last several months battling colon cancer, and died due to complications related to his condition, according to his manager Joe Fraga. The Santos player is survived by his wife and six children.

Known for his agile feet, inhuman accuracy with headers, and unmatched improvisational skills, Pelé was largely regarded as the greatest football player of all time. The Brazilian and worldwide icon won three World Cups over his 22-year professional career, still the only player to accomplish that feat.

Pelé started his professional career at the age of 15, after dropping out of school in the fourth grade. His father, João Ramos do Nascimento, a minor league footballer, moved the family to Brazil's Sao Paulo when Pelé was just five years old. By age 10, the soon-to-be football great began his training under Waldemar de Brito, a friend of Pelé’s father and a former member of the Brazilian national team.

Two years after signing his first professional contract, Pelé would join the Brazilian national team and compete in his first World Cup at the age of 17 in 1958, making him the youngest player to compete in the tournament at that time. He would score six goals during the tourney, including a hat trick in the semi-finals and two goals in the finals against Sweden. He remains the youngest player to ever score a goal in the World Cup.

By the 1962 World Cup, Pelé was already regarded by most as the best player in the world. He scored twice in the opening game but was injured. Despite his absence, Brazil was able to defend its title, giving Pelé his second World Cup win.

Pele celebrates after Brazil win their third World Cup in Mexico in 1970

© AP Photo

In 1966, Pelé was injured before the tournament started and Brazil was unable to defend its title, which ended up being clinched by England that year. By 1970, Pelé returned to the World Cup stage and Brazil recaptured the title, giving Pelé his record three World Cup championships. Pelé scored the opening goal in Brazil’s 4-1 finals victory over Italy. By that time, his reputation preceded him.

“I told myself before the game, ‘he’s made of skin and bones just like everyone else,’” Italy’s Tarcisio Burgnich, who defended Pelé in the World Cup, said at the time. “But I was wrong.”

Shortly after turning 20, Pelé was officially named a national treasure of Brazil, which prevented him from playing for European football clubs that could have paid him a lot more than his Brazilian team, Santos FC.

Pelé’s fame went far beyond Brazil and touched the entire world - he is also credited with being the driving force behind football's rise in the United States. A year after retiring from the Brazilian league, Pelé signed a $2.8 million contract with the New York Cosmos. Pelé massively increased nationwide interest in the fledgling football (otherwise know as soccer in the states) league.

Prior to his arrival, the Cosmos averaged 8,009 fans per game. By his third and final year with the club, the Cosmos averaged 42,689 fans per home game, including three games with over 70,000 in attendance. He was named as the North American Soccer League’s top all-star team all three years he played for the league. The Cosmos won the NASL championship in 1977, Pelé’s last year in the league.

His last professional game came that same year, a friendly between the Cosmos and his former Santos FC team. It was played in Giants Stadium in New Jersey in front of a sold-out crowd. He played the first half for the Cosmos and the second half for Santos FC.

Pele is carried off the Giants Stadium field by his New York Cosmos teammates after his final soccer game, in East Rutherford, New Jersey, Oct. 1, 1977. Smiling and looking up at Pele are Giorgio Chinaglia of Italy and Erol Yasin of Turkey, center. Pelé, the Brazilian king of soccer who won a record three World Cups and became one of the most commanding sports figures of the last century, died in Sao Paulo on Thursday, Dec. 29, 2022. He was 82. © AP Photo / Bill Kostroun

While football was played in the United States for nearly a century before Pelé’s time in the NASL, his arrival has nonetheless been credited for the sport's rise in popularity in the United States.

Pelé’s play had ramifications outside of the sports world as well. In 1969, the Nicaraguan civil war entered a 48-hour ceasefire, so both sides could watch Pelé play in an exhibition match in Lagos.

Pelé was undoubtedly the biggest sports star of his era worldwide, something that he admitted caused some internal conflict inside of him.

“Pelé has taken on a life of his own. He overtook everything,” the football great wrote in one of his autobiographies. “I sense the dichotomy between Edson and Pelé every time I take out my Mastercard. On one side is the image of me doing a bicycle kick together with the signature of Pelé, and on the other is my real signature.”

While his nickname is known the world over and has become synonymous with the game of football, Pelé admitted he had no idea where it originally came from and it has no meaning in Portuguese. But, he said he liked it because it was short and could be easily pronounced by speakers of any language.

Raised as a Roman Catholic, Pelé remained a man of faith until he died, but did not always live up to the standards set by the church. Pelé married three times during his life, with his marriages to Rosemeri dos Reis Cholbi and Assíria Lemos Seixas ending in divorce. He was also linked to the model Xuxa, who was 17 when they began their relationship. In 2016, he married Marcia Aoki, a Brazilian business executive who was 32 years younger than him.

A man walks his dog walk past a mural showing Brazilian soccer legend Pele and Argentina late soccer star Diego Armando Maradona in Buenos Aires, Argentina, Thursday, Dec. 29, 2022. Pele, who won a record three World Cups has died at the age of 82. © AP Photo / Natacha Pisarenko

Through his marriages and relationships, Pelé had at least seven children, including Sandra Arantes do Nascimento who was the child of an affair between Pelé and housemaid Anizia Machado in 1963. Pelé never acknowledged her as his daughter, even after she sued the football star to force a DNA test that proved he was her father. Ms. Nascimento died of breast cancer in 2006. Pelé did not attend her funeral.

After his playing career, Pelé stayed active. In 1992, he served as the United Nations ambassador for ecology and the environment. From 1995 to 1998, he served as Brazil’s minister of sport, and at age 74 he signed a lifetime contract with Santos FC for merchandise reasons.

In 1999, he was named the co-player of the 20th century by football’s governing body FIFA. He shared the award with Argentina’s Diego Maradona, a distinction that insulted Pelé and caused endless debates among South American football fans.

“Pelé did not doubt that he was football’s biggest star and its best player. “In music, there is Beethoven and the rest,” he said in 2000. “In football, there is Pelé and the rest.”

Arguments about Pelé extend to his statistical accomplishments. According to the International Federation of Football History and Statistics (IFFHS), Pelé is credited with 762 goals throughout his professional career. That makes Pelé the third-most prolific scorer in football history, behind only Cristiano Ronaldo and Lionel Messi.

However, according to the Guinness Book of Records, Pelé scored 1,279 goals in 1,363 games, and in 2015, Pelé took to Twitter to claim that he scored 1,283 goals throughout his career.

The discrepancy is the result of how football goals were counted in the 1950s and 1960s, with unclear classifications of what was an “official” and an “unofficial” match.

What is not up for debate, is Pelé’s contribution to the game of football around the world, soccer in the United States, and the way he inspired millions around the globe to take up the beautiful game.

After his final match, a Brazilian newspaper summed up what Pelé meant to his country and the world in a simple sentence: “Even the sky was crying.” Today, as it did in 1977, the sky cries for Pelé.

[headerstt01]

São Paulo

[hollywedits]

like if you save

[russellius]

"we finish the triple header going to sao paulo, where you had your day of days last year"