Football: Ronaldo's super-sized ego at home on big screen

The 103-minute documentary about Ronaldo (left with Sir Alex Ferguson) makes no attempt to hide his arrogance. Picture / AP

Midway through the new film Ronaldo, a vanity project that both buffs and elucidates the extreme ego of the great Portuguese footballer, the eponymous protagonist contemplates what will improve the fortunes of his national team.

Cristiano Ronaldo is fighting for fitness ahead of the 2014 World Cup, concealing from the public the seriousness of an injury he will ultimately overcome to play a negligible part in Portugal's disappointing campaign.

"I'm not going to lie," he explains, stressing the importance of his participation in Brazil, "if we had two or three Cristiano Ronaldos in the team I would feel more comfortable."

It's a minor moment repeated throughout the documentary, a 102-minute love letter to one of the two best footballers of the current generation. While the film contains a level of verisimilitude, there are plenty of gaps in the narrative.

The audience is led to believe, for example, that Ronaldo - a man who has dated a small armada of models and who recently replied "a few" when asked if he had a "new special someone" - lives like a monk. Ronaldo is shown waking alone, a doting father to his 5-year-old son, of whom he has sole custody and raises without, apparently, the aid of hired help.

But there's one aspect of the Portuguese the film makes no attempt to hide. In fact, it would have been impossible to obscure the extent of an ego the size of Ronaldo's.

Given some of the bombast voiced by both the player and his sycophantic inner circle, the dialogue would have needed to be dubbed in post-production, replacing the boasts and brags with platitudes that pay respect to the Real Madrid man's rivals.

Which, in other words, would have left Ronaldo sounding like every other plain vanilla athlete. Which would have been incredibly boring to watch.

The film, instead, is fascinating for portraying the pompous personality of Ronaldo. And, upon reflection, that personality is required to remain at the top of world football.

After all, a player who's scored 233 goals in 211 appearances for Los Blancos hardly strikes as someone who can allow the slightest sliver of doubt to creep into his mind.

Now, let's not pretend Ronaldo is unique in this respect: every elite athlete finds the summit of their sport by thriving on a heavy diet of self-confidence. The difference is Ronaldo is open about his narcissism.

And what's wrong with that? Why should we expect athletes to achieve the impossible before bowing their heads and quietly exiting stage left?

That certainly seems a requirement in this part of the world, where we depict ourselves as plucky battlers while deriding the arrogance of our neighbours across the Ditch.

But maybe that mindset should be eschewed for an approach that acknowledges our abilities in a manner similar to the athletes themselves. Remember, in 2013, when an English journalist surreptitiously spotted a whiteboard in the All Blacks' hotel that declared: "We are the most dominant team in the history of the world"?

The merits of that statement can be debated, just as how it can be argued that Lionel Messi, not Ronaldo, is the pre-eminent talent in global football. But that's beside the point. What matters is the All Blacks and Ronaldo believe in their superiority, an attitude reflected on the field.

Kiwi fans love to claim the underdog tag, as if noble defeat is preferred to vainglorious victory. But, internally, athletes must be sure of their supremacy, for failure is a familiar bed-fellow of self-doubt. Maybe they, like Ronaldo, should be allowed to express such confidence.