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He punched the wall, then banged his head against it because, of course, he was still frustrated. He'd wanted that Copa so badly, and the others had as well. But he'd been around long enough to know that was how football worked. A missed pen here, a mistake there, and you were out.
The fire of fury inside him dwindled to a stream of guilt. He shook it off with a brisk slap to his head; had he not saved one? Followed three, which had gone to extremities even the greats would sweat over? The truth was, he'd kept a clean sheet against one of the best-attacking teams in the tournament and saved a penalty against them. If the other penalties had been scored, a single save might have been enough. But it wasn't.
It had been an awful day. First, Bobby Junior had gone missing for three hours before turning up in one of Bento's gloves. The heat and humidity, something Alisson had struggled with since landing in the USA for pre-tournament friendlies, had almost made Taffarel faint. Then there had been the game, which only drove him crazier the more he thought about it. And now Ederson was going to the Saudis. He hoped that Firmino and Fabinho would have fun with him; it was a couple of weeks ago that Firmino said that the Saudi league was missing a Brazilian keeper. He'd only been joking, of course, but the fog of loss was too fresh to let logic through. Instead, quick, soft footsteps pierced the mist, alerting Alisson that he was no longer allowed to stew in his misery. He was a caretaker on this team, with people to look after. So he opened his gym bag, which also doubled as a rabbit carrier, and took out Bobby Junior so that he could get some air.
"I know, I know, you were in there a long time. I'm sorry," Alisson soothed the bunny, who was restless from staying in a holder for so long. "But you get to ride with me in my pocket now. We're looking for Endrick."
Alisson didn't know for sure that Endrick was missing. He just had a feeling that a seventeen-year-old playing in his first tournament needed more company than that of the AC whirring through the vents and potential critics picking his debut performance apart to bits. He found the mochila bag, slung it across him, and set off on his mission, Bobby Junior in tow.
Walking around the stadium was easy enough that he could move on autopilot while his thoughts spiralled out of control. He could feel the beginning of what Klopp liked to call a "mental black hole" coming, and he needed to keep himself distracted as long as possible so he wouldn't fall into it. That included potentially rescuing Endrick from his own thoughts.
Oh, how he missed Klopp. The new season hadn't even started yet--the summer was barely halfway through--and there was a six-foot-three, Germanophonic, bright-toothed hole in his heart waiting to be filled with a bad joke or a hug or even a rant about something as menial as coffee. But now everything would be new, and it wouldn't be the good kind of new. It was the newness brought on by the disappearance of the familiar.
Tsimikas would be without his fiance. Van Dijk would be without his best friend. Their mini Goalkeepers' Union would be without a crucial member.
"Ali! Watch where you're going—oof!"
Before he could react, Alisson found himself in a heap on the floor. His first instinct was to check if Bobby Junior was okay, which he was, having been in Alisson's front pocket. But as he became more aware of his surroundings, somebody else caught his attention and spiked his worry tenfold.
"Taffa!" Alisson exclaimed, rushing to help the older man off the floor. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there—”
"Kid, I'm fine. I fell plenty of times during my career, one more won't hurt." Taffarel dusted himself off, watching Alisson as if he was trying to read him like an open book. "Where's your mind at?"
Where's your mind at?, was much better than, How are you? It was more neutral, more open. But there was no need to worry Taffarel too much. He already had an important job for when he got back to Kirkby.
"I need to find Endrick. He's still a kid, Taffa, but the press won't care. He's too young to…”
To have the flame snuffed out of him. The words hung in the air, unspoken yet nowhere near inaudible.
Taffarel's expression was unreadable, yet sympathetic at the same time. "It's not your fault, kiddo. You could've improved, but—”
“It's always that. I always could've improved. It's never enough.” Alisson couldn't even look directly at his childhood idol, lest his eyes betray the true pain behind the resigned statement. “Edi was injured this time, so I had to play, but next time I'm not making that mistake. When Edi's better, he goes in goal. I can't do anything for us now, so sitting on the sidelines is better than letting all of us down.”
Taffarel's eyes widened with something Alisson couldn't decipher. Shock, perhaps. Taffarel's phone rang, but before picking it up, he ruffled Alisson's hair with a quiet promise.
"My room, kiddo. Once all this insanity's sorted out, then we'll talk there.”
Alisson watched as Taffarel walked away with his phone to his ear, now feeling unheard in addition to everything else. Logic reinstated that Taffarel wasn't ignoring him and would talk to him later, but the mantra failed to reassure him. He opened his phone, navigated to WhatsApp, and copy-pasted a link from an audio clip he'd long since downloaded.
Ali: (NeverEnough.mp4)
*
"You're weird," Martinelli mumbled around a mango lollipop, absentmindedly juggling three sweets.
The situation made more sense than it did at first glance. Alisson had gotten a hunch that Endrick might be near the interview rooms and sprinted in that direction to find him before anything happened. That's where he'd run into Martinelli, wrapped in a grey puffer jacket that matched the walls. Martinelli had been so unusually quiet that Alisson had almost walked past him. Still, the all-too-familiar sight of the canary yellow jersey rubbing at red-rimmed eyes alerted him to the winger's presence.
It was unfamiliar to see Martinelli so down about anything. On the national team, he was usually a hyperactive jokester. Conversations with Odegaard revealed the same thing happened in Arsenal. Maybe that's what prompted Alisson to stop and try to cheer him up.
He swore to the heavens that he was doing the right thing before launching into a string of bad dad jokes that were so corny, they made Martinelli laugh out loud. Alisson shook his head, trying to ignore the little audiotape in his head playing the recordings of Klopp practising his bad jokes with Ludger the owl as his audience, before opening his mochila bag and offering Martinelli some of the sweets in there. Martinelli selected three mango hard candies and a matching lollipop before trying to cram them all into his mouth at once. After a few awkward moments of watching him, Martinelli spoke.
"You're weird.”
"I am?"
"Yeah, you are. You're anxious, and I don't think I've seen you interact with most of our team before...well, before tonight.” Martinelli popped a hard candy in his mouth, loudly crunching it between his teeth. "And I know our defence is as useful as a wet Kleenex, but that's no excuse for why you've been so melancholy lately. I've wondered what's up with you ever since we gathered in June, but you've barely said a word to me outside of when you're acting as team babysitter."
Alisson felt his face burn red. Now he knew what Odegaard meant when he said Martinelli didn't possess an ounce of tact. "You pull pranks on everyone, including Dorival, and you have energy in all this heat. Plus, you have the tact of a falling boulder."
Martinelli chuckled, leaning back against the wall. "Yeah, but I'm playful and have great master plans. That's what makes all that quote-unquote ‘annoying’ stuff bearable. For you, you're timid, but you're good at helping people and making them feel good. You know whether we need words or silence, your jokes are so bad we can't help but laugh, and you give great hugs. Heck, you even carry a bag around with our favourite sweets inside. If that's not kindness and empathy, I don't know what is.”
"I…” Alisson wanted to deny it. He didn't deserve the compliment, not now. But then the part of him, the one that betrayed his self-doubt, started to play back the memories.
Spending the afternoon helping Van Dijk, after an impulse shopping session and bad lighting resulted in a pile of sweaters that needed to be sorted out. Sneaking out during rest hours to buy a box of Taffarel's favourite cupcakes to cheer him up after he got fired from the Brazil national team. Comforting an injured Elliott after a panic attack along with the others and cheering him up with hot chocolate, staying with Matip after his own goal in that Spurs game, sending Pitaluga homemade blueberry marshmallows. Attending the funeral of one of Mac Allister's snails, even after his previous experiences and non-experiences with funerals.
Distracting Alexander-Arnold from the medic's painful examination procedures while he received on-pitch treatment for an injury. Planting a tulip garden to cheer up Gakpo and distract him from his homesickness. Babysitting Aya while her moms helped set up Robinson's birthday party, giving Van Dijk a massage so he could relax, and coming up with a bedtime story for Pitaluga at one in the morning. Comforting Richarlison, even though Richarlison was annoying and had given Thiago a major injury during a Merseyside derby.
Alisson had done those things because he'd thought they were the right things to do. He'd never considered wanting to make people feel better as a positive trait, rather than a simple human obligation. But the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he didn't have to help those people all those times. He’d wanted to, and he still wanted to help.
"Uh, Ali? Earth to Ali!" Martinelli prodded Alisson's arm over and over. "I said, you give great hugs. That means a hug, now. Please?"
Alisson snapped out of his train of thought. Martinelli had his arms open wide, waiting for a hug. His eyes were still tinged red, but they were clear and his cheeks were dry—well, save for the remnants of mango syrup from the sweets.
Martinelli was just a kid, as well. Alisson felt the familiar sensation of his heartstrings being tugged by emotion, screaming to try and make things better. He picked up Martinelli and hugged him tightly, careful to avoid the pocket where Bobby Junior was.
"Go back to the others, Gabi. I have to find Endrick."
*
After a frantic stop to pull Bobby Junior out of the sweets bag and check if a bunny eating half of a soft strawberry confection was cause for alarm, Alisson decided to check the other side of the stadium, the one that was closer to the Uruguay locker rooms. The world loved to play the obvious card with him, though, because he found Endrick in a broom closet next door to the Brazil locker room, perched upon a large bucket of grey paint.
The light alerted Endrick from whatever he'd been thinking, and he looked at Alisson with a sense of weary surprise. No words were needed between them, and Alisson moved to Endrick's side, closing the door behind him so they would have some privacy. For a while, there was silence between them…until Endrick spoke.
"I thought I could do it. I thought I could help, but I couldn't. Why couldn't I help?"
You're not the only one who's wondered that. Alisson sighed, running his hand through Endrick's hair in an attempt to calm the teenager. "You're a good kid, Endrick, and a talented striker. But it's going to take more than one seventeen-year-old wonder-kid to fix the problems that have been growing in our team and semi-toxic fanbase for years."
Endrick nodded sullenly. "Like not putting Douglas and Eder on penalties?"
“Problems bigger than that, I'm afraid.”
"I want to kick Douglas and Eder in the shin. Then the groyne, then I’ll exile both of them to China like Oscar.”
“Well, when it comes to that plan…you’ll neeeeever walk aloooone.”
They both chuckled, something neither of them expected to do so soon.
“So…a broom closet.” Alisson tapped the wall of the broom closet with a wry smile. “Nice hiding place. I’ve been in these a few times.”
Endrick leaned on his shoulder, staring into space. “I wanted to be alone.”
“I know, and I understand.” First Marcinho, then Bento, and now Endrick. Why do so many Selecao youngsters have so much in common with me?! “But I think it’ll do you good to be in the locker room with the others. There’s this series I watched last summer with my club teammates about a football team in England, and the coach said something along the lines of ‘It’s better to be sad together than to be sad alone’. I mean, look at you. You were sad by yourself, but now we’re sad together.”
Endrick looked up at Alisson and shook his head in sympathy. “You need therapy.”
Alisson froze, looking around for something, anything to help change the topic. Suddenly, he remembered the bag at his side and extended it to Endrick. “Here. I know it won't help, but it's nice to have it now."
Endrick side-eyed the bag, but the spark was still missing. “A mochila bag? How'd you even get one of those? We're in Las Vegas, not Bogota.”
"Lucho and I swapped stuff when we played against Colombia. I gave Lucho some ceramic figurines and a can of goiabada, and he gave me this bag. But that's not what I wanted to give you. I figured that since my old sweets bag had a hole in it, I could use this instead—Bobby Junior, no!" Alisson plucked Bobby Junior out of the bag before he could eat anything else inside it. “Stay in my pocket.”
Endrick’s eyes brightened just a bit as he caught a glimpse of Bobby Junior. “Can I hold him?”
Alisson wordlessly let Bobby Junior hop over to Endrick and try to climb up his arm. Endrick chuckled, holding the baby rabbit up to his cheek and snuggling him.
“Quem é uma gracinha? Você é uma gracinha!”
Alisson watched Endrick play with Bobby Junior, a mixture of relief and tenderness washing over him. Seeing Endrick find joy, even briefly, was a relief considering how upset he’d been when Alisson found him.
His phone buzzed, disrupting him from his thoughts. It was, at long last, Taffarel.
Taffa01: GAROTO
Taffa01: Interview room number 7, now
Taffa01: fork the hotel! We are talking NOW
Taffa01: in case you didn’t figure this out, this can’t wait
And just like that, the “panic” alarm in Alisson’s brain was back on.
“I’ll be right back, Endrick.” Alisson took off the mochila bag and gave it to Endrick, giving him and Bobby Junior a cursory ruffle on the head. “There’s sweets in the bag, help yourself. Just don’t let Bobby Junior get any. That bunny’s got a sweet tooth as big as Delfiane.”
“Wait!” Endrick stood up from the paint bucket, grabbing Alisson’s arm and stopping him from leaving the closet. “I know that we’ll be at the hotel together. But then we’re both going home tomorrow, so…” He dug a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and gave it to Alisson. “Take this.”
Alisson briefly smiled at Endrick before opening the closet door, sprinting towards the interview room he’d found Martinelli next to.
*
Alisson opened the interview door to find Taffarel sitting on one of the many chairs in front of the press desk. When the goalkeeping coach spotted Alisson, he tapped the chair beside him, gesturing for Alisson to sit down.
“I saw your text, and I listened to it.” Taffarel crossed his legs at the knee and slung his arm over the back of the chair, a sure sign that this was a serious conversation. “Ali…I don’t know what to say.”
And just like that, all the bitter disappointment and trauma from that day and yesteryear came rushing back. “It’s true, Taffa. I don’t know what to do anymore. I train harder and longer, I research our opponents, I talk with other keepers, and still, nothing works. We got knocked out in a quarterfinal again, we lost in a penalty shootout again, and I let four penalties in again.”
“You saved one, menino.” Taffarel’s voice was soothing, too soothing for somebody whose team had just been knocked out of the tournament they usually dominated. “This was your first penalty shootout since then, and it’s an improvement from before.”
“It still wasn’t enough to let us win. It’s never enough."
"Would you say that to any of your teammates now? Even Douglas or Eder, even Marqui?"
"I wouldn't, Taffa, but that's not the point! The problem is me, the problem is me thinking I could redeem myself from the World Cup when it was a hint for me to step aside and let Edi start for us. I'm not enough for the Canarinho."
His head was spinning. He could feel his hands trembling. His throat was closing, his heart was throbbing in his chest, too fast, too fast, too fast.
"You are--"
"I'm NOT! Okay, Taffa? It used to work, but it doesn't work now! It doesn't matter what you say to me or what I do, I've not been enough since 2022--"
"Alisson Becker, escute-me!" Taffarel shouted.
The sudden noise was enough to shock Alisson out of his spiralling mind, and his sight unblurred until he could see the sandy-brown floor again. Shame set in at spiralling so deep, and he attempted to un-fist his hands and fidget to calm his nerves. He would've pulled his hair out if Taffarel hadn't held his hands, his strong, bony fingers wrapping around trembling wrists.
"Escute-me," Taffarel repeated, softer this time. "Menino, por favor. Olhe para mim."
Alisson looked up. Taffarel's gaze was firm and steely, but as calm as a lake in the summertime.
"It hurts me to know you think so low of yourself, despite how much you've done. You saved us from getting knocked out in the group stage in your first year here, and then your saves are part of what led to the Miracle of Anfield. You won the very first Lev Yashin award, and that's before you helped us win two trophies the next year! We were struggling to get top-4, and you scored for us. Ali, you scored a winning goal; even I couldn't do that! And I'm two years off from sixty! I'm so old that I've lost almost all of my hair, and the hair that I have is whiter than Bobby's teeth."
Despite himself, Alisson couldn't help but laugh. It wasn't quite a laugh, more like a cross between a relieved sigh and a strained giggle, but it was there.
"Your performance in the penalty shootout won us the FA Cup, and we would've been even worse in 2022-23 if it wasn't for all the clean sheets you kept." Taffarel let go of Alisson's hands with a small smile. "Kiddo, you have been enough for years. You've had a dip in form recently, but you're doing all the right things. You're working hard and trying to improve. I'll be honest with myself, I didn't expect you to save any of the Uruguay penalties. I mean, they're great, and right now our whole team structure is as incompetent as a single Kleenex trying to absorb the ocean. But you saved one. On another day, it could've been enough...but maybe this time, it wasn't meant to be."
Alisson wanted to argue, but deep inside he knew that Taffarel was right. As a young boy, he'd played penalty shootout with Muriel more times than he could count. Sometimes saving one penalty was enough to win the shootout, and sometimes the keeper needed to save three or four to win the match. And things didn't always go to plan.
Just like now. But Eder...
"Should I quit, Taffa? I mean, Edi will be back from injury soon, and Bento has good one-on-one skills. There's Neto in Bournemouth, and Marcinho will be ready to start regularly before we know it. That's four good goalkeepers--"
"No." Taffarel lifted Alisson's chin so the two of them were eye-to-eye. "Don't do that. We could have twenty-nine other goalkeepers in the Selecao who could be starters, but it still wouldn't be all of them without you. You were called up to the Selecao, the sacred order of Os Canarinhos. So if you're between the sticks as the first-choice or the second-choice, even if you're sitting on the lawn supervising the youngsters as they fool around, you have an important part to play. Don't give up on your team, don't give up on your position, and never give up on yourself."
Then out of the blue--well, maybe not--Taffarel pulled Alisson into a hug. "You're a resilient, compassionate, hard-working person, Ali, and you have more inner strength than you give yourself credit for. I've seen you fight like hell every day since we met, and I want you to keep doing that. Okay, kiddo?"
Alisson buried his face into Taffarel's neck, the faint scent of the watermelon spray he liked to use to keep himself cool still on his shirt. He desperately needed this, like how the tiny crabs on the beaches ran to the water, or how butterflies emerged from their hiding places every morning to dot the sky with their colours and worship the sun. It was a primal instinct that craved a safe place, and right now Taffarel was the calm water, the milky blue sky.
"I'll fight. I promise I will, even when I don't know what to do."
He swore if he said any more, he would burst into tears then and there. The team bus would be ready to go soon, and they would leave a Copa venue for the last time that summer. Everybody would go home, and the cycle of the season would start all over again.
But Taffarel would be there. Taffarel would return to the Kirkby with him, and on Brazil duty, they would go together. It was a small constant, but it was grounding.
"What's this?" Taffarel broke the hug to pick up a piece of paper on the ground. Alisson recognized it as the one from the broom closet.
"Oh, Endrick gave it to me. I haven't read it yet." Alisson took the paper from Taffarel, unfolding it from the tiny square it had been into the full rectangular sheet. "It's too bad Endrick's going to Madrid next year. He has a big heart and wants to help."
"He sounds exactly like you." Taffarel chuckled, walking towards the door. "I'm going to make sure the others are ready to leave. See you in the locker room, Ali."
"See you there." Alisson waved to Taffarel as he left the room. He looked down at the paper in his hands, remembered that he'd barely looked at it, and began to read.
Dear Ali,
Everybody thinks I'm this confident super striker who'll save us all, but the truth is that I'm not that. I play around like a kid, and I'm still trying to sort my feet out. You're one of the few people here who remembers that I'm only seventeen years old. You're kind, caring, and funny. You listen to me and love me, and you even let me play with Bobby Junior. I think you're really cool.
I'm going to Real this summer, but I'd like to have a friend from somewhere else I can rely on. I've written my phone number at the bottom of this page. I'd love it if we could stay in contact beyond this tournament.
Your friend (I hope? Please say yes!)
Endrick