A letter to Beckham

A short poem dedicated to David Beckham.

When he won the triple crown at Manchester United, people said that he only relied on his beautiful face.

When he became captain of England, people said that he was only relying on vanity.

When he came to Real Madrid, people said that he only depended on a shrewd wife.

When he reached the other side of the Atlantic, people said that he only relied on the remnants of the past.

What you can't see in the night at Old Trafford is teenagers practicing free kicks again and again.

Under the sky at Wembley, what we can't see is that the captain stepped forward again and again.

What the Bernabeu can't see is that No.23 helps his teammates score again and again.

In America's mocking loneliness, what we can't see is playing football alone again and again.

When he doubts and scolds, he has no choice but to leave his teacher.

When he cursed, he summoned up his courage and rushed to his peak.

He stood firm in defending his family when scandals came one after another.

When a large number of new talents emerged, he paid silently to show his value.

Without Maldini's loyalty, he just can't forget No.7.

Without the brilliance of Zidane, he is the most indispensable team leader.

Without Raul's fraternity, he is the most surviving stranger.

There is no history of Sebbio, he is the best world football ambassador.

David Beckham,

He is not a god, but an eternal god in the eyes of hundreds of millions of people.

The glory of Manchester is the mark of your passionate youth.

The ups and downs of the three lions are proof that you become a man.

Spain's pain is your firmer persistence.

The taste of being ignored is that you have suffered deeper forbearance.

You,

On behalf of Manchester United,

On behalf of England,

Football representing the world.

You deserve number 7 from cantona.

You should have taken the captain's armband from Shearer.

As a shining star at the Bernabeu, you deserve it.

You deserve the love of countless people who have crossed this country.

Footprints behind us, footprints of football, footprints of pursuing glory,

Ten, twenty, thirty years old

At 34,

at present

Still shining at the San Siro ~ ~ ~ Wembley!