The morning after their dominant 3–0 victory over Denmark, the Portuguese squad was up early for a light recovery session at the training facility before heading to the airport. The mood among the players was a blend of relaxed contentment and the quiet focus of a team on a mission. Three matches, three wins. Confidence flowed through the group like electricity.
Adriano stepped away from the group after breakfast and took a seat on one of the cushioned benches outside the hotel entrance. With the sun already climbing over Belgrade's skyline, he popped in his AirPods, scrolled through his phone, and hit the green call button next to Kate's name.
It rang once, twice—
Then her face appeared, bleary-eyed but smiling, tucked beneath a blanket.
"There's my superstar," Adriano grinned.
Kate groaned playfully, rubbing her face. "Don't call me that. I haven't even had coffee yet."
"Then I'm definitely calling you that. You look like a sleepy celebrity who just woke up from a ten-hour Vogue shoot."
Kate laughed, then leaned back on her pillow. "I look like a raccoon who lost a fight with mascara."
"Still gorgeous, though."
She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. "You're just saying that because you scored points yesterday. That makes it 3 wins now. The first 2 matches you were more like the mastermind in midfield."
"Technically, I assisted. Ronaldo scored. But I'll take the compliment."
"I saw it. The pass was beautiful," Kate said. "You two are in sync again. I was screaming at the screen."
"Only fair since I scream at your movie posters every time I walk past one."
Kate covered her face. "Don't. I still can't believe it's out. The premiere feels like it happened yesterday."
Adriano nodded, leaning back against the bench. "I saw the numbers. It's a hit. You proud of yourself yet?"
Kate exhaled, her voice softening. "Yeah… I think I am. The reviews are mostly good, and people are sending fan edits already. A girl made one where I was fighting Voldemort."
"Honestly? I'd pay to see that crossover."
She chuckled again but looked a little worn. Adriano noticed.
"You've been running non-stop, haven't you?"
Kate shrugged. "Yeah. Interviews, fittings, a couple of meetings with other studios… there's a lot happening."
He tilted his head, concerned. "You need to pace yourself. You don't have to say yes to every offer. You're not a machine."
"I know, I know. My agent says the same thing," she sighed. "But it's hard to say no when it's finally happening."
"I get it," Adriano said gently. "Just don't burn yourself out. We've got a vacation to plan, remember? Just us. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere warm."
Kate's smile brightened again. "Still on?"
"Of course. I'll be done after the Albania match. Then we disappear."
"I'm holding you to that."
They chatted for a few more minutes—Kate teasing him about his tan lines from training, Adriano mock-whining about Cancelo stealing his shampoo. Then she gave him a flying kiss through the screen.
"Love you."
"Love you more."
The call ended with a smile on both sides of the world.
***
Back inside the hotel, the rest of the squad was gathering their luggage. Ronaldo was directing a staff member to wrap his special foam pillow in plastic. Bruno was checking his watch for the third time, dramatically muttering, "If we miss this flight, I'm blaming Pepe's five-bag suitcase."
Pepe grinned as he hoisted his final bag onto a cart. "It's all muscle recovery gear."
"Looks like your entire wardrobe," Moutinho said dryly.
Quaresma walked in wearing sunglasses and a ridiculous bucket hat, holding a coffee the size of his forearm. "No one talk to me unless you've brought pastries."
"Only if you cut that hat in half," Adrien Silva joked.
As they boarded the bus to the airport, Adriano slid into a window seat beside Cancelo.
"You good?" Cancelo asked, stretching his legs.
"Yeah. Just talked to Kate. She's exhausted but doing great."
"Good. Tell her to do a Marvel movie where you get powers too. I want to see you in tights."
Adriano snorted. "Please. You already wear tights under your shorts."
"Compression pants. Get it right."
The banter carried on as they reached the airport. Their flight to Tirana, Albania's capital, was short—just over an hour. On the plane, the vibe was relaxed. Moutinho read a book on leadership, while Danilo and Rui Patrício played chess on a magnetic board. Bruno was watching highlight clips on his tablet, pausing now and then to point out areas for improvement in their midfield shape.
Santos came down the aisle once, checking in with each cluster of players.
"You all know Albania will be aggressive at home. We need to silence the crowd early," he told the midfielders.
"They'll probably sit deep like Armenia," Bruno said.
"Yes, but they press higher when they lose the ball," Santos replied. "So be ready for quick transitions."
When they landed in Tirana, local security and fans were waiting at the terminal. A few waved flags, and several teenagers called out, "Ronaldo! Adriano!" as the squad emerged from the private gate.
The team bus took them straight to their hotel—a quiet, modern building with views of Mount Dajti in the distance. It was peaceful, tucked away from the busy roads. The players were shown to their rooms and given a couple of hours to settle in.
Adriano shared a room with Pepe this time, and the older defender immediately claimed the bed closer to the window.
"You snore," Adriano said flatly.
"You sleep like a corpse; you'll be fine."
"Fair."
That night, the squad gathered in the team meeting room to review footage of Albania's last two matches. The coaching staff highlighted their fast wingers and physical midfield. Santos went over the plan: keep possession, stay disciplined in the first 20 minutes, and hit them with wide runs.
Adriano and Ronaldo would once again lead the attack, with Quaresma floating wide and Moutinho pulling the strings.
After the meeting, some players hit the gym for light stretches, while others stayed back to play cards or mess around on their phones.
Cancelo and Adrien were locked in a debate over who had the best first touch on the team.
"Adriano," Adrien said confidently.
Cancelo made a face. "No way. It's Bruno."
"Bruno just kicks hard," Adriano chimed in, walking by.
"Exactly!" Bruno called from across the room. "I kick hard and accurate."
"Like a fax machine," Ronaldo muttered.
The squad cracked up.
Training resumed the next day under a bright sky. The air was cooler than expected for Albania, but perfect for football. Sessions were sharp and high-tempo. Santos stressed one-touch football, fast counterplay, and set-piece routines. The intensity picked up, but so did the camaraderie.
Late in the session, Adriano nutmegged Pepe during a drill. The moment it happened, the squad howled with laughter.
"Was that necessary?" Pepe groaned.
"Very," Adriano replied with a smug grin.
"You're buying dinner."
"Nope. You're just buying shin guards."
The banter continued well into the evening, with spirits high and the squad feeling sharper than ever. They were three wins in, brimming with belief, and one more match from a perfect start to their Euro 2016 qualifying campaign first leg.
Tomorrow, it would be game day again. Another battle. Another crowd. Another chance to prove that Portugal weren't just one of the competitors; they were here to win it all.
****
EURO 2016 QUALIFIERS – MATCHDAY 4ALBANIA vs PORTUGAL – Elbasan Arena, ElbasanCommentary: Martin Tyler & Alan SmithAttendance: 13,500Halftime Score: Albania 0 – 1 Portugal
The night air in Elbasan was crisp, and the narrow streets around the stadium buzzed with excitement. Portugal's arrival had brought an unusual level of attention to the small city, and the Elbasan Arena—though modest in size—was packed to the rafters. Red-clad Albanian fans filled every inch of the stands, their chants echoing off the roofs of nearby buildings. From the moment the whistle blew, it was clear that this match would be shaped as much by grit as by talent.
Fernando Santos had made another tactical tweak for this match. Portugal lined up in a 4-2-1-3 formation, with Rui Patrício in goal. Pepe and Ricardo Carvalho anchored the defence, flanked by João Cancelo and Fábio Coentrão as full-backs. Bruno Fernandes and João Moutinho were deployed as double pivots in central midfield, while Adriano played just ahead of them, slightly deeper than usual in the attacking midfield role. The front three featured Nani on the right, Eder in the centre, and Ronaldo on the left.
"It's a bit of a reshuffle from Santos tonight," Martin Tyler said as the teams walked out. "Adriano's playing slightly deeper than his usual attacking-midfield role—almost like a deep-lying playmaker."
"He'll see more of the ball this way," Alan Smith added. "With Bruno and Moutinho behind him, he's got the freedom to dictate play."
From the opening moments, Albania made their intentions clear. They weren't going to sit back entirely, but they were going to fight for every inch. Their midfield pressed aggressively, especially against Bruno Fernandes, while the back four sat compact and physical. The tackles came early and often.
Portugal's build-up was slow, methodical, and at times disjointed. The front three struggled to find rhythm. Ronaldo had two early touches but was forced wide both times, while Eder's movement was largely smothered by the close marking of Mërgim Mavraj. Nani tried cutting in from the right but had limited space to work with.
Adriano, meanwhile, was at the heart of nearly every meaningful Portuguese move. In the 14th minute, he picked up the ball near the halfway line, turned, and sent a lofted ball into the path of Ronaldo, who controlled well and cut inside—only to have his shot blocked bravely by the outstretched leg of Arlind Ajeti.
"He's always scanning, always calculating," Alan said, watching Adriano roam. "He hasn't had a chance to shoot yet, but he's stitching everything together."
Albania's physical approach began to draw whistles from the crowd and warnings from the referee. A clumsy trip on Bruno Fernandes earned Burim Kukeli the first yellow card of the match in the 22nd minute. The free kick was whipped in by Moutinho and headed just wide by Pepe.
In the 28th minute, Adriano nearly opened the scoring himself. He received a short pass from Fernandes at the edge of the box, shifted the ball onto his right foot and curled a low shot through a crowd of defenders. The ball took a slight deflection and forced the Albanian keeper Etrit Berisha into a full-stretch dive to keep it out.
"That was clever from Adriano," Martin commented. "Didn't go for power—just placement—and it nearly sneaked in."
The longer the match stayed scoreless, the more emboldened Albania became. Their fans roared with every clearance, every tackle. A long ball forward caused momentary panic as Cancelo slipped, allowing Lenjani a free run into the box, but Ricardo Carvalho recovered just in time with a sliding interception.
Portugal continued to dominate possession, but chances were few. Nani managed a shot from distance in the 33rd minute that flew over, and Eder had a tame header comfortably saved after a good cross from Coentrão.
Then, just before halftime, the mood in the stadium turned.
In the 43rd minute, Adriano received a pass and quickly laid it off to Ronaldo near the touchline. As Ronaldo took his first touch to spin away from Taulant Xhaka, the Albanian midfielder lunged in late—studs up, with force. The contact was immediate and loud, sending Ronaldo crashing to the turf in visible pain.
"Uh-oh… that looked nasty," Martin Tyler said sharply.
The Portuguese bench sprang up. Adriano and Moutinho sprinted over to check on their captain. Nani waved furiously for the medical staff. Ronaldo clutched his ankle and grimaced, clearly in discomfort. The referee didn't hesitate—he went straight to his pocket and pulled out a red card.
Martin Tyler: "Straight red! Taulant Xhaka's been sent off, and Albania are down to ten men!"
Alan Smith: "And now the real concern is Ronaldo. He's not getting up."
The stadium, momentarily loud, turned quiet as medics surrounded Ronaldo. Adriano helped lift him gently. He asked with concern, " How's the pain man? Is it serious?"
Ronaldo grimaced in pain,"Definitely can't play more tonight. It's all on you Irmãozinho." He took off the captains armband and handed to him. " It's a little soon, but you are ready to carry it's weight."
Adriano hesitated, looking at the others. Moutinho shrugged, " Hey, I'm no good at captain stuff."
Nani patted his shoulder, " We old guys don't need it. It's time for the younger guys to take charge."
Adriano nodded and put on the armband.
After a brief exchange with the physios and the manager, it became clear—he couldn't continue. Ricardo Quaresma was summoned from the bench. As Ronaldo limped off with an arm around Adriano, the Portuguese players gathered, visibly shaken.
"Ronaldo off… that could be massive," Martin said solemnly. "We'll wait to hear more about the extent of the injury. And it looks like young Adriano is going to lead the team. The youngest ever captain in national team history."
From the resulting free kick, Portugal had one last chance to make the first half count. The ball was placed just outside the box, central and perfect for a right-footer. Adriano stood over it.
The Albanian wall lined up nervously. The referee blew his whistle.
Adriano took three slow steps back. His eyes locked on the ball, then flicked once to the corner. A short run-up. Then, with precision, he whipped the ball around the wall with pace, dipping it perfectly.
Martin Tyler: "Oh, that is brilliant! Adriano strikes it beautifully—Portugal lead!"
Stadium Announcer :"GOOOOOAAAAAAAAL for PORTUGAL! Number 10 – ADRIANOOOOO!"
The ball nestled into the top right corner. Berisha was rooted to the spot. The away section erupted, with Portuguese fans rising from their seats, fists clenched, some jumping up and down in celebration. On the pitch, Adriano sprinted to the bench, held up a '7' with both hands—dedicating the goal to Ronaldo—then fisted his chest before being embraced by his teammates.
"Perfect technique," Alan Smith said. "And a real show of leadership. With Ronaldo off, Adriano stepped up. This is what makes him a natural leader."
The Albanian fans responded with whistles and frustration, their mood soured both by the red card and the goal. The Portuguese fans, on the other hand, were excited—finally in front after a frustrating half and having responded to adversity with class.
There was barely time to restart before the referee signaled the end of the first half.
Martin Tyler: "A wild end to the half in Elbasan. Portugal lead 1–0, but all eyes will be on the condition of Cristiano Ronaldo."
Alan Smith: "A match that started slowly exploded into drama late on. The red card, the injury, the goal—Portugal ahead, but with questions still hanging over this night."
As the players walked off the pitch, Adriano led the way, surrounded by his teammates. The crowd buzzed, the benches spoke in hushed tones, and all of Portugal's hopes now looked to be resting on the shoulders of their number nine.
The first half ended with Portugal in control, but far from comfortable. The scoreboard read: Albania 0 – 1 Portugal.
****
As the second half began under the darkening Albanian skies, the tactical whiteboards had clearly come into play. Portugal emerged from the tunnel with purpose, a substitution already made—Renato Sanches had come on for Bruno Fernandes. The switch wasn't just personnel; it was structural. Coach Fernando Santos reshaped the team from the earlier 4-2-1-3 to a 4-2-3-1.
"Smart move," said Martin Tyler as the players took their positions. "They needed more width and more connection between midfield and attack. Renato brings drive, and this formation puts Adriano back in a true number ten role."
Alan Smith nodded. "He'll get more freedom here, and that's a problem for Albania. Even in the first half, he was pulling the strings."
The match resumed with Portugal clearly in control. The ball zipped faster now, the tempo lifted by Renato's vertical runs and sharper movement through the lines. Yet, despite the advantage in possession, Albania kept a compact shape, defending deep with two solid blocks and rarely committing more than two men forward.
Adriano, though, continued to be the heartbeat of every attack. Even under tight marking, his presence pulled defenders out of position. Every touch of the ball brought nervous whistles from the home fans. Whenever he dropped into space, the fullbacks pushed up, the wingers tucked in, and the gears of Portugal's attack turned.
In the 54th minute, Adriano received a clever flick from Nani near the edge of the area. He danced past one defender with a quick feint, then squared the ball to Quaresma, who fired just wide of the near post. The Portuguese supporters behind the goal groaned collectively, some already rising to celebrate.
Five minutes later, Coentrão played a neat one-two with Moutinho and lofted in a cross that just eluded Eder's head by inches. Still, no goal.
"They're getting closer," said Alan Smith. "You can feel it. But Albania are clinging on."
Then came the moment that broke the match open.
Just past the hour mark, Portugal worked the ball patiently through midfield. Moutinho controlled possession in the centre circle and spotted Adriano hovering in that half-space between Albania's midfield and defense. With a sharp diagonal pass, he found him.
Adriano controlled with his right foot, turned, and immediately glided past one marker. Another defender came lunging in—Adriano sidestepped him effortlessly.
"Space is opening here… Adriano…" Martin's voice lifted.
From 32 yards out, Adriano didn't hesitate. He let fly with a thunderous strike. The ball flew with venom, rising and dipping mid-flight. The goalkeeper stretched desperately—but there was no reaching it. It smashed into the top-left corner, the net bulging violently.
Martin Tyler: "Oh, that's unbelievable! A rocket from Adriano! Portugal lead 2–0, and what a way to do it!"
Stadium Announcer (in Portuguese):"GOOOOOLOOOO! PORTUGAL! Número 10 – ADRIANO!"
The away section went into a frenzy, flags waving wildly. Some fans hugged strangers, others lifted scarves to the sky. On the pitch, Adriano pumped his fists and was immediately mobbed by teammates—Pepe first, then Sanches and Coentrão.
"He's been brilliant all game," said Alan. "And now he's got his reward. That's a top-class finish."
The Albanians in the stadium, to their credit, applauded the strike even while the rest groaned. Their players looked around at each other—deflated but not broken.
With a two-goal cushion, Portugal eased into their rhythm even more. The midfield triangle of Sanches, Moutinho, and Adriano began to pull the strings with elegant simplicity. Coentrão and Cancelo pushed higher, with Quaresma and Nani operating more freely in the final third.
In the 72nd minute, Nani won a corner on the right after a neat backheel from Adriano sent him through. The delivery from Quaresma was inch-perfect, met by Pepe's head—but the ball flew inches over the bar.
"Should've been three," Martin remarked. "But the control now is complete."
Albania, down to ten men since Ronaldo's injury in the first half, had virtually stopped attacking. Their fullbacks no longer advanced, and their midfielders looked gassed.
Then, in the 84th minute, the final blow came—and it was vintage Adriano.
Portugal had just broken down a rare Albanian counter. Renato Sanches recovered the ball deep on the left flank, burst forward with pace, and found Adriano in stride near the edge of the box.
The number 10 looked up, scanning the pitch. Options to pass were there—Eder was on the edge of the area, Quaresma making a late run—but Adriano hesitated. Then decided.
"Here he goes again…" Martin said, voice rising.
Adriano dropped his shoulder, skipped past the first challenge, then faked right and darted left past another defender. A third slid in recklessly—he rode the challenge, stumbling for a second but keeping the ball glued to his foot.
The crowd sensed something. A wave of noise rose.
One final touch brought him inside the penalty area. The Albanian keeper rushed out to close the angle.
Adriano didn't blink. He slowed for half a second, waited for the keeper to commit—and then casually chipped the ball over him with the inside of his boot. It floated, kissed the underside of the crossbar, and dropped in.
Martin Tyler: "That… is outrageous. Audacious. Glorious. Adriano completes his hat trick in style!"
Stadium Announcer:"GOOOOOLOOOO! PORTUGAL! Número 10 – ADRIANO! Hat-trick hero!"
The Portuguese players rushed him instantly. Adriano didn't move at first. He ran to the sidelines, slowed near the bench, then performed his signature move—he mimed pulling off a crown and tossing it toward the stands, then stood tall with arms spread wide and eyes closed.
From the away section, a chant rose in unison:"The King is here!"
Pepe tackled him first. Then Sanches. Then Moutinho and Nani. The entire team swarmed him.
"An iconic celebration for an iconic performance," Alan Smith said. "He's been the difference. In fact, he's been everything."
With the game now settled at 3–0, the final minutes played out quietly. Albania offered no resistance, and Portugal calmly passed the ball around, preserving energy and control.
When the final whistle blew, it was met by applause from both sets of fans.
Martin Tyler: "Full-time in Elbasan. Portugal win again—four wins in a row, no goals conceded, and Adriano walks off with the match ball and a standing ovation from the away fans."
Alan Smith: "He's been brilliant this entire qualifying campaign, but tonight… tonight he was untouchable."
As the Portuguese players waved to their traveling support and embraced on the pitch, Adriano stood in the centre circle, ball tucked under his arm, nodding with quiet pride.
Portugal led Group I. Four matches, four wins, zero conceded. And at the centre of it all—Adriano, the undisputed King of Elbasan tonight.
****
After the final whistle in Elbasan, the Portuguese squad walked back into the dressing room with a quiet confidence. The sound of boots scraping against concrete, the occasional clap of hands, and the low hum of conversations filled the air as the players came down from the adrenaline of the 3–0 win.
Pepe was the first to speak, tossing his armband into the corner and sitting down with a thud.
"Four wins, zero goals conceded. I'm starting to feel sorry for these teams," he said with a grin.
"Don't," muttered Ricardo Carvalho, who was unlacing his boots. "They're lucky Adriano doesn't take free kicks with his left foot too."
That earned a chuckle across the room.
Adriano, seated near the centre, leaned back and stretched his legs, his match ball resting in his lap. "I'll save that for the knockout rounds," he said casually.
"Show-off," muttered Nani, tossing a towel at him. "Man scores a rocket and a chip in one night and now he's untouchable."
João Moutinho shook his head. "He's been untouchable for four games. About time the rest of us catch up."
Renato Sanches clapped his hands together. "Hey, I got an assist. That's gotta count for something."
"It does," Adriano said, giving him a quick thumbs up. "One assist, and about a dozen dribbles into traffic."
"Part of the charm," Renato replied, grinning.
The mood was light, but behind the smiles, everyone was thinking about the same thing—Ronaldo. His injury late in the first half had shaken them, and though the win was emphatic, there was still a sense of incompleteness without him around.
Just then, the team's media officer popped his head in. "Update's in—Ronaldo's scan came back clear. Minor sprain and tear. No ligament damage. He'll be out for about 3 weeks, nothing long-term."
The room exhaled in relief. Coentrão clapped his hands once, loud and deliberate.
"Finally, some good news."
"I told you he was fine," Pepe said, standing up. "The guy eats steel and drinks lightning."
"Yeah, but he limped off like someone shot him," muttered Quaresma. "That's not exactly lightning."
"Have you ever been kicked in the ankle by a 90-kilo midfielder?" Adriano raised an eyebrow. "Hurts like hell, even if you're built like Cristiano."
The squad agreed, nodding. Some were already grabbing their phones. The news would be out any second.
Sure enough, within minutes, the online world erupted.
#ForçaRonaldo was trending worldwide. Fans from every corner of the globe flooded Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook with messages, edits, and even memes. One fan posted a clip of Adriano's goal with the caption: "While the Legend rests, the crown stays in good hands."
Another tweet read:"Portugal have conceded ZERO goals in four games. Adriano is playing like a man possessed. EURO 2016 can't come fast enough."
Someone else joked:"At this rate, Adriano might show up to Ronaldo's house with a crown and say 'don't worry, I got this.'"
Screenshots started flying across the group chat. Moutinho was the first to show one where a fan had photoshopped Adriano onto a Game of Thrones throne made of football boots.
"Look at this," Moutinho said, turning his phone around. "They're already making you a monarch."
Adriano rolled his eyes but smirked. "If they photoshop me into a telenovela next, I'm quitting the internet."
"Too late," Renato laughed. "You're already in a Turkish drama poster. I saw it this morning."
The conversation carried on as they showered and changed, and by the time they were back on the team bus, the plan was already forming: they would stop by the hospital to visit Ronaldo before flying back home.
It was just past midnight when the team arrived at the small private hospital in Tirana. The streets were quiet, and the parking lot empty save for a few fans who had caught wind of the visit. Ronaldo's room was on the top floor, with security standing outside.
As they entered, the lights were dimmed, and a nurse gave a polite nod before stepping aside. Inside, Ronaldo was propped up on the bed, foot elevated, watching a replay of the match on the small television mounted on the wall.
"Did you lot save any goals for me?" he asked, grinning.
"Two for me, one for Cris," Adriano said, walking in and placing the match ball on the table beside Ronaldo. "It's on loan."
"Yeah? I might keep it," Ronaldo said, then gestured for him to come closer and fist-bumped him. "You were incredible."
"Still got a few things to learn," Adriano replied modestly.
"From me, obviously," Ronaldo said.
The room filled with laughter. One by one, the players walked in, some shaking his hand, others making jokes about his "dramatic fall" or asking if he needed help to the toilet. Quaresma brought in a small plastic crown from the gift shop downstairs and placed it on Ronaldo's lap.
"For when you get back. The throne's being warmed."
Ronaldo grinned, his expression softening. "I appreciate it, really. I wanted to be out there."
"You will be," Pepe said. "Rest up. We're just keeping things in order until you're back."
Renato piped up. "Honestly, it's nice not having to live under your glare for once."
"You'll miss me after two games," Ronaldo shot back.
Adriano sat down beside him for a few minutes as the rest of the group started filtering out into the hallway. They watched a few clips on the TV, mostly of the first goal.
"You've been carrying the team," Ronaldo said quietly.
Adriano shook his head. "We're building something. Everyone's part of it. You included."
"Still," Ronaldo added, "those were special. You make it look easy."
"Only because I watched you do it for ten years."
Ronaldo smiled at that. "That's good. Because the pressure only gets worse from here."
"I know," Adriano replied. "That's why I'm not doing it alone."
Ronaldo nodded slowly, then offered his hand again. "We'll win this thing. Together."
Adriano took it, gripped it firmly, and then stood. "See you on the training pitch soon, cap."
As the group reassembled outside in the corridor, someone suggested taking a photo. Ronaldo, despite the crutches and the elevated leg, insisted on standing.
The squad lined up around him, goofy smiles and peace signs in full force.
Moutinho, holding up the camera, said, "Alright—say '4 wins!'"
The shutter clicked, and the team filed out, leaving Ronaldo with the match ball, a plastic crown, and a room full of laughter.
They had one goal between them all—Euro 2016.
And so far, they were right on track.
****
Euro Qualifiers Stats of Adriano
Matches: 4
Goal : 6
Assists: 2