I was five years old. I sat in front of the T.V. to witness my first time seeing a young Ronaldo play. They walked on with jersey as burgundy as a thousand year old wine and with a crowd of fans as loud as a pack of lions. ”Portugal is going to win.” I said. “They have legends on their team.” Then walked out Ronaldo. I was star struck. The brightest prospect in the soccer was out there representing his country. My role model walked out. Then came out the Greeks. With jerseys as white as the cloud and a fierce look in their eyes. The game began. It was a difficult first half with both teams tied. I recall chewing on my fingernails, as I was anxious on some of the missed chances. Finally, the Greeks scored. Angelos Charisteas goal in the fifty-seventh minutes was the only goal of the game. The crisp sound of the ball rolling in the back of the net was gut wrenching. Portugal had seventeen shots with five on target whereas the Greeks had four shots with one on target, which ended up being the only goal of the game. The so-called “underdogs” had done what seemed impossible. They actually won the championship. The sight of the Portuguese players and fans said it all. They were disappointed. They were in distraught. They were in denial. They didn’t think this was going to occur to them. The tournament was hosted in Portugal and to lose the trophy on home soil was unbearable to the team. As I sat there, with my food in front of me, crying inconsolably, I realized one thing. I realized that I had to work hard to achieve my goals. I realized that I had to make sure that what happened to Portugal never happens to me. I realized that I should expect disappointment in my life. And as a 5 year old, that was one of the biggest upsets I had seen. The look on Ronaldo’s face at the end of the game haunted me for days. I still couldn’t believe that Portugal had lost. My aunt said, “ I told you the Greeks would win. What do you know about soccer? Besides, you’re just a kid.” Those were words I would never forget.