Tite, the Narcissus of the Dugout: The Mass Brawl at the Mineirão and the National Team's Puppet Show

If you still had any doubts that Brazilian football is a bottomless well of surreal stories, Wednesday's derby between Cruzeiro and Atlético-MG well and truly kicked the door down. What should have been just another chapter in a century-old rivalry descended into a mass brawl that, believe it or not, managed to unite the entire country. Yes, you read that right: the fight at the Mineirão became the only topic of pub talk from John o' Groats to Land's End, and even the Public Prosecution Service has requested details of the Civil Police's inquiry. But in the middle of all the chaos, a hilarious scene starring Gabigol and the referee Claus — that classic "d'you want a smack, then?" / "I don't know how to fight" exchange — reminded me of an old acquaintance: Tite.

The Narcissus of the technical area

Tite, the man who managed the Brazilian national team for years, was always seen as a kind of inverted Narcissus. While the figure from Greek mythology drowned in his own reflection, the gaúcho from Caxias do Sul spent his entire career trying to see the team as a collective mirror. Discipline, organisation, and that certain "team spirit" were his mantra. Now, I have to ask: what must he have been thinking when he saw that full-blown puppet show unfold on the Mineirão pitch?

Because, let's be honest, what we saw was a parade of inflated egos. Players who seem more interested in gazing at their own reflections than looking at the teammate standing next to them. The idea that football is a team sport seems to have become a museum piece. And, right in the middle of the mess, characters worthy of a Grimm brothers' fairy tale appeared — did someone mention Rumpelstiltskin? The one who spins straw into gold but demands a high price for it. That wouldn't be a bad metaphor for some of the directors and agents trying to profit from the chaos, would it?

When rivalry becomes a theatre of horrors

The fight between Cruzeiro and Atlético-MG wasn't just another isolated incident. It exposed something a lot of people prefer to ignore: our football has become an arena where a puppet show is staged every single round. The actors? Players, managers, directors, and, of course, a fanbase that is often manipulated like puppets. And the worst part: everyone seems to be enjoying it.

Let's look at the facts. The trouble started after a nasty foul, escalated with shoves and punches, and ended with the police having to come onto the pitch. The Public Prosecution Service now wants answers. But in the meantime, we witnessed scenes that would embarrass anyone who loves the sport. And, in the middle of the chaos, that exchange between Gabigol and Claus: "D'you want a smack, then?" — "I don't know how to fight." Pure theatre, worthy of a slapstick comedy. But is it actually funny?

• Gabigol and the taunt that became a meme: the striker, always in the spotlight, reminded everyone that in football, the line between provocation and violence is razor-thin.
• Referee Claus trying to play peacemaker: the image of the official saying he doesn't know how to fight is a perfect snapshot of how fragile control on the pitch really is.
• Public Prosecution Service watching closely: the request for information about the inquiry shows things went way too far.

The Rumpelstiltskin inside us all

And then, right in the eye of the storm, the figure of Rumpelstiltskin appears. In the fable, the goblin promises to spin straw into gold, but demands something in return. In Brazilian football, how many people aren't trying to do the same? Turn violence into ratings, chaos into money, a fight into a spectacle. The price, however, is the soul of the game. And all the while, the Brazilian national team watches from a distance, hoping that one day these same protagonists will pull on the famous yellow shirt with the dignity it deserves.

Tite, the Narcissus who always sought collective perfection, is certainly turning his nose up at this scenario. Not that he's a saint — far from it. But his time in charge of the national team showed that it is, in fact, possible to reconcile individual talent with tactical discipline. The problem is that, in Brazil, the individual often shouts louder. And when it shouts, it ends in a brawl.

What's left after the dust settles

Now, with the dust (literally) settling at the Mineirão, the question remains: will we learn anything from this? Or will we carry on treating football like a giant puppet show, where the strings are pulled by shady interests and the lead actors think they're Greek gods? The fight that united the country, as the sports journalists so wryly put it, should serve as a wake-up call. But knowing our history, I doubt it'll go beyond the memes and the jokes.

One thing's for sure: Tite, wherever he is, must be shaking his head. And deep down, that old saying still holds true: if it ain't broke, don't fix it. But for a team that's busy fighting, maybe it's time to call in the psychologist — or, who knows, maybe Rumpelstiltskin himself, to see if he can spin all this straw into some actual gold.