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

If you still had any doubts that Brazilian football is an eternal wellspring of surreal stories, the classic clash between Cruzeiro and Atlético-MG this past Wednesday made sure to kick the door wide open. What was meant to be another chapter in a century-old rivalry turned into a massive, all-out brawl that, believe it or not, actually managed to unite the country. Yes, you read that right: the fight at Mineirão became the talk of every town from one end of the country to the other, and even the Public Prosecutor's Office has requested details on the Civil Police investigation. But right in the middle of the chaos, a hilarious scene starring Gabigol and referee Claus — that classic "I'll hit you, you know?" / "I don't know how to fight" exchange — reminded me of an old acquaintance: Tite.

The Narcissus on the sidelines

Tite, the man who commanded the Brazilian National Team for years, was always seen as a kind of inverted Narcissus. While the Greek mythology figure drowned in his own reflection, the coach 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 ask: what must he have been thinking when he saw that genuine puppet theatre play out on the Mineirão pitch?

Because, let's be honest, what we witnessed was a parade of inflated egos. Players who seem more interested in gazing at themselves in the water than looking at the teammate beside them. The principle that football is a team sport seems to have become a museum piece. And in the middle of the mess, characters worthy of a Grimm brothers' fairy tale emerge — did someone mention Rumpelstiltskin? That character who spins straw into gold but demands a high price for it. Wouldn't that be a fitting metaphor for some of the club directors and agents trying to profit from the chaos?

When rivalry turns into a spectacle of horrors

The fight between Cruzeiro and Atlético-MG wasn't just another isolated incident. It exposed something many prefer to ignore: our football has become an arena where puppet theatre is performed every single matchday. The actors? Players, coaches, directors, and of course, the fans, who are often manipulated like puppets themselves. And the worst part? Everyone seems to be enjoying it.

Let's look at the facts. The trouble started after a violent foul, escalated with shoves and punches, and ended with police having to enter the field. The Public Prosecutor's Office now wants answers. But in the meantime, what we saw were scenes that shame anyone who loves the sport. And right in the middle of the chaos, that dialogue between Gabigol and Claus: "I'll hit you, you know?" — "I don't know how to fight." Pure theatre, worthy of a slapstick comedy. But is it really funny?

• Gabigol and the provocation that became a meme: the striker, always in the spotlight, reminded everyone that in football, the line between provocation and violence is very thin.
• Referee Claus trying to calm things down: the image of the official saying he doesn't know how to fight is a perfect snapshot of the fragility of control on the pitch.
• Public Prosecutor's Office watching closely: the request for information on the investigation shows things went way too far.

The Rumpelstiltskin within us

And then, right in the eye of the storm, the figure of Rumpelstiltskin appears. In the fable, the goblin promises to turn straw into gold but demands something in return. In Brazilian football, how many try to do the same? Turning violence into ratings, chaos into money, a fight into a spectacle. The price, however, is the soul of the game. And meanwhile, the Brazilian National Team watches from afar, hoping that one day these same protagonists will put on the famous yellow jersey with the dignity it deserves.

Tite, the Narcissus who always sought collective perfection, would surely turn up his nose at this scenario. Not that he's a saint—far from it. But his time with the National Team showed that it is possible to reconcile individual talent with tactical discipline. The problem is that in Brazil, the individual often shouts louder. And when it shouts, it turns into a brawl.

What remains after the dust settles

Now, with the dust (literally) settling at Mineirão, the question remains: will we learn anything from this? Or will we continue to treat football like a vast puppet theatre, where the strings are pulled by shady interests and the lead actors think they're Greek gods? The brawl that united Brazil, as the sports columns wryly noted, should serve as a wake-up call. But knowing our history, I doubt it will go beyond memes and jokes.

One thing is 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 a psychologist — or, who knows, call Rumpelstiltskin himself, to see if he can spin all this straw into real gold.