Tite, the Narcissus of the Dugout: The Mineirão Melee and the Puppet Theatre of the Seleção

If you still had any doubts that Brazilian football is an endless well of surreal stories, the derby between Cruzeiro and Atlético-MG on Wednesday well and truly kicked the door down. What was meant to be another chapter in a century-old rivalry turned into a full-blown melee that, believe it or not, actually managed to unite the country. Yep, you read that right: the dust-up at Mineirão became the talk of every pub from Cape Reinga to Bluff, and even the Public Prosecutor's office has requested updates on the police investigation. But right in the middle of the chaos, one hilarious scene starring Gabigol and referee Claus — that classic "I'll smash ya, eh?" / "I don't know how to fight" exchange — reminded me of an old acquaintance: Tite.

The Narcissus of the sidelines

Tite, the man who led the Brazilian national team for years, was always seen as a kind of backwards Narcissus. While the Greek mythology figure drowned in his own reflection, the bloke from Caxias do Sul spent his whole career trying to see the team as a collective mirror. Discipline, organisation, and that elusive "team spirit" were his mantra. So now I have to ask: what must he have been thinking watching that proper puppet show on the Mineirão pitch?

Because let's be honest, what we saw there was a parade of inflated egos. Players who seem more interested in gazing at their own reflection than looking at the teammate next to them. The whole idea that football is a team sport seems to have become a museum piece. And right in the middle of the mess, figures straight out of a Brothers Grimm fairy tale emerge — did someone say Rumpelstiltskin? That character who spins straw into gold but demands a high price for it. Wouldn't that be a good metaphor for some of the directors and agents trying to profit from the chaos?

When rivalry turns into a horror show

The brawl 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 the puppet show plays out every single round. 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 having a laugh about it.

Let's look at the facts. The trouble started after a heavy foul, escalated into shoving and punching, and ended with police having to come onto the field. Now, the Public Prosecutor's office wants answers. But in the meantime, we saw scenes that would embarrass anyone who truly loves the sport. And right in the middle of the chaos, that exchange between Gabigol and Claus: "I'll smash ya, eh?" — "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 very thin.
• Referee Claus trying to play peacemaker: the image of the ref saying he doesn't know how to fight is a perfect snapshot of how fragile control on the pitch really is.
• Public Prosecutor's office watching closely: the request for investigation details 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 try to do the same? Turning violence into ratings, chaos into cash, a brawl into entertainment. The price, though, is the soul of the game. And all the while, the Brazilian national team watches from afar, hoping that one day these same protagonists will put on the yellow jersey with the dignity it deserves.

Tite, the Narcissus who always strived for collective perfection, is surely turning up his nose at this scenario. Not that he's a saint — far from it. But his time with the Seleção showed that it is, in fact, possible to combine individual talent with tactical discipline. The problem is, in Brazil, the individual often shouts louder. And when it shouts, it turns into a punch-up.

What's left when the dust settles

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

One thing's for sure: Tite, wherever he is, must be shaking his head. And deep down, that old saying still rings 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, Rumpelstiltskin himself, to see if he can spin all this straw into actual gold.