Freddy Rincon is dead. He lived only 55 years.
He played head to toe, like a periscope looking for the best move.
He sweated blood on the field and demanded the same selflessness from his teammates.
Many consider the midfield trio formed by him, Vampeta and Ricardinho, world club champion in 2000, as the best in Corinthian’s centenary history, although, as always, there are those who contest it because, as ephemeral as it was, Dino Sani and Roberto Rivellino, in the mid-1960s, in the 4-2-4 times, also played fine ball.
Freddy Rincón was grumpy, demanding, perfectionist and sanguine. Bravo in both directions.
He didn’t take any insults home and resolved his stops on the lawns, in the locker rooms or in the hotel room where he was concentrated.
Idol in Colombia, Emperor of Ebony, he had stints in numerous clubs around the world, even in the biggest of all when wearing the Real Madrid merengue shirt, but it was even in the Almighty Timão that he immortalized himself with the laughter worthy of a statue when he lifted the trophy of the first FIFA World Cup.
In times of trivialization of death, it would not be an exaggeration to say that Freddy Rincón is for Corinthians what Kobe Bryant is for the Los Angeles Lakers.
A pity they left so soon.
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