Eternal Champions

Seven months ago, Brazilian underdogs Chapecoense boarded a plane to play in the game of their lives. Instead, their biggest moment turned into a tragedy no one can forget.

- Sam Borden

There is rain in Chiquinho’s pockets. Rain running down his shoulders. Rain squishing through his shoes. The rain is so loud, he barely hears the music. The rain is so thick, he barely sees the coffins. Chiquinho tries to focus. He has a job. He is the groundskeeper. He takes care of the undersoil and the topsoil. He takes care of the field. This stadium is his home. The members of the club are his friends. One of the goalkeepers, Danilo, used to joke with Chiquinho about the bare patch down at the end of the field. All that mowing and feeding and watering in the warm Brazilian sun and Chiquinho still couldn’t get grass to grow there. “Where is the grass?” Danilo would ask with a sparkle in his eyes, and Chiquinho’s leathery face would crinkle.

One of the team’s trainers, Anderson Paixão, used to talk with Chiquinho about the stray dog Chiquinho found lying outside the gates one morning a few years back. The dog was hurt and whimpering—a boy nearby said he thought it might have been hit by a car—and Chiquinho and his crew took it in. They gave the dog dried meat and bought it medicine. They rubbed its belly and cleaned its black fur. They got it a leash and built it a tiny house out near the shed with the rakes. They named it Pitico, which is Portuguese for “something little.”