It was all very amusing, but it is not true.
Às vésperas da eleição presidencial do Real Madrid, um candidato invocou os nomes de dois dos maiores astros do futebol mundial como promessa de campanha — apenas para ver sua narrativa desmoronar diante de um desmentido oficial e direto. O episódio revela como o futebol moderno se tornou palco não apenas de disputas esportivas, mas de ambições políticas que usam jogadores reais como peças imaginárias em um tabuleiro eleitoral. Há algo de universal nessa dinâmica: a tentação de prometer o extraordinário para conquistar confiança, e a inevitável colisão com a realidade.
- O candidato Enrique Riquelme apostou sua credibilidade em uma promessa espetacular — trazer Haaland e Rodri ao Real Madrid — chegando a exibir uma camisa personalizada ao vivo na televisão.
- A garantia era ousada ao extremo: se eleito e incapaz de cumprir, Riquelme pagaria do próprio bolso 100% das mensalidades dos sócios do clube por uma temporada inteira.
- O castelo de cartas desabou rapidamente quando o pai de Haaland, Alfie, e sua agente, Rafael Pimenta, emitiram um desmentido formal e definitivo: 'Foi muito divertido, mas não é verdade.'
- Haaland está contratado com o Manchester City até 2034, tornando qualquer transferência imediata não apenas improvável, mas praticamente impossível no horizonte visível.
- O que restou da jogada de Riquelme foi a exposição de uma estratégia eleitoral vazia — e um lembrete de que rumores de transferência, quando usados como moeda política, raramente sobrevivem ao contato com a realidade.
Três dias antes da eleição presidencial do Real Madrid, o candidato Enrique Riquelme fez uma aposta arriscada: anunciou em um programa de televisão que havia firmado acordos para contratar Erling Haaland e Rodri, ambos do Manchester City. Para reforçar o gesto, exibiu uma camisa do Madrid com o nome do norueguês estampado. E foi além — prometeu pagar pessoalmente 100% das mensalidades dos sócios caso fosse eleito e não conseguisse entregar os dois jogadores.
A promessa durou pouco. Através do jornalista Fabrizio Romano, o pai de Haaland, Alfie, e sua agente, Rafael Pimenta, divulgaram uma nota oficial descartando tudo: não havia acordo, não havia negociação, não havia nada. 'Foi muito divertido, mas não é verdade', disseram, desejando boa sorte a ambos os candidatos com uma cortesia que soava quase irônica.
O contexto torna a promessa ainda mais frágil. Haaland assinou com o City em 2022 por 60 milhões de euros e seu contrato se estende até junho de 2034. Ele está atualmente com a seleção norueguesa, preparando-se para a Copa do Mundo. Rodri enfrenta restrições semelhantes. Anunciar a chegada de ambos como se fosse uma formalidade ignorava completamente a realidade contratual e financeira envolvida.
Riquelme se posicionava como alternativa ao presidente Florentino Pérez, no cargo desde 2009 e favorito à reeleição. A estratégia era clara: oferecer uma visão de transformação radical, usando dois dos jogadores mais cobiçados do mundo como símbolo de uma nova era. Mas quando a ficção encontrou o desmentido oficial, o que sobrou foi apenas a imagem de uma camisa personalizada — e a lembrança de que no futebol moderno, como na política, promessas grandiosas raramente resistem ao escrutínio.
Three days before Real Madrid's presidential election, a candidate named Enrique Riquelme made a bold claim: he had secured agreements to bring Erling Haaland and Rodri, both stars at Manchester City, to the Spanish club. He said it on a popular television program, even holding up a personalized Madrid shirt with Haaland's name on it. The promise was sweeping enough that Riquelme, an energy sector businessman running against incumbent Florentino Pérez, offered a guarantee: if he won the election and failed to deliver on either player, he would personally cover 100 percent of the club's member fees for the following season.
It was a striking bid for voter confidence—the kind of pledge that makes headlines and stirs imagination among supporters. But within days, Haaland's camp moved to extinguish the story entirely. Through journalist Fabrizio Romano, representatives for the Norwegian striker issued a terse official statement: the whole thing was fiction. "It was all very amusing, but it is not true," they said. "We wish both candidates well in the Madrid election."
The statement came from Haaland's father, Alfie—himself a former professional striker—and his agent, Rafael Pimenta, a Brazilian businesswoman who manages his career. Their message was clear and final: there was no deal, no negotiation, no secret agreement waiting to be announced. Riquelme's television appearance, complete with the custom shirt, had been a campaign stunt with no basis in reality.
The timing of Riquelme's announcement was not accidental. He positioned himself as an alternative to Pérez, who has led Real Madrid since 2009 and is seeking reelection. By promising to land two of world football's most coveted players, Riquelme was offering voters a vision of transformation—a dramatic shift in the club's direction and ambition. The guarantee about member fees was his way of saying: I am so confident in these deals that I will stake my own money on them.
But the reality of Haaland's situation makes such promises hollow. The striker signed a contract with Manchester City in 2022 after the club paid Borussia Dortmund 60 million euros to acquire him. That contract runs through June 2034—more than eight years into the future. He is currently with Norway's national team, preparing for the World Cup. For any club to pry him away would require a negotiation of staggering complexity and expense, something that does not happen in the shadows before an election.
Rodri, the midfielder also named in Riquelme's promise, faces similar constraints. Both players are locked into long-term deals with one of Europe's richest and most powerful clubs. The idea that a Real Madrid candidate could casually announce their imminent arrival strains credibility—and Haaland's representatives made clear they found it not credible at all.
The election is set for Sunday. Pérez remains the frontrunner, and Riquelme's gambit appears to have backfired, exposed as campaign theater rather than genuine negotiation. What remains is a reminder of how transfer rumors work in modern football: a candidate seeking power, a television appearance, a personalized shirt, and a promise that evaporates the moment it meets scrutiny.
Notable Quotes
It was all very amusing, but it is not true. We wish both candidates well in the Madrid election.— Haaland's representatives (father Alfie and agent Rafael Pimenta)
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why would a presidential candidate make such a specific, verifiable claim about two players if he had no actual basis for it?
Because in football, the promise itself is the product. Riquelme wasn't selling a realistic transfer plan—he was selling a vision of change, a sense that he could do what the incumbent couldn't. The shirt, the television appearance, the guarantee about member fees—these are all theater designed to make voters feel he has inside knowledge.
But doesn't that risk destroying his credibility the moment it's proven false?
Yes, which is exactly what happened. But he may have calculated that the story would circulate widely enough during the campaign that the denial wouldn't fully erase the initial impression. Some voters might remember the promise more than the refutation.
What does Haaland's camp gain by issuing a statement at all? Why not just ignore it?
Silence can be read as ambiguity. By issuing a clear denial through a respected journalist, they're protecting Haaland's reputation and his relationship with Manchester City. They're also signaling that they take the matter seriously enough to address it formally, which paradoxically gives it weight even as they dismiss it.
Is there any world in which Riquelme actually believed he could deliver on this?
Unlikely. More probable is that he was making a calculated bet: promise something audacious, let it dominate the news cycle for a few days, and hope that even the denial keeps his name in the conversation. The election is Sunday. He's already succeeded in that much.