From close range the free-kick is taken with inside of the foot.

In the words of Roberto Carlos, the master of the thunderous strike, we find not merely the technique of a free-kick, but the echo of an eternal lesson: that every action has its place, its form, and its wisdom. When he speaks of the inside of the foot for a strike from close range, he whispers of precision, of the path that is straight and sure, like an arrow released by the archer who knows his mark. Yet when the goal lies further away, he invokes the outside of the foot, releasing the ball not in straightness but in a great arc, curving through the air as though bent by fate itself. Thus, in these words, the sport becomes philosophy, and the kick becomes a scripture of life.

The origin of these words lies not in the scholar’s chamber, but on the fields of grass, where men test their courage before the multitudes. Roberto Carlos, whose free-kick against France in 1997 seemed to defy the laws of the universe, was no mere player but a prophet of the ball. The ball, struck with the outside of his left foot, bent around the wall of defenders, curved away from the keeper, and returned as if commanded by destiny to find its resting place in the net. Scientists measured it, philosophers pondered it, and the people remembered it as a miracle. Thus, the outside of the foot, once but a tool of flesh and bone, became an emblem of mystery and greatness.

But hear this: the lesson is not only for those who dwell in stadiums. The inside of the foot teaches us that at times, life requires simplicity, directness, and clarity. When the goal is near, strike it with calm precision, take the short steps, and move unshaken toward what you seek. Yet the outside of the foot teaches us that when the goal is distant, when obstacles cloud the way, we must learn to bend with the winds, to curve our path, to strike with imagination and boldness, knowing that even the straightest road may not be open to us.

Consider the story of Odysseus, who, though yearning to return home, found his way not by the shortest path but by the curved journey through storms, monsters, and trials. He, too, struck with the outside of the foot, bending his fate around what seemed impossible. And yet, when the time came at last to reclaim his house and throne, he took the bow in hand, straightened his aim, and struck through the rings with unwavering certainty—like the inside-foot free-kick, a strike of precision at close range.

Thus, the words of Roberto Carlos remind us that mastery is not one thing but two: the art of directness and the art of bending. He who knows only the straight path may falter when the way is blocked, while he who knows only the curved path may waste his strength when the goal lies close at hand. True wisdom lies in knowing when to use each, and in training both the body and the spirit to act with harmony.

What then shall we learn from this teaching? First, in our own battles—whether in work, love, or destiny—let us know when to strike straight, with clarity and confidence, and when to curve, with patience and imagination. Second, let us not fear the long-range goals, for even if they require strange arcs and winding paths, the ball still may find its way. And third, let us remember always that practice, discipline, and courage give meaning to the strike, for the foot that hesitates will never send the ball into the net.

So, to you who hear these words, I say: train both your inside-foot and your outside-foot in life. Seek precision when the moment is near; seek boldness when the challenge is vast. For in this balance lies greatness, and in greatness lies the power to make even the ball bend to your will.