The Hangover from the Enea, the Northeastern Tragedy, and Bedroom Gymnastics

The Apocalypse Has Arrived and Brought Warm Beer

My dear readers of Bella Club , everyday warriors, survivors of yet another year in this open-air madhouse we affectionately call Brazil. If you are reading these lines, congratulations: you survived liver problems, end-of-year bills, your wife's PMS, and, above all, the emotional rollercoaster that was the end of the 2025 Brazilian Championship. Here we are, you and I, facing the ruins of a season that promised little and delivered pure entertainment—the chaotic, disorganized, and morally dubious kind, exactly as we like it.

This is not just a summary of the round. It's a sociological, alcoholic, and footballing treatise on December 6th and 7th, 2025. Days that will go down in history not for the technical quality of the football played—which, let's face it, often resembled a match between married men and single men where the barbecue chef is the goalkeeper—but for the human drama, the tears of despair, and, of course, the behind-the-scenes gossip that stirs up our WhatsApp groups more than news of a gasoline price increase.

The scene was one of utter devastation and absolute glory. On one side, Flamengo, that machine for crushing opponents and reputations, confirming a hegemony that already leaves rivals with that disgust of someone who ate spoiled tripe stew. On the other, the Shakespearean tragedy of the Northeast, with Ceará and Fortaleza plummeting together to Série B, proving that unity is strength, but also creates a hole. And in the middle of all this, Mirassol — yes, Mirassol — dining at the adults' table and showing that organization triumphs over a prestigious jersey.

Get your glasses ready, settle into your chair (or the toilet, where most of you consume this noble column) and come with me. We're going to dissect every play, every controversy, and every ball rolling—both those on the field and those in the players' beds. Because here, in Weekly Soccer Matches , soccer is just the backdrop for real life.

The Red-Black Hegemony: The Nine-Time Championship and the "Gymnastics Festival"

The Cup Match: Flamengo 3 x 3 Mirassol

Let's start with the owner of the ball. Flamengo, led by Filipe Luís — a man who dresses on the sidelines with the elegance of someone about to close a bank merger on Faria Lima — brought forward its celebration to Saturday, December 6th. The reason? A trip to Qatar, where they will try for the Club World Cup. But the players' minds, my friends, were already elsewhere. Probably in some nightclub in Barra or on the balcony of some kiosk.

The game against Mirassol was a typical "luxury friendly." The 3-3 score perfectly reflects the level of defensive commitment of a team that's already champion. Nobody marks anybody. It's the famous "pass it to the side and run for the hug." Arrascaeta, our Uruguayan maestro who plays in a suit and smokes cigars (metaphorically, of course, because a man's lungs are sacred), paraded on the field. With 18 goals and 14 assists this season, he's not just the star of the championship; he owns the championship.

But what caught the attention wasn't the football. It was the atmosphere. The Maracanã was pulsating, not with tension, but with relief. It was the confirmation of a job well done. Juca Kfouri, in his eternal role as oracle of sporting morality, had already decreed: Flamengo is the favorite in everything it competes in. For Juca, this hegemony is dangerous, it's annoying, it's a monopoly that transforms the Brazilian Championship into a tropical Bundesliga. But for the Flamengo fan? Ah, for the fan it's glory. It's being able to arrive at work on Monday and look at the Vasco-supporting colleague with that smirk, that affectionate disdain that only football allows.

Filipe Luís: The Guardiola of the Flamengo youth academy?

We need to talk about Filipe Luís. The former full-back took over the team and transformed a bunch of individual talents into a symphonic orchestra. He applied modern concepts, high lines, pressure after losing possession, and all those terms that PVC (Paulo Vinícius Coelho) loves to explain with his nervous clipboard. PVC, by the way, highlighted that Flamengo finished with 79 points, the best attack (78 goals) and the best defense (27 goals conceded). That's a massacre. That's footballing bullying.

Filipe Luís achieved something more difficult than tactics: managing egos. Getting Gabigol (if he still plays, or if he only throws traps), Pedro, Arrascaeta, and Bruno Henrique to coexist without killing each other in the locker room is worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize. The Flamengo of 2025 was a team that knew how to suffer when it needed to and knew how to humiliate when it could. The "resilience" mentioned by columnists was the hallmark of a group that, even rich, maintained its hunger.


2.3. The Off-Field Controversy: Léo Pereira and Olympic Gymnastics

Now, let's get to what you really want to know. Because tactics are cool, but gossip about a player hooking up with a celebrity is the nectar of the gods.

Columnist Léo Dias, that self-proclaimed guardian of other people's morals (not really), had made a bold promise: if Flamengo won the Libertadores Cup, he would remain "silent" about the players' parties. He promised not to publish a single line about infidelities or parties.

Laugh with me, reader. Lol.

To think that Léo Dias would keep a secret is like believing that a politician on the campaign trail will keep their promises.

The title celebration, which reverberated until this weekend, took place at Jorge Carrascal's mansion. And the star of the night wasn't the one who scored the title-winning goal. It was Léo Pereira . The defender, known as "Karolino" until recently (because of his ex, Karoline Lima, that spectacular blonde who has a magnet for trouble and defensive players), showed that the line doesn't just move on; it flips and does pirouettes.

Reports indicate that Léo Pereira left the party accompanied by Flávia Saraiva. Yes, Flavinha. Our little giant of artistic gymnastics. The visual contrast is, to say the least, curious: Léo Pereira, a towering 1.89m, and Flavinha, with her 1.48m of pure muscular power.10 According to gossip (and some good sources too), the gymnast slept at the defender's house and, the following morning, went straight to training at the Brazilian Olympic Committee (COB).

That, my friends, is commitment. That's focus. The girl spends the night partying (with all due respect) and goes to train double twist somersaults the next day. Gold medal in cardio for the couple!

And what about Karoline Lima? Well, the ex is probably posting stories with a sad soundtrack, but with engagement through the roof. In the ecosystem of minor celebrities, nobody loses; everything becomes an advertisement .

The Mirassol Phenomenon: David in the Midst of Goliaths

The Intruder in G-4

Look at the chart again. Rub your eyes. Drink a black coffee.

4th Place: Mirassol. 67 points.

This is not a typo. Mirassol, a team from the interior of São Paulo, known for developing players and having a "canary yellow with hepatitis" uniform, finished the championship ahead of Fluminense, Botafogo, Bahia, São Paulo, Grêmio, Inter, Atlético-MG, Santos, Corinthians, and Vasco.

I repeat: MIRASSOL IS IN THE LIBERTADORES CUP.

The 3-3 draw against Flamengo at the Maracanã was no accident. It was the crowning achievement of an incredible campaign. Mirassol had a performance in terms of xG (expected goals) superior to that of many giants. The team plays modern, proactive football, unafraid of a tough opponent.


The Management Lesson (and the Shame of the Big Players)

Mirassol's success is a slap in the face to the incompetence of the big clubs. While Corinthians struggles to pay the electricity bill for its Arena and Vasco is embroiled in a political civil war, Mirassol, with a budget that wouldn't even cover the salary of a Palmeiras reserve player, has assembled a competitive team.

This irritates the "die-hard" fan. We like to see a team with a strong history winning. Seeing Mirassol in the top four causes cognitive dissonance. "How can my team, which has 10 million fans, be behind the team from a city with 60,000 inhabitants?" The answer, my friend, hurts: competence.

Mirassol is proof that money doesn't tolerate disrespect, but lack of money combined with organization can work miracles. The "Lion of Alta Araraquarense" roared louder than many dinosaurs of Brazilian football.

Palmeiras' Runner-Up Finish: The End of the Crefisa Era

The Golden Farewell (or Almost)

Palmeiras finished in second place, with 76 points.5 For any other team, it would have been a historic campaign. For Abel Ferreira's Palmeiras, it was the year of "almost." Runner-up in the Libertadores (lost to Flamengo). Runner-up in the Brazilian Championship (lost to Flamengo).

The Palmeiras poets must be writing melancholic texts comparing Palmeiras to unrequited love. They'll remember 1951, they'll say the World Cup is theirs (and we pretend to agree so as not to ruin the friendship), and they'll lament the end of the "Crefisa Era".

Yes, "Aunt Leila" is turning off the tap — or at least changing the flow. With 14 titles under her belt, the sponsorship era that transformed Palmeiras into a powerhouse is coming to an end, surpassing the historic Parmalat era. The future? An unknown. Will Palmeiras remain rich? Yes. But the feeling of financial omnipotence may diminish.

Sadism at Castelão

Palmeiras' final game against Ceará was an exercise in cruelty. Palmeiras didn't need to win. Ceará needed to win to avoid relegation. The Castelão stadium was packed, pulsating, a beautiful celebration. Pedro Raul scored, making it 1-0 for Ceará. Hope was rekindled.

Then Palmeiras, cold and calculating like a loan shark collecting a debt, turned the game around. Facundo Torres, Ramón Sosa and Flaco López. 3-1.15

Palmeiras showed no mercy. Abel Ferreira, with his face that always looked dissatisfied with the temperature of his coffee, sent the team on the attack. They relegated Ceará at home. This isn't football, it's psychological torture. And it demonstrates the winning (and sadistic) mentality that Abel instilled there.


The Z-4 Apocalypse: The Tragedy of the Northeast

If the top of the table was a VIP party, the bottom was a Tarantino-directed horror movie, with lots of blood and screams. Sunday, December 7, 2025, will be remembered as "Bloody Sunday" for Northeastern Brazilian football.

Ceará and Fortaleza: The Embrace of the Drowned

It's hard, even for a cynical columnist like me, not to feel a pang of pity. Ceará and Fortaleza, historic rivals, fell together. Hand in hand.