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Volto quando puder. Obrigado a todos. Inclusive pelo bom gosto! Pensou, pensou, pensou e cravou: "Porva?. Acabou nas cadeiras cativas, sendo xingado por corintianos. E como as cabines de imprensa do Morumbi estavam em reforma, ficamos nas cativas. E eu pensei: "Vai sobrar pra mim Fiquei assistindo ao jogo com ele. Eu quero comemorar se o Palmeiras ganhar, mas vou querer sumir do mundo se o Palmeiras perder". O que eu fiz? Mas ficou a pergunta: como vou comemorar?

Liguei para alguns amigos e fui paro o Joakins, uma lanchonete na Joaquim Floriano, onde sempre comemorava. O pessoal adorou, tinha um monte de palmeirense. For his 75 years. More than everything, for the affection from the people that know him — therefore like him. And specially for the people who don't know him — and some who cried like he was an old friend. I've learned a thing from you, babbo. Before become a great journalist it is needed to be a great person. I have learned from him I don't need to work to be a great professional.

I need to try to be a great person. As you did both. Excuse me, but I won't cry. I cry for everything. Because of that I always cry for the family. Palmeiras, loves, pains, colours, songs. But I won't cry for everything more than anything in the world, my parents. My parents which could be also called my mothers [note 4] were always ready.

A gift from God. My father never missed me even when absent by his work. I never missed him because he had that wonderful woman, Mrs. According to Mr. Joelmir, the second biggest thing in his life. Because the first one always was his love he felt for her since When they became a family.

My brother and I. Sons of the radio. Sons of a pioneer, respected economics' journalist, a recognized, innovator TV anchorman, a communication master, brilliant and labourer. I always knew I would never be in my profession nothing even closer he was. Because too few were too good in his field. Fewer could be too good fathers as he was. Even fewer were too good husbands. Even extremely fewer were too good-spirited people.

And there isn't any existing word to describe how rare and dedicated Palmeiras fan he was. But it is always worth remember that Palmeiras fans don't compare themselves. They're not more. They're not less. They're Palmeiras fans.

That's enough. As he said on the announcement day of the new arena, in , as it has been written in Palestra 's locker room from to the overhaul: "To explain the emotion to be a Palmeiras fan, to another Palmeiras fan, is simply unnecessary. And to those who aren't, is simply impossible! To explain what is my father no longer belonging to this world is impossible. Nonno, thanks for loving Nonna. Nonna, thanks for loving Nonno. The sons of this love will never be orphans.

As I've officially been told now, on this Thursday, November Produto tido de boa qualidade, limpo e isento.

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He already was a columnist for O Globo since He moved his newspaper column to O Estado de S. Paulo on May 1, , [9] where he stayed up to December 3, [10] The Bradesco Issue[ edit ] In , he agreed to make an advertisement campaign for Bank Bradesco , posing for advertising pieces of HiperFundo Bradesco, a mutual fund. Paulo and O Globo decided to stop the publication of his column, allegedly because the fact his economical columnist to advertise a financial product was incompatible with their policies.

What endangers the Brazilian people in journalism and throws the profession's ethics in the dirt is the old, and even celebrated, journalistic merchandising, with political, partisan, ideological, cultural, religious or militant nature. He also presented Canal Livre, an interview program broadcast on Sunday nights, as well took participations on Band News television and FM radio, [4] and Bandeirantes' BandSports channel as well.

He would ultimately suffer a cerebrovascular accident on November 25, , dying on November 29, Immediately he started to read a letter in homage to him, as reproduced here: [16] "I have never talked to my father about it after Palmeiras has been downgraded. But I knew he has learned it. Or imagined it. What I know is the first Sunday after falling to the 2nd Division for the second time, Mr.

Joelmir had a stroke before to watch the first match after the downgrading. He made a tomography early in the morning. In some minutes the doctor a fanatic Corinthians supporter said another giant could no longer rise again. In the day after to the diabolic second-class division my father started to go to Heaven.

The chances to recover from an autoimmune disease were not so good. They became almost impossible with the bleeding of his privileged brain. Irrigated and ventilated as too few among those who know and recognize him. Beloved and cherished for those not too few that had the privilege to know him. My father. The best father a journalist can be.

The best journalist a son can have as a father. Do I need to say anything else to the best Babbo in the world that turned to be the best Nonno in the Universe? I need. But I don't know. Usually he knew everything. When he didn't knew, he invented with the same class as he talked what he knew. Every father looks like that to his son. But a journalist's father to someone which is also a journalist gets even more orphan.

I have never seen my father as a super-hero. Only as a super human. But I could never realize he would get ill and weak in flesh. I have never admitted we could lose the one that made us only gain. Because of that I have ever believed in my father and his team.

He taught me so many things I couldn't describe them. One of them is, not all words are needed to be said. They should only be thought. Those who talks about what thinks, doesn't think about what he talks. Those who feels what he talks doesn't need to say it.

But, today, I need to thank for my 46 years. For the 49 years of love from my mother. For his 75 years. More than everything, for the affection from the people that know him — therefore like him. There are 3, colorful birdhouses — he keeps a sign with the tally on the fence — plus rocks, wooden birds, statues, gnomes and eerie tree faces that grace the property like a fairy tale landscape.

It's sensory overload. He's surrounded by color now. Spring brings injured birds, including lots of babies. This couple helps them. After a drought in wiped out his garden of 30, annuals, he pulled them all out. He needed something to keep busy.

The next winter he built a thousand birdhouses and put them around the property. The yard needed color. So he brought in rocks and painted those and put them throughout the property in patterns and spirals and even tried to dress up his propane tank.