LONDON — He was alone, two hours before showtime, the night Manchester City and Real Madrid clashed in the Champions League semifinal. He sat there, anxious — without the shield of the working man's crimson or the blazing No. 14 kit that made us compare him to the Almighty. But, Thierry Henry wasn't suiting up tonight. Not to play, anyway. Perhaps that's why he couldn't stop pacing the halls of the glossy studios in Stockley Park. Thierry needed to be game-ready, to look at tactics and clear his mind before the lights pop and cameras zoom in on him. Only, for someone billed as the top man around town, it looked like he was suffocating.
Thierry retreated to his green room. He paced around the box. He tugged on his collar, furiously pulling on a delicate almond tie. Before long, he jumped from the chair, turned to me and declared that it was time to get out of his suit.
He asked if I, or the press agent to the right of me, minded. And, before either of us could make sense of what he meant, poof! Thierry sped behind one door of a chifferobe, and in the blink of an eye, he was nearly nude. Both of his arms were fully tattooed, sleeves stretching into his armpits. On his back was London's skyline, to match the silhouette of New York (his favorite city) on his left arm. The face of one of his children was on his right forearm, the circumference of an office clock. "Vulnerability" was written on one leg, 0:00 on his wrist (to remind him to always reset, even in his darkest moments). It wasn't just that the 45-year-old looked like he could play again now if he had to, he was showing off. I would say he looked like he'd been lifting.
