Every now and again, in the blur of identikit post-match interviews…
Every now and again, in the blur of identikit post-match interviews, those dutiful little exchanges where a sweaty footballer mumbles clichés and a presenter politely nods them along, someone actually cuts through.
This week, it was Alex Aljoe. On Tuesday night, speaking to my new Chelsea hero, the wunderkind Estevao Willian, she proved why she’s a class act. Because she wasn’t just “speaking” to him. She was connecting. In Portuguese. Effortlessly. Fluently.
And when you discover she toggles just as easily between English, Spanish, Italian and French, you realise this isn’t a party trick. It’s a muscle built through discipline and a refusal to settle for the beige mediocrity that now passes for communication.
Meanwhile, the rest of us struggle to order a coffee abroad without pointing like a Victorian botanist. For Aljoe, languages are an arsenal.
In a world where English has become the default language of convenience of the internet, of truncated global headlines, of half-baked subtitled content, she reminds you that language is more than convenience.
It’s culture. Identity. Trust.
In that moment, Estevao didn’t just hear questions he heard respect. Maybe even a hint of home. Because here’s the truth: when you speak to someone in their own language, you’re speaking to more than their ears. You reach beneath the surface. And that kind of power isn’t something the internet can fabricate.
In an era where “good enough” gets repurposed, where AI translations and auto-subtitles promise to do the thinking for you, her understated effort suddenly feels radical. People who push beyond the IKEA-flatpack level of engagement are becoming rare creatures.
And make no mistake: this is a woman destined for bigger stages. Genuine multilingual dexterity and emotional intelligence are scarce, and the global game is screaming for them. That’s currency. That’s leverage.
Meanwhile, we’re letting our communicative muscles atrophy on the altar of convenience. We’ve become passengers in our own conversations. Tourists in our own cultural lives. And I sometimes wonder if I’m becoming the communicative equivalent of my neglected Ficus leaf plant: technically alive, yes, but listing in the corner, losing leaves, and surviving only on the faint hope someone will eventually apply some Baby Bio.
But there she is, carving out a moment of real connection in the middle of football’s industrial-grade hashtagPR routine. No emoji filters. No AI magic. A superpower earned the old-fashioned way.
So here’s the takeaway:
If you want to be special in an age of machine-generated sameness, build a superpower that demands effort. Any effort. Real effort.
Language. Curiosity. Craft. Sensitivity.
Anything that can’t be downloaded, push-notified or AI-summarised into beige paste.
Whether we like it or not, excellence may soon be the only true differentiator left.
And Alex Aljoe; in one uncluttered, post-match moment, reminded us exactly why.