The tallest trees catch the most wind, and Romelu Lukaku is a giant of a man.

The Manchester United star scored a double for Belgium in their World Cup opener against Panama yesterday, and boasts one of the most impressive Premier League scoring records around.

Despite his success at such a young age, he remains a player who often comes in for criticism, and has had to learn to deal with life in the limelight ever since he cracked it big at Anderlecht when he was just 16.

Now, in a superb article published just ahead of Belgium’s opener yesterday, Romelu is telling his own story. Or, as he puts it, “I’ve Got Some Things to Say”.

He had written a lengthy piece on The Player’s Tribune, and every sports fan should give it a read.

Here’s how it kick off:

I remember the exact moment I knew we were broke. I can still picture my mum at the refrigerator and the look on her face.

I was six years old, and I came home for lunch during our break at school. My mum had the same thing on the menu every single day: Bread and milk. When you’re a kid, you don’t even think about it. But I guess that’s what we could afford.

Then this one day I came home, and I walked into the kitchen, and I saw my mum at the refrigerator with the box of milk, like normal. But this time she was mixing something in with it. She was shaking it all up, you know? I didn’t understand what was going on. Then she brought my lunch over to me, and she was smiling like everything was cool. But I realized [sic] right away what was going on.

She was mixing water in with the milk. We didn’t have enough money to make it last the whole week. We were broke. Not just poor, but broke…

I knew we were struggling. But when she was mixing in water with the milk, I realized it was over, you know what I mean? This was our life.

Alright, you have my attention.

You might say those dark days served as a big motivator on his way to the top:

People in football love to talk about mental strength. Well, I’m the strongest dude you’re ever going to meet. Because I remember sitting in the dark with my brother and my mom, saying our prayers, and thinking, believing, knowing … it’s going to happen.

I kept my promise to myself for a while. But then some days I’d come home from school and find my mum crying. So I finally told her one day, “Mum, it’s gonna change. You’ll see. I’m going to play football for Anderlecht, and it’s going to happen soon. We’ll be good. You won’t have to worry anymore.”

I was six.

I asked my father, “When can you start playing professional football?”

He said, “Sixteen.”

I said, “O.K., sixteen then.”

When he hit the age of sixteen, he signed a professional contract with Anderlecht. He made his debut 11 days later, and ended the season as the league’s top scorer, with his team crowned champions.

Not that it was plain sailing on the football field, either:

When I was 11 years old, I was playing for the Lièrse youth team, and one of the parents from the other team literally tried to stop me from going on the pitch. He was like, “How old is this kid? Where is his I.D.? Where is he from?”

I thought, Where am I from? What? I was born in Antwerp. I’m from Belgium.

My dad wasn’t there, because he didn’t have a car to drive to my away games. I was all alone, and I had to stand up for myself. I went and got my I.D. from my bag and showed it to all the parents, and they were passing it around inspecting it, and I remember the blood just rushing through me … and I thought, “Oh, I’m gonna kill your son even more now. I was already going to kill him, but now I’m gonna destroy him. You’re gonna drive the boy home crying now”…

When I was 12, I scored 76 goals in 34 games.

I scored them all wearing my dad’s shoes. Once our feet got to be the same size, we used to share.

I’m not doing this story justice, because every word deserves to be read, but here’s some of his message for the haters:

When things were going well, I was reading newspapers articles and they were calling me Romelu Lukaku, the Belgian striker.

When things weren’t going well, they were calling me Romelu Lukaku, the Belgian striker of Congolese descent.

If you don’t like the way I play, that’s fine. But I was born here. I grew up in Antwerp, and Liège and Brussels. I dreamed of playing for Anderlecht. I dreamed of being Vincent Kompany. I’ll start a sentence in French and finish it in Dutch, and I’ll throw in some Spanish or Portuguese or Lingala, depending on what neighborhood we’re in.

I’m Belgian.

We’re all Belgian. That’s what makes this country cool, right?

I don’t know why some people in my own country want to see me fail. I really don’t. When I went to Chelsea and I wasn’t playing, I heard them laughing at me. When I got loaned out to West Brom, I heard them laughing at me.

But it’s cool. Those people weren’t with me when we were pouring water in our cereal. If you weren’t with me when I had nothing, then you can’t really understand me.

To finish, the man is sitting right at the top of the pile:

Man, listen — when we were kids, we couldn’t even afford to watch Thierry Henry on Match of the Day! Now I’m learning from him every day with the national team. I’m standing with the legend, in the flesh, and he’s telling me all about how to run into space like he used to do. Thierry might be the only guy in the world who watches more football than me. We debate everything. We’re sitting around and having debates about German second division football…

I just really, really wish my grandad was around to witness this.

I’m not talking about the Premier League.

Not Manchester United.

Not the Champions League.

Not the World Cups.

That’s not what I mean. I just wish he was around to see the life we have now. I wish I could have one more phone call with him, and I could let him know …

“See? I told you. Your daughter is OK. No more rats in the apartment. No more sleeping on the floor. No more stress. We’re good now. We’re good …

… They don’t have to check the I.D. any more. They know our name.”

Drops mic.

I’ve glossed over so much of his piece – which you can read in full here – but you get the drift.

Belgium is many people’s second or third team, and I think their striker may have just converted a few more.

Keep on banging in the goals, big man.

[source:playerstribune]