Former Corinthians and Vasco striker living on the streets amid severe crack addiction: 'It's better if they think I'm dead'

The Pirituba district in northern Sao Paulo is no stranger to lives left behind. But this morning, among makeshift tents set up beside rubble and accumulated waste, a 49-year-old man sitting hunched made me stop. That man is Regis Pitbull, the former Corinthians and Vasco striker who scored 49 goals in 170 professional appearances. Now, he told Globo Esporte reporters: 'It's better if they think I'm dead... I don't want anyone to know I exist.' This story did not begin today. It began with two positive cannabis tests during his playing career — early warning signs that were ignored. It continued through stints in Japan, Turkey, and Saudi Arabia, familiar destinations for Brazilian players as careers decline. And it ends — or is still unfolding — in a slum, where crack addiction has taken everything: his home, his dignity, and nearly all support from family and friends. The 0.29 goals-per-game figure of Regis Pitbull is not the number of a star. It is the number of a solidly average forward, good enough to play for multiple big clubs and go abroad, but not good enough to be remembered. This very 'averageness' is what placed him in the void of the Brazilian football system: not famous enough to have the backing network of top stars, but recognizable enough for his story to become news. In 2026, Regis was arrested for assaulting a building manager. This arrest triggered a domino effect: losing his home, being unable to maintain the apartment, accumulating condominium fees and property tax debts, and now facing the threat of judicial foreclosure. The only remaining apartment — the last asset of a career spanning more than a decade — is slipping from his grasp. What is striking is not the financial collapse, but the silence of the system. No club among Corinthians, Vasco, Ponte Preta, or Coritiba has spoken up. No players' organization has been mentioned. Only former teammates from an amateur side — those who still maintain contact — have raised concerns about his deteriorating health. I have followed Brazilian football for over a decade, and I can say that Regis Pitbull's story is not an exception. It is the rule. The Brazilian football system produces hundreds of professional players each year but invests only in the few with star potential. The rest — those good enough to make a living but not good enough to be protected — are abandoned when their careers end. They lack transition skills, financial management, and often a support network. The two positive cannabis tests during his career are the biggest blind spot. In any progressive football system, the first violation would trigger mandatory counseling and education programs. Having two violations without any intervention shows the failure of both clubs and player to recognize the problem early. Now, with crack addiction and street life, the intervention window is narrowing. The quote 'It's better if they think I'm dead' is not just shame. It is a sign of deep psychological crisis, possibly including suicidal ideation. Crack cocaine is one of the substances with the highest mortality rates among substance use disorders, especially when combined with homelessness. Lack of shelter, nutrition, and medical care dramatically increases the risk of death. But an intervention window still exists. The fact that former teammates from an amateur side spoke up shows that some social connections remain — however fragile. Globo Esporte journalist Emilio Botta spent time earning Regis's trust, which shows he still has some capacity for human connection. Media attention could pressure former clubs — Corinthians and Vasco — to act, whether out of genuine responsibility or reputational pressure. Regis Pitbull's story is not just about a fallen player. It is about a system that failed to protect its workers after they were no longer useful. When we talk about the legacy of Brazilian football — the titles, the stars, the World Cup victories — we rarely mention the Regis Pitbulls living half-dead on the streets of Sao Paulo. But they exist, and they are waiting for a system that takes responsibility. The silence of former clubs in this story is a verdict on themselves. When a former player says 'it's better if they think I'm dead,' that is not just the cry of a suffering human being — it is an indictment of an entire system that let him die slowly without anyone caring. Will Corinthians or Vasco speak up? Will someone appear before it's too late? These questions await answers, and each day that passes on the streets of Pirituba, the answer becomes more costly.