The report says Carlini, a former metalworker and lifelong fan, began making his own trophies after Brazil’s triumph in 1994.
“Elas não estavam à venda. Então decidi fazer os troféus eu mesmo. E hoje, sou um artesão de troféus,” Carlini says.
That origin story matters. This is not just merchandising; it is football nostalgia made physical. A supporter sees a trophy, picks it up, poses for a photo, and for a second the gap between dream and reality feels smaller. In a country that still treats the World Cup as part of its national identity, that feeling has value.
The appeal, as the report frames it, is symbolic rather than luxurious. Carlini may use plaster instead of precious metal, but he believes the enchantment is still there.
“Mesmo assim, traz a mesma sensação de encanto, como se fosse feita de ouro,” he says.
That rings true for Brazil, a nation with five world titles but a long wait since 2002. Every new tournament revives the same questions: can the Seleção marry flair with control, and can it carry the weight of history without being crushed by it?
Carlini is reportedly producing with another Brazilian run in mind, and his own football philosophy is simple.
“É isso que devemos usar na próxima Copa do Mundo para sermos campeões: usar alegria, usar arte,” he says.
That may sound romantic, but it also feels unmistakably Brazilian. If Brazil arrives at 2026 with confidence, rhythm and a sense of freedom, Carlini may not be the only one cashing in on renewed belief. The next storyline is obvious now: whether the Seleção can finally turn longing into silverware - and send demand soaring far beyond his workshop.