A man of culture, recently.
Sometimes, there are phenomena that one encounters in life which have the ability to bewilder even hardened old cynics such as oneself. Take, as Exhibit A, one Mr. Denis Stracqualursi, a footballist currently plying his trade for The Everton Football Club Company Limited.
Having arrived at the club an unsuccessful trial at The Leicester Fosse Football Club, the prognosis for Mr. Stracqualursi's career at Goodison Park was not good, and the initial impressions one garnered from his appearances as substitute did little to disavow the notion that he was, erm, not very well endowed with the precious gifts required for top-flight association football. Obviously, he appeared to have ample strength, as one would expect from one of such collossal size... and yes, he demonstrated considerable brio and enthusiasm... but his overall contribution was best summed up by the memorable description of his efforts as being akin to "a dog chasing a crisp packet around a windy supermarket car park". If one could sum up his playing style in one word, that word would surely be "agricultural".
And then, on a chilly Friday night, with the wind whipping in from the Irish Sea, The Everton Football Club Company Limited "entertained" The Fulham Football Club at Goodison Park in the fourth round of The Football Association Challenge Cup competition. The omens were not good; the previous league game had witnessed an absolutely shocking performance against a dire Blackburn Rovers side, in which The Everton Football Club Company Limited only managed to avoid defeat via the gift of a dubious goal from Mr. Timothy Cahill, with an assist from the right arm of Mr. Marouane Fellani. In that game, Mr. Stracqualursi's contribution was to huff and puff around for five minutes to no effect, save for having a close range effort snuffed out by Mr. Paul Robinson.
And so it was no surprise to any of Goodison's hardy, disgruntled denizens when a Danny Murphy penalty put the Londoners one to the good, which would surely see them through to round five against a side expected by most to curl up in the corner and shake like a scolded pet for the remainder of the evening. However, a tactical masterstroke was at work; Mr. Stracqualursi had been selected from the off, and was "putting in a shift", as Mr. Steve "leave my wife and kids locked in a hotel room in Tenby whilst I do some television work in London" Claridge might opine.
And, on twenty seven minutes, the epiphany occured; Mr. Landon Donovan made a little space for himself on the right hand side of the field, crossed the ball into the box, and up lept Mr. Stracqualursi to glance a "deft" header past the rooted Mr. David Stockdale and into the net.
The moment of revelation was as poignant as it was unexpected; our man cast aside the oppressive shackles of agricultural grockness, and bared his cultured, sensitive soul to the Park End and the Lower Bullens as he ran into the corner, somehow sprouted a second pair of arms from some vestigal elytra within his back, and paid unashamed, unhibited Latin homage to his hero and inspiration in life, the renaissance genius, Snr. Leonardo da Vinci. To confound the doubters, I present to you photographic evidence of the moment The Everton Football Club Company Limited's four-armed frontman celebrated his goal in the manner of da Vinci's "Vitruvian Man", on display at the Accademia Gallery in Venice. See below.
The touching, sensitive vulnerability of the bulky Argentine forward was plain to see, as he sank to his knees and burst into tears. Those tears may well have been Lachryma Christi. Many of the tartan blanketed mummies in the Lowers Bullens also found tears streaming down their cheeks, though this may have been down to the chill in the January air making them rheumy.
The whole side was galvanised into giving their best performance for many weeks, and inevitably The Fulham Football Club Company Limited's players crumbled, swept away by the existential, free-thinking total football practised by The Toffees. Oh, and a header from Mr. Marouane Fellaini.
Having bared his tortured soul for all to witness on that glorious night, the reward for Mr. Stracqualursi was another start in the subsequent English Premier League fixture, against the league leaders, The Manchester City Football Club. Our man grabbed the opportunity with both hands, and whilst on this occasion he did not find the back of the net, he imposed his free will upon Lescott and Kompany in a manner of which Kierkegaard would surely have been proud.
No doubt Mr. Stracqualursi retired to the dressing room after his 88th minute substitution by poring over Heroditus's "The Histories", in the original Greek, whilst having a rub-down. Or, maybe, doing some nice colouring in, sticking his tongue out of the side of his mouth whilst striving to keep the crayon marks within the lines.
Denis Stracqualursi: Evertonian and renaissance man. We salute you.
Do others "just love it" when a hitherto unregarded footballist turns the established order of the universe upon its head?
** this strand is dedicated to Mr. Francis Hargreaves of the excellent "Who's Arsed?" blog, who engaged with me via the gift of electronic mail last night on an unrelated matter; his premise that we are, indeed, both "lazy fuckers" when it comes to our respective blogs shook me from my mid-winter torpor to produce the above self-indulgent doggrel. So, thank you Mr. Hargreaves, I am sure that our constituency will offer its gratitude in due course :-)
