Martin leapt out of bed on Sunday morning and decided that today was going to be a great day. Heck what am I talking about he thought, everyday is a great day. Checking himself in the mirror - hair perfect, teeth dazzling, skin unblemished he prepared for the game.
After a quick cuppa tea and some breakfast he set off, via my place, to the match . Giving me a ride is an act of charity on his part but I'm grateful to be in the presence of such greatness and it's my forlorn hope that just some small fraction of his ability would rub off on me.
Having arrived early I plod towards the pitch whilst Martin does a couple of quick laps and proceeds through his warm up routine - consisting of a one man ball juggling act, shots on goal and the full array of calisthenics. I managed to tie both sets of laces and point myself in the right direction on the pitch.
The game got underway and Martin, wearing his white boots, looked like he was gliding on the wings of Pegasus. He has grace but also commands all areas of the pitch with a terrifying level of authority. His testosterone levels leave men and women weak at the knees albeit for slightly different reasons. Men cower and women swoon in his presence.
Toying with the opposition he delivered a shooting master class whereby rather than score goals, which are for us mere mortals to strive for, he took dead aim and with unbelievable accuracy hit the crossbar. I couldn't do that if I tried a million times. Proving that this was no fluke he proceeded to demonstrate shooting against a post. Fantastic - teammates and opposition were left in awe. A combination of awe and privilege really.
The opposition escaped with a 5 - 0 drubbing and must have been pleased that Martin decided to setup other people for goals rather than grabbing a hatful for himself. Noone else did anything of note in the game of course.
Handsome, talented and magnanimous. He has it all and truly is a gift to all mankind.
After a quick cuppa tea and some breakfast he set off, via my place, to the match . Giving me a ride is an act of charity on his part but I'm grateful to be in the presence of such greatness and it's my forlorn hope that just some small fraction of his ability would rub off on me.
Having arrived early I plod towards the pitch whilst Martin does a couple of quick laps and proceeds through his warm up routine - consisting of a one man ball juggling act, shots on goal and the full array of calisthenics. I managed to tie both sets of laces and point myself in the right direction on the pitch.
The game got underway and Martin, wearing his white boots, looked like he was gliding on the wings of Pegasus. He has grace but also commands all areas of the pitch with a terrifying level of authority. His testosterone levels leave men and women weak at the knees albeit for slightly different reasons. Men cower and women swoon in his presence.
Toying with the opposition he delivered a shooting master class whereby rather than score goals, which are for us mere mortals to strive for, he took dead aim and with unbelievable accuracy hit the crossbar. I couldn't do that if I tried a million times. Proving that this was no fluke he proceeded to demonstrate shooting against a post. Fantastic - teammates and opposition were left in awe. A combination of awe and privilege really.
The opposition escaped with a 5 - 0 drubbing and must have been pleased that Martin decided to setup other people for goals rather than grabbing a hatful for himself. Noone else did anything of note in the game of course.
Handsome, talented and magnanimous. He has it all and truly is a gift to all mankind.
Comments
I hope his fans will be there to sing his name, on Martin McNealis Bobblehead Day.
Before Chelsea Paul breaks him in half.