The Eyes of Sergio Busquets…
(Words to celebrate his retirement from FC Barcelona...)
Hangover eyes, bleary.
A gaze unreadable,
Like a priest’s during Confession.
Seemingly weary,
Lean, infallible,
Comfortable in possession…
Hypnotic eyes, shrewd.
A passing craftsman,
Like an artisan with great creativity.
Intelligent, astute,
Tall, a helmsman,
Schooled in reliability…
Hawk’s eyes, intuitive.
An unhurried architect,
Like an artist with an innovative mind.
Feisty, aggressive,
Slim, circumspect,
Simply one of a kind…
Pete Ray
Busquets has an uncanny and mesmerising ability to draw in opponents, then escape their attentions by turning away from them and distributing the ball to a colleague most of the time.
Maybe it’s his half-open eyes which bewitch opponents…
He fouls up convention.
He is like a defence lawyer finding loopholes in a prosecuting counsel’s evidence.
He will fall under a slight challenge, of course, writhe on the ground like he has been wounded in a First World War trench when a stray boot touches a sock but he can also be adept at dishing out some unflinchingly cynical challenges of his own, without so much as a blink from his gazing eyes…
He can squander possession, he has only scored very few goals for Barca, he destructs, he is a hatchet-wielder, he gets in the damned way.
He doesn’t bother to sprint but rather lopes in a languid fashion, moving rather like the stick-insect a zookeeper once shoved down the front of my t-shirt at Newquay Zoo in Cornwall, England.
And best of all, he involves himself in bouts of short passing with team-mates and despite the fact that he is supposed to be marked by opposition team-players, one invariably notices that attention elsewhere frees 5 metres of space around him and that is all it has needed to feed the wands of Messi
or Iniesta…
Brilliant…
Those eyes see it all…
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