That sparkling gaze seemed to foreshadow a radiant smile that never came. But when the planets aligned that smile shone briefly, revealing small teeth worn by the mastication of yesterday’s stale bread. The broad El Matador shoulders at once conveyed strength and a message that any attack would have grave repercussions.
Expansive pecs housed the machine heart within. The sky blue vest designed with holes, appointed by invisible mice. Scarred knees healed by infinite hope and divine intervention. Shoes revealed toes where the leather should have been. Here stood the king. And behind, his majestic castle. Walls of sky blue. Could there be any other colour? Embellished with dirt and the ravages of time and poverty, the royal grounds decorated with what the world may call junk. The address says 10 Azamor Street and the GPS would name this Villa Fiorito, Argentina. The king, none other than the greatest footballer this universe has ever seen; Diego Armando Maradona.
