Mario Balotelli always seemed to play football as if the normal rules did not quite apply to him. Not tactically, not emotionally, not narratively. He could be walking through a match, barely involved, almost detached from the rhythm around him, and then produce something so clean and destructive that it made the previous hour feel... Continue Reading →

There was nothing loud about Eduardo da Silva. No exaggerated swagger, no theatre, no need to dominate the camera. He was a striker of small movements and sudden punishments; the kind of forward who could disappear between centre-backs, arrive half a second early, and finish before the goalkeeper had properly set his feet. For Arsenal,... Continue Reading →