Esteban Cambiasso is your introverted college roommate from sophomore year. Sans car, the semester ending, and the airport on the other side of town, you don’t even sweat about the prospects of transportation. No, the awful bus system that makes on-time-train-providing-communist-revolutions sound appealing is not the magic solution. No, the silver bullet is Cambiasso. Without raising a finger, without opening your mouth, you know you can count on that ride to the airport. Even in the middle of a heated counterstrike battle royale, the ride is in the works. Dependable.
Wesley Schneijder is that abrasive guy who kinda shadows you at social events. You show up to a protest, a rally, a meeting, and guess who is there, standing just behind you. Oh, what a coincidence. Hello subtly abrasive guy who makes believe he is your shadow. Yes, of course the two of you will exchange brief pleasantries while your mind hums along, searching for exit strategies. Oh, you forgot to take your nonexistent son to the emergency room for heart cancer? Gotta run. Oh. His son has the same problem. Sure. A carpool would be great. Shit. Subtle.
Martin Demichelis is that guy who always starts fights and ends up in a hospital. The local sports franchise is playing an important game. As such, you and a few of the crew head to a local pub, sipping away on some fruit flavored beer when the pony-tailed prince of paupers arrives. Within minutes, he is chest to chest with a guy twice his side. The bigger man tries to avoid trouble and backs off, but le pony follows him outside, where he soon finds his nose broken and himself lying in a pool of blood. But when you hear his side of the story, he at least landed a few punches before the guys’ friends intervened. Friends. What a novel concept. Delusional.
Jose Mourinho sits at the front of class and won’t stop raising his fricking hand. Congratulations on having done all the reading last night and now, at 8am, sharing every detail of every paragraph plus your thoughts. Why let anyone else speak? Why let anyone else take credit? Dialogue? But monologues make for such potent stage work. Dramatic.
Diego Milito you start to hate but then you laugh out loud. Who is this guy? He just kinda walks in, and then, bam, he gets one or two passes and spins gold out of hay. What the……oh, you can’t stay mad. Look at that sheepish grin. You fool nobody. Go ahead. Pat Diego on the back. Give him a high five. Slap him on ye olde buns if it suits your unusual manifestations of masculine bonding. Lovable.
Mark Von Bommel is the driver who never checks his blind spot or uses his turn signals before changing lanes. What’s that? There are….there are other people on the highway? You may…you can hit them if you run around recklessly with no regard for their well being? No way. Total shocker. I thought you could just hop on the expressway and it was Lord of the Flies meets law of the jungle meets an R rated version of Lost. Sorry about the fender. And the shin. And the foot. And the thigh. Dick.
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