Wednesday, April 2, 2014

I suppose I like my sports journalism flowery

And you can't get any more ornate than the prose in Suarez Strikes Again: The nasty, greedy goals of the Liverpool FC attacker.

It takes a huge bounce; Suarez bears down; Stoke defender Marc Wilson rises like a startled pheasant and tries to head it back to his goalkeeper, Jack Butland. The header is too weak; the ball drifts; Suarez scuttles past Wilson, his eyes raised and goal-drool already shining on his chin. Stoke leg-breaker Ryan Shawcross lurches across, droning with imminent damage, but his attempt to sweep the ball away from the Suarez of the present turns out to be a neat pass to the Suarez who lives two seconds into the future—who jinks, gathers, fends off a half-hearted embrace from Shawcross, and with his first touch slides the ball under Butland’s out-flung left leg. The back of the net receives it with a sigh. Butland tastes grass and ashes, Shawcross looks blackly at Wilson, Wilson’s face is a potato of disbelief. And Suarez arcs away, rejoicing.

A "potato of disbelief"? I don't know.

But I do like "droning with imminent damage," and "the Suarez who lives two seconds into the future." Nearly perfect.

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