His face would make Dora Maar squirm in her chair. He lumbers around the pitch like Igor, eager to please but shunned by fleet-footed teammates. Yet he scores goals. Benítez defends him using the 21st century discourse of efficiency. I extol him for playing as if in a Goya painting. Kuyt is el capricho of my pesadillas.Anyone with the creativity and general esoteric knowledge to make this comparison is a bloody genius. The Goya references are a class above to begin with, but the analysis is pretty spot on too. Given the subject matter, it comes off as harsh towards Kuyt in places, but I read it as a compliment throughout. As usual, that might be my biases though.
Kuyt is the Damian of soccer because he defiles the beautiful game's consummate act. Against Newcastle and Reading, Kuyt slips as he scores. Todos caeran. Against Chelsea and Aston Villa, he lurks in Crouch’s shadow, clinging to his coattails like a leech. Volaverunt. Against Wigan and Reading, he lowers his head, trading aquellos polbos for goals. He feasts on the children of the Premier League with the ravenous grimace of Saturn.
So yeah, I recommend checking these guys out if you're not already. I will be more regularly.