17 thoughts on “William Kvist

        1. I’m concerned that “enjoys reading thick books” will remind people of Senderos and they’ll be biased against him on that basis.

          Actually, watching a highlight package of Mitroglou yesterday, I felt like there was something Dempsey-ish to his movement.

  1. Can we also sign his team of psychologists, hypnotherapists, dieticians and mental coaches?
    I’m pretty certain Simon Davies (one of my favourites from the past few years) was an intelligent person as well and I think he hads a degree in something or other ….

  2. I think as long as the books are really angry ones, then we’re in with a shout. Like I’m thinking proper mean ones. Get them fired up before they go out. I’m sure that’s what Michael Brown used to do, before head butting Liverpool players in crunch games yet getting away with it….and I think we can all agree that’s EXACTLY what the situation we’re in now is calling for….

  3. I don’t know where else to post this, so I’m sorry for derailing any conversation here…

    Farewell, Berba.

    Every goal was sublime, I just wish there were more of them.

    You reminded me of the now timeless question: But can He do it on a rainy night at the Britannia? Except that the question really should have been: But can He do it week-in, week-out, playing along side the current Stoke squad and set-up? The world may never know about Him, but this past year we learned a lot about You.

    Sure, you badgered teammates when they didn’t see your clever runs or couldn’t simply chip the ball to your gifted feet, but it was a divine anger wasn’t it? It was divine because you had a bird’s eye view of the action, like those of us watching you at home, while fighting the beautiful fight in the trenches; while also at the same time possessing the swan-born skill to effortlessly execute the runs, the passes, the shots on goal the mortals around could only dream of making. Truly you were a god amongst mere Cottagers. Well, maybe not a god, but you were definitely a frustrated artist.

    But your rage against the mediocrity of your peers was always tempered with simple faith: “keep calm and pass me the ball.” And, in all fairness, very little of either happened at the Cottage this past year. Maybe you would have done better making less creative choices, playing down (as it were) to the level of your team. But then again, you wouldn’t be you, and they wouldn’t have known what deft touch or creative vision was lacking in their own game. It was because of you that we learned about our own flaws, and how they should have been bigger, more majestic, more tragic, like your own.

    Now you’re off to Monaco to play for royalty on a royal wage. Good luck to you. Perhaps there’s still a Fifth Symphony lurking in the darkness of your boots, dying for the chance to be born. Here’s to your fairytale ending, oh, Berba!

    Goodbye.

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