Few things fuel our fantasies (and over use of alliterations) than when we reflect upon our F5 number one, Iker Casillas. Especially when we consider him in his well-earned captain’s role for Spain.
You know:
He’s in charge;
Giving orders;
Leading the action;
In complete control;
and in possession of his weirdly enticing three-finger goal keeping glove.
Er… Perhaps we’ve said too much. Moving swiftly along.
So this young chappie is known as Kâzım Kâzım, and he’ll be getting on the pitch in a few hours to do his thing against Germany. Do you like?
A few random facts: He was born in Leytonstone, London, he’s 6’1″, his papa is from Antigua and his mom is a Turkish Cypriot, thus his eligibility to play for Turkey. He gets mobbed on the regs in Istanbul, but says he never gets recognized in London – oh, and he shops at Bluewater, so Kickettes that favour may want to add that locale to your stalking schedule.
Being able to pronounce his name is not a prerequisite to appreciating.
Just grab that brick of cheese and get grating, it’s almost dinner time.
If there are any readers out there who are expecting us to string a complete or coherent sentence together about the sheer talent on the pitch last night, step aside and enjoy the rest of your non-Spanish-filled day.
Everyone else, please do click through for the rambling/photos.
First off, let us clarify that by talent, we’re certainly not talking about actual football skills as lord knows what was going on out there for the first 90++ minutes.
We’re talking about the visual delights by way of Nando looking rather swell (we know we weren’t the only ones who saw him slide across the grass, shirt on the rise, shorts on the rise) (also, a frustrated subbed Nando is a bizarrely sexy Nando); The Ramos for removing his jersey as soon as it was legally possible; David Villa and all of his pocket-sized, nearly mullet cuteness; equally wee, equally cute David Silva; Cesc Fabregas who manned up for the occasion and took things home nicely; and Iker?
Really, is there anything hotter than the testosterone-filled, amped up reaction from a finely tuned, foreign-language speaking athlete in his prime who has just blocked a PK? No, there is not. And if you don’t know why, we shall tell you: because we like to imagine that the victory/war face Iker makes is the same as his sex face. There, we said it.
Also, Iker has freckles – did you know? Double also: he’s a little nuts. It’s a fantastic combination.
For those so inclined, it’s Iker Monday in the SBA message boards. You know you want to.
Side note: it sucks to have Italy out of the competition. We won’t get to see what facial hair developments Luca Toni had planned. Was it a moustache? A goatee? Leftover supper? We may never know.
Just pointing out the obvious, really.
A few alternate options for your consideration below: Volkan Demirel’s Booty and Vokan Demirel’s Pecs.
Link: Volkan’s Official Site
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