Dear
Goal.com,Thirteenth?
Excuse me? I think I should introduce myself.My name is Mario Balotelli,You
apparently have not
heard of me, since you
have listed me only as an afterthought in your recent Goal.com 50.
Perhaps, when you were compiling this list of the world's
best footballers, you were concentrating very seriously on an
absorbing volleyball on the television,or
Perhaps you were distracted by a passing fly. Whatever you were doing,
am sure you were not
watching football.
I play for Manchester City,Did you know that? .My club won
the English Premier League last season,
this is a league containing the
talented likes of I Mario Balotelli,
so to win it is quite an achievement, and I did so despite being in
the same notorious hothead Mario
Balotelli. That, I was told, requires mental strength, Unless you were
in some kind
of week-long drunken stupor, you should recall the events of
October 23, 2011,As my influence spurred City on to a 6-1
uberthrashing of insignificant fleas Manchester United, my second
goal,that even more supreme than the first,
provided you with the greatest photo in football history as I
stood titanically still displaying my message: "Why
always me?"
Those three words have defined the entire year of my
football. My brother, Enoch, who is wise for his age, told me after
the match that I was "the quintessential modern warrior-poet",I am not
sure where he
gets these words from (I fear that he may be reading), but I assume he
is right. I am not arrogant, it is
the fact.You see, the question of "why
always me?" was a rhetorical one,The answer, obviously, is
"me",Nobody can stop talking about me and what I do off the
pitch of play. The stories went that I paid for everyone's petrol at a station,
that I dressed up as Santa Claus at Christmas and handed out money,
that I visited a Manchester university library
and covered all the students' late fees, and more rumour. I did none
of these things, but you did believed that I did it. That tells you
all that you need to know about the transcendental power of Mario the
Balotelli.
As I write this letter, I am interrupted by my phone ringing,It's Noel Gallagher
again. I let it go to voicemail,
"Can we go quad-biking together, Mario? Please? I'll
carry your helmet and
everything!" the ex-Oasis man whines for the 56th time this
week which i ignore. Does Mesut Ozil get calls from Noel Gallagher to
go quad-biking? Does Xavi?
The answer is No.
I am the 'now' man off the game. This is clear,But am also
utterly superior on it.I
came on as a substitute against
Tottenham in a game that my team must win,I stamp on the
head of Spurs captain Scott Parker, a man adored in this country
because he is from the 1950s (approximately the year 40 BB on the
Super Mario calendar). It is quite deliberate, But nothing happened. I
got away
with it through sheer force of my personality. Nothing can stop Balotelli.
Then, in the final seconds, I am
fouled, get a penalty and bury it with the calmest finish that you
will ever want to see. Pressure is
nothing; it is a paper cup within my iron fist. I am only dimly
aware of the concept of pressure in the first place because it has
been explained to me by lesser players of my kind.Fast-forward to May
13, My
team was playing QPR,If we win,
we win the Premier League, But
we were losing. I did not start the game because that would be too
easy for me. But when we fall
behind, I came on, and I make difference that day. Without my arrival
at precisely
the right moment, lying prone in the penalty area to flick the ball
out to Sergio Aguero, the
Premier League we would not have won, All the credit is mine.
Total English glory was already sealed, so I moved on to Poland
and Ukraine for the Euro 2012. Nobody expected me or my
country to do very well. That was foolish thought. First I scored
against Ireland,that was so easy enough. I'm not sure why Leonardo
Bonucci
covered my mouth as I celebrated – if he'd allowed me to belch Jay-Z's
'Big Pimpin'' as
I'd intended, you'd have put me top on your list. Then I single
handedly battered the Germans in the semi-final. That's not supposed
to be possible. Germany win semi-finals, that's
just how it worked – but that was before the coming of Balotelli. My two
goals thrilled a billion fans; my celebrations inspired a million.
To cap it all off, when it came to the final, I saw poor Fernando
Torres and I realised that he needed it more than me at the time. I
allowed Spain to win,I am a footballing philanthropist you should know
that.
There is no discipline in which I have not excelled in the past 12
calendar months. That there are supposedly 12 players who
define yet transcend this sport more than I is nothing short of
ridicule.I am Mario Balotelli,I am
football and Football is me,Always me. And you, Goal.com, are very
wrong. Subscribe for our email notification for updates
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