Spicaresque:
A Spanglish blog dedicated to the works, ruminations, and mongrel pyrotechnics of Yago S. Cura, an Argentine-American poet, translator, publisher & futbol  cretin. Yago publishes  Hinchas de Poesia, an online literary journal, & is the sole proprietor of Hinchas Press.
Friday, July 12, 2024
Ode to Mbappe
Ode to Mbappe
by Yago Cura
The real question is Mbappe’s new new
newer than Zizou’s hawkeye glidetelligence?
Does Mbappe’s athletic effervescence cloud
CR7’s piston-popping paladinbrand?
Is Mbappe more dangerous than Platini’s 
murderous chip syndicate from just outside 
the penalty box?
If the new new is where we don't look, 
just beyond where we predilect, is it a space
we are capacitated to hold?
Mbappe breaks my heart in 2018 by spanking 
Argentina, but gets his heart broken in 2022 
by a stronger, more resolute and plucky Argentine?
 
True, Mbappe’s not the first ingenue thrust 
onto the cold proscenium of presence–playing
for Monaco at the tender age of fourteen–but 
let us not forget Pontiff Pele scored his first World Cup 
goal at 17 against Wales in 1958.
So, not the first time we've been sold a manifest 
about the new new in front of the advertisers.
Not the last time a safety mask will be worn by an 
Honorary Ninja Turtle, nor the last time a protective 
vizard will be employed by a big-speed demon nez.
Mbappe is a pace abuser; he will let you 
set your best pace and demolish your best 
pace, like he did to Masche ten minutes into
the final in 2018, and it was only until Rojo 
clotheslined him that he was thwarted
 
but Les Blues got their penal with Griezmann, 
and three bangers more, and earned their second star.
As a lifetime hinchas of the Albiceleste, 
do you know how difficult it is to sing 
your praises and still be welcome at camp?
I would rather praise your prodigious speed 
and be done with the whole affair. Still, we must 
concede, 
Monsieur PSG, Mister 20 Miles per Hour Counter, 
	Mister Monaco FC Kid, Mr Real Madrid Firestarter, 
	Mister Devourer of Space, Monsieur Flying Scissorkick 
	Against Nice.
Just because Mbappe is new new doesn't
preclude him from losing Mundiales and 
getting benched by Deschamps–pulled
from the penalty squad–just because 
he’s the captain, but also might be the liability 
stopping his team from clinching that position. 
Do you think Maradona would have allowed
himself to be benched? Could you imagine 
Zlatan the Hun saying the country’s victory 
is greater than his aggregate contributions?
It was not pain that kept Mbappe out of
the firing squad against Portugal in the Copa
this year but knowledge of self, know-
ledge of limitation, ego extirpation.   
I almost like Mbappe more after debacles 
and ridiculous injuries have seasoned his 
temperament, downshifted his mojo, but
not engaged the brake pads of his 
mediocrity, not allowed personal hindrance 
to narrate the trajectory of his billboard-ness. 
I keep tripping, returning to Paul Simon's 
chanson, "The Boy in the Bubble," thinking 
what a curse to be any generation's pearl, 
a defacto savior spectators only know from 
the narrowest angle on telezoom lenses.
But, maybe the only way up the pop charts
is up the pop charts, maybe fielding cracks onto 
the cold, emerald tarmac and seeing how they taxi
is the real Turing Test of the new new? 
The highest compliment I can concede 
is that Mbappe was such an existential 
threat to Argentina's victory in 2022 
that giving five more minutes to this 
motherloving Donatello-looking, snail-eating, 
Usain Bolt exponent from the outskirts of Paris 
(Bondy to be exact) would have prevented 
Argentina from attaining their third star.
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