Brother: Cesc assisting Costa one more time.
Me: Neil Barnett pointing out that Costa's little backpack is filled with crap. God, he really is just a kid. I wonder what else is in there: crumpled-up old homework, his lunch, a sweatshirt, a field trip permission slip to Manchester signed by his mom.
Brother: They clearly didn’t do their homework before the match. They probably don’t know his name is Àngel Rangel.
Me: That should be the only fact anyone knows about Swansea.
Me: I like to imagine that Costa is a secret mathematical and goal-scoring savant who has to set up little challenges for himself like that every match so he doesn’t 1. get bored 2. embarrass the opposition. Last time, it was scoring at the outer limits of normal time; this time, it was sequential time markers. Next time, it’ll probably involve tesseracts or some conceptual shit like that. Basically, he’s Good Will Hunting.
Brother: My fear in that situation is that he goes Beautiful Mind-level crazy.
Me: Ha ha, what if it turns out that Cesc is imaginary.