It was going to be a long-distance profile, the story of one of the game's strangest parlour tricks and its creator, told through the hazy prism of memory.
I had dug out the videos of the dribble that made him famous and watched them countless times. Maybe it was better this way, I told myself.
The plan was to really ham things up, to make a fruitless and objectively quite dull pursuit sound something like spycraft.
Earlier this year, I decided the moment had come. Enough waiting, enough frustration. I was going to do it, going to write the piece.
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