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long time since I saw Kanu. Rather long time since I saw that Kanu. Far is its heyday, its goals in the Arsenal or participation in different world with Nigeria. Now, linked to the sad and decadent state of Portsmouth, walks through the muddy fields of England in the second category, The Championship. Just make goals and rarely ends the ninety minutes, your machine is weakened while age is weighing on your body. The lost-and deservedly Pompy-and no wonder too, but seeing a good image showing Kanu was enough to take a game.

Just look at his appearance to see the old smell that follows their presence. Pants at the height of the stomach that expose their legs as spindly and talented the shirt, always in his pants, still pristine in the course of the game. His career is heavy, tired, but so stylish and technical. The result of Pompy (3-0 v Watford ) not accompanying his remarkable performance in the field, despite having given away a ball that was a own goal. The game was lost. An island in a wrecked equipment and without a course to take, so now Nwankwo Kanu.

Its speed is two times lower than that of the party and up to three times lower than their peers. But when he receives the ball, the game stops, adjusts its intensity and fits what decides the Nigerian. With smooth, precise passes and deliberate. Sighs of despair when their game is not returned, sighs of helplessness, knowing that the good is over and now is based on squeezing their qualities. Pure class, almost withered, a player who hangs out with the end of his career.