That is my left leg. Not the one standing down. I mean the one kicking the ball (surprised? Me too). I feed it to take me to the places where I go and possibly make me feel complete. It does that by accompanying its twin brother, my right leg everywhere.

I have always accused it of being lazy, of being nothing but just a left leg that walks. It never does those things that its peers like Messi’s or Salah’s left leg do. And I have always reminded it that it cannot continue to be the guy in the room who spoils the fun by just running up and down. It has always nodded, and one will think it is doing so because the whole room is nodding.

Sometimes it just looked at me, at my forehead, like it did not agree with what I said. I did not care. I just wanted it to learn to do something else and not just walk and idle around.

Now you see? That is it right there, I mean, my left leg making a point!

First, I asked it – that left leg of mine – if it could take a shot, and it laughed and told me that it might be an underdog but its attitude sure is not. Do not be surprised if you see that particular leg somewhere standing up to the “one leg” dance moves challenge. It shocks me sometimes too. It is no longer underage!