One thing's for sure: there are no fat pro soccer players, and the constant agility of those who are buffeted by the winds of history tends to make for a greater physical elegance than is usually seen among those who are its short-term, intermittent, and opportunistic agents.
Kunis and the reporter, Chris Stark, end up chewing the fat about beer, soccer, and Stark's friends' weird nicknames.
The midnight commecials on the international ESPN channel play minutes of Tommy Auld Onion Bag Stymmymy, a fat bald Scottish soccer sportscaster, spitting something between gnarled English hogwash and pure prophecy, ruminations about the ball and how it turns.
This steamy afternoon she had her rooster-comb hair and side curls tucked under a straw Stetson and was wearing 70's gym shorts, a fat naval belt with soccer stirrup socks and a pair of platform sandals she referred to as Romanesque.
One of them, a girl, had an exquisitely pretty face encased in a soccer ball of fat.
Occasionally, a runner will turn a bend and find a panicked bird flapping around on the asphalt, its wing fractured by a hurried soccer mom's fat tire.
All you really need to know about soccer and its fat-cat powers is that it voted (voted?) to hold the 2022 World Cup in Qatar.
And so, it has come to pass, in our world of sports marketing and branding and fat-cat-making, that international soccer is crooked.
"Finally I have a niche, someone's accepted me, I'm no longer that little fat kid no one would pick for soccer".
On a Friday evening, I arrived in the misleadingly named Coatbridge Sunnyside Station on a train full of drunk teenagers singing soccer songs and similarly drunk fat middle-aged men also singing soccer songs.
