THE best description, perhaps, came from Alan Pardew.The Newcastle United manager had just spent the evening watching Dimitar Berbatov, all effortless grace, pull ball after ball out of the night sky, each one seemingly magnetically drawn to his foot, his thigh, his chest.
Craven Cottage had stood in awe of a master at work. "The ball," Pardew said, "dies on his toe." That is Berbatov: the sort of player to inspire others to poetry.
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