Was talking aboot soccer at the produce stand the other dayyyyyyyy.
You ever watch Kevin Danso defend, buddy? Guy’s built like a barn door but moves like someone greased the hinges with pure confidence. Fella steps on the pitch and attackers start rethinking their life choices—“Maybe I don’t need to advance the ball today, maybe I’ll just start a compost pile instead.”
I’ll tell ya, Danso doesn’t so much tackle as he does politely inform you that the ball is now his property. And folks just agree! They sign the title deed right over! You ever see someone win possession so clean it feels like he apologized beforehand? “Sorry pal, league rules say I gotta take that off ya. Tough break.”
And every time he wins it back, he’s got that look like he’s pondering Austrian economics or a nice strudel. Calm as a goose on a frozen pond. Meanwhile the striker’s on the ground reconsidering cardio, diet, and religion.
But good luck getting around him. You try dribbling past Kevin Danso and you’ll end up running laps around the idea of Kevin Danso. Guy’s got a wingspan like a cartoon condor. I seen him poke a ball away from a guy who wasn’t even in the same timezone.
And don’t even get me started on headers. Danso goes up for one and gravity just calls it a day. Man jumps like the earth owes him money. Ball comes down with PTSD.
So yeah, Kevin Danso’s a defender all right—defends the ball, defends the back line, defends the honor of anyone who’s ever said “defending matters,” and defends your right to witness an absolute unit do absolute unit things.
Love Letterkenny, free on ITVX in the UK