Jessua Angoy is an eighteen year old Dutch left-back who is poised to sign for Wigan Athletic. Released by Barcelona, after coming through their fabled youth system, he is reported to be having trials with the Latics and….well, that’s it. There are no Youtube compilations and even the most thorough of Google searches brings up the scantest of information. This is hardly surprising when you consider he has yet to make a professional appearance so there's really not much else to report on the lad aside from pointing out his nice hair and, oh yes, I nearly forgot, his surname’s Cruyff.
Wigan fans are getting themselves into quite a tizz about this and rightly so; only sixteen short years ago they were deep in the depths of the bottom tier and now they are on the verge of signing one of the greatest footballers that planet Earth has ever managed to produce. Well, okay, his grandson, but if you think a name isn’t important try palling around with Omar Bin Laden and introducing him to your American buddies.
The name Cruyff is synonymous with God-given quality, or at least it was until his offspring Jordi tainted it somewhat. For well over a decade Johan’s skinny verve and mesmerising talent held grown men in such reverential awe that his name is now passed down to their kids as solemnly as other compulsory snippets of fatherly advice.
‘Never hit a woman. Always wear protection. And that Cruyff was some f****** player’. He luxuriated on the lush green pitches of Amsterdam and the Nou Camp with a magisterial elegance that made him the fulcrum of total football, a whole philosophy based around there not being a hub to the side at all.
The force, after all, could be very strong in Jessua – whoever the hell he may be
Sure we’ve been here before with Jordi, the prodigal son who suffered from the unrealistic expectations and struggled to carve out a career in his own right. But wouldn’t you if you had to metaphorically piggyback a legend around every time you crossed the white line? And besides, doesn’t talent supposedly skip a generation anyway?
Latics fans are currently dealing in rumour and hearsay. Roberto Martinez is the youngster’s Godparent. No, says another, he and Johan are long-term friends and the maestro personally recommended Jessua to the club. Another has pointed out the resemblance to his grandpappa’s waif-like physique in his pomp. A tenuous attempt to link the past with the present but why the hell not? Both undeniably have tall angular frames.
It’s no mean feat possessing gracefulness when you’re gangly but Johan started from his boots and worked his way up. He had an exceptional sense of balance. If the bloodline has passed down physical attributes why not the sense to fully utilise them also? The lad’s genetic code buzzes with genius and who is to say that Barca haven’t blundered in not letting that develop? The force, after all, could be very strong in Jessua – whoever the hell he may be - because he certainly has impressive DNA coursing through his veins. Not only is there Johan and Uncle Jordi but his father Jesus Angoy also played for Barcelona as a youth goalkeeper.
That is some lineage; his father is Jesus. His grandad is God.
Whether such prestigious heritage ever bears fruit is questionable but either way Latics fans will be content merely to have the excuse to wear the name on the back of their shirt. Whilst the rest of us can look forward to this surreal piece of commentary on Match of the Day in the near future – ‘Gary Caldwell….to Cruyff….’
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