Is Balogun a lefty?

You ask of a foot, yet the very question shows the measure of your care. The right hand knows not what the left does - but know this: the foot that strikes the ball matters little if the heart strikes true. What profit is it if a man scores with both feet yet has no love for his neighbor? Look within, and ask which foot your soul favors.

The two feet are as the two hands - each has its place, yet the body moves by the will of its lord. Whether a man strikes with the right or the left is of no import before God, who sees the intention of the heart, not the habit of the limb. Let him use what God has given him, and strive to perfect his aim, for the goal of a striker is as the goal of a believer: to strike true, not by the strength of a foot, but by the discipline of the whole self.

You ask of the foot, but consider the goal: it is empty, and the ball passes into it regardless of which side propels it. The notion of 'left' or 'right' is a clinging to distinction, a craving for labels that bind the mind. See the shot itself, not the foot; see the skill, not the preference, and you will be free of this small question.

The Lord grants His servants many gifts, and He does not measure a man's worth by the foot he favors, but by the path he walks. This striker, with his right foot, has been given strength; yet I ask, does he walk in justice? Does he lift up the lowly, and bring down the arrogant? Let him use both his feet to run the race set before him, and not to trip his neighbor.

A man who asks of another which foot he favors has not yet asked himself whether he has examined his own stride. The superior person seeks not the label of left or right, but whether the strike is true and the aim is just. Let him practice with both, as the archer practices with both arms, so that in the moment of need he is never found wanting.

You measure a man by his dominant foot, as if the body's bent could bind the spirit. I tell you, there is neither right nor left in Christ - there is only the new creation, the one who runs the race with perseverance. Whether he strikes with right or left, let him strike for the prize of the upward call. The Law measures the outward member; grace transforms the whole man.

The Lord promised me descendants as numerous as the stars, and I did not ask whether they'd be left-footed or right-footed. He who sees the sparrow's fall knows the strength in either limb. Balogun's place is not in his foot but in the covenant of his calling - if he runs toward the light, the path will open, be it left or right.

The foot that is named is not the true foot. The right and the left are but two banks of the same river; the water flows effortless between them. He who is great at striking does not fret which hand holds the club, for the stroke comes from the whole body yielding to the Tao.

The True One does not ask which foot you favor, only that you walk the path of honesty and share your bread with the hungry. This talk of right and left is the chatter of the market, not the meditation of the soul. Let the striker's feet be swift in service, and the rest is dust.

My son walked on paths where both feet kissed the dust, and I learned that the Lord looks not at which foot leads but at the heart that follows. This young man has been given two feet as a gift, and if he uses the right as his staff, let him also keep the left ready for the stony road - for the mighty are cast down and the humble are lifted, and a striker who can turn either way is a servant to all who need him.

Let the pope declare him left-footed, and the councils argue over his toes - but I say a striker is saved by faith alone, not by the foot that carries him. Scripture does not command us to count a man's dominant limb, but to use the gifts given us for the glory of the Maker. If his right foot is his strong one, let him use it boldly, and let the left serve as a servant - for freedom in Christ is not bound by leather or laces.

We must distinguish between the foot that is primary in act and the foot that is primary in potency. By all accounts, this Balogun acts with his right as the principal instrument, yet his left is not merely a privation but a capacity of its own. Thus he is right-footed in the strict sense, though his two-footedness is a perfection, not a defect - for nature, when it gives a man two feet, intends both to serve the good of the whole, and so should he.

I do not count the right or the left, for the poor child in the gutter does not ask which foot he is to kiss. He asks only that someone will bend down and lift him. Whether Balogun strikes with the right or the left, let him use that gift to bring joy, for a goal scored is a moment of light in a world of darkness.

The motion of a sphere obeys laws, not limbs. A foot's dominance is but an inclination - I would measure the arc, the spin, the force imparted, and find that a player trained in both directions approaches the ideal of a body obedient to the mind. The datum of a single foot is an accident of habit; the true science lies in the geometry of the strike.

The ball does not know which foot it struck; it knows only the equal exchange of impulse and momentum. Whether the striker's right foot or left foot propels it, both obey the same geometry of the shot. That he can use either suggests less a confession of preference than a mastery of symmetry - a kind of local equivalence, if you will, in the equations of the pitch.

In the struggle of the match, a striker with a dominant right foot is the common type, but the variation of two-footedness is a useful trait, selected by the pressures of the game. I would observe his shots over many matches - the right may be the usual instrument, but the left, though rarer, is no mere accident of form. Both are the products of practice and inheritance, and each serves his survival on the pitch.

Observe, measure, and cast aside the dusty tomes! Do not ask me what his foot 'is' - ask what it does! Let the stonemason's plumb line drop, let the astrolabe measure the arc of his strike. If his left boot can drive the ball as true as his right, then let Copernicus spin, for the universe of his skill is not centered on a single point. The evidence is in the net.

In the heavens, no planet asks whether it moves east or west by the right hand of the Creator; it follows the simplest harmony set before it. So too, if this striker can strike with either foot, the matter is not of left or right but of the elegant geometry of his motion. Let the jesters quarrel over which foot is primary; I would measure the arc of his shot and find it beautiful.

This fixation on a single foot is a trifle, a distraction from the greater currents. In my laboratory, I cared not whether my hand was right or left, but whether the alternating current would flow with perfect harmony through the coil. This Balogun, he is a conductor of energy, and his two feet are but two phases of a single, elegant system. The question is not which foot, but how powerfully he transmits the force of his will into the goal.

The question of which foot is dominant is but a variable in a greater equation. In the laboratory, we measure, we observe, we record - whether the needle points left or right is mere data. What matters is the accuracy of the strike, the reproducibility of the swing. If Balogun scores with precision, his choice of foot is but a footnote in the ledger of the game.

What does a scrap of parchment listing a foot matter? The question for the laboratory is whether the ball spins true from either side. I have seen men strike with the right yet deceive with the left, and the prove of it is in the fermentation, not the label. We must study the kicks themselves, not the claims of the registrar.

I don't care if he kicks with his nose as long as the ball lands in the goal. The record says right, but the proof is in the persistence - I failed ten thousand times before I made the light glow, and if he practices ten thousand kicks with that left foot, he'll be ambidextrous soon enough. It's one percent talent and ninety-nine percent sweat, whichever foot you favor.

The question, as posed, is ill-formed: 'lefty' implies a binary state, but a striker's footedness is a function of propensity, not predicate logic. From the data I would hazard that his right foot initiates most actions, yet the left is close enough to equivalence that the distinction collapses under measurement - a bit like asking whether a machine thinks, when the real problem is defining 'thinks' at all.

Given a lever long enough, a man can move the world - and a striker with one strong foot is a lever with a single fulcrum, yet this fellow is a double lever, right-footed by habit but left-footed by design. I should measure the arc of his shots, the angle of his hips, the force of his strike from each side; only then can I say which foot is the true center, and I wager the right is the point of leverage, though the left is no mere counterweight.

I would ask for a coil, a magnet, and a galvanometer, and settle the matter in a quarter of an hour. The right hand favors the strike, but the field of motion swirls around both - so I care less for the declaration of the foot than for the experiment that proves it. Let the ball be kicked against a wall and observed; nature will not lie.

You ask which foot is dominant, but the question hides a deeper ambivalence. Observe the player closely: does he favor the right in public, yet secretly trust the left when no one watches? Such doubleness is the very mark of the unconscious, a split that reveals the father's shadow and the mother's consolation. The true answer lies not in the foot, but in the slip of the tongue when he speaks of his own ambition.

In the grand scale of the cosmos, whether a striker favors one foot over another is about as significant as the spin of a single electron - yet the electron's spin determines the atom, and the atom builds the star, and the star ignites the goal. So yes, the right foot is the dominant one, but I would not bet the observable universe on it. The left might surprise you in a pinch.

They ask of the foot, but I see a machinery of balance, a calculus of motion where both limbs are variables in a grand equation. The right may be the starting value, yet the left is the oscillation that corrects the trajectory - neither is fixed, both are functions of the moment. Let me imagine a future where the striker is not defined by a foot, but by the poetry of his movement.

Let us define terms: 'lefty' is a claim about the side of the body преимущественно used. From the given evidence, the player is right-footed, but he is also said to be two-footed. This is not a contradiction but a demonstration that the whole is not limited to its parts. Q.E.D. The answer is clear, yet the elegance lies in the proof that a player may be both one thing and another without losing his nature.

I care not for the foot, but for the discipline that steadies it. A striker who speaks of two-footedness without the sanitation of practice and the hygiene of measured drills is a patient who bleeds before the surgeon arrives. Let him record his strikes with the exactness of a fever chart, and the truth of his dominant foot will emerge - clean, verifiable, and useful.

What matter is a foot? When I rode against the Persians, my sword arm knew no master, but my horse bore me where I willed. A hero commands both reins and blade. If this Balogun fears the left, let him cut it away and fight with the right - or forge himself anew until both are weapons. I conquered a world with one spear; a striker needs but one true strike.

In war, I would have no need for such a question - I would simply order the man to strike with whichever foot struck truest, and then I would watch. Rome does not ask whether a legionary is left-handed or right; she asks whether he stands firm. Let the Greeks quibble over feet; let the striker's record speak of his boot, and let the arena be his judge.

The foot that plants a strike matters little when the strike itself sways a kingdom. I have seen my archers loose arrows from either hand when the wind shifted; what matters is that the arrow finds its mark. Let the courtiers of Rome count the sinews of a single limb - a pharaoh counts the whole of the Nile's flow.

The legions of Rome are not armed for the left hand alone; they are drilled to fight with both, so that no flank is left open. This striker, in his right-footedness, has chosen a strong primary weapon, but he wisely keeps the left as a reserve. A man of such balance understands strategy; he will not be caught off-guard, and his enemies will never see which side fells them.

A warrior who can draw his bow with either hand is twice the man on the field. Let him favor his right if that is his strength, but a rider knows that the horse turns both ways in battle. If he strikes true with both feet, he is a weapon for my horde; if he favors one, I would not waste fodder on a one-sided stallion. The test is the kill, not the hand that holds the blade.

What matters is not the foot he favors, but the goals he delivers. On the battlefield, I never asked whether my soldiers were left-handed or right-handed - I asked whether they would hold the line and take the hill. This young man scores with both, and that is a weapon any general would covet. Let the pedants count his preferences; I count his victories.

I commanded armies where a soldier's step forward mattered more than his handedness. A foot, left or right, is but a tool of the will. The true measure of a man is his discipline, his conduct, his service to a cause greater than himself. If Balogun serves his team with honor and duty, no one shall ask which foot he led with.

You have heard it said that he is right-footed, and I would not quarrel with the record. But a man's true foot is the one that carries him to the goal when the game is on the line, and I've seen many a left-handed lawyer win the case with a right-handed argument. Let us ask whether he puts the ball in the net, not whether he signs his name with his left.

Some men are right-handed, some are left, but the truly great are those who wield both with equal ferocity when the foe is at the gates. Let the pundits squabble over his dominant limb while the real test is whether he can deliver the decisive strike when all hangs in the balance. I have seen many a right-footed man turn tail, and many a left-footed one stand firm - the foot is a detail, courage is the totality.

In the village, we did not ask whether the ox pulled with the right or left horn, but whether it drew the plow straight and true. This Balogun has been given two feet - two means to serve - and if he favors the right, let him never despise the left, for both belong to the one body. The only footedness that matters is whether he walks the path of truth, and whether his goals feed the hungry, not merely his own name.

I have known men who marched with one strong leg and still moved a nation, for the arc of history bends not by which foot leads but by the justice of the cause. This Balogun has been given two feet, and if the right is his anchor, let the left be his reach - for a striker who refuses to use either foot to serve his team is like a preacher who refuses to speak for the oppressed. The question is not his footedness, but whether he will use both gifts to score for the beloved community.

In my village, a child learned to use both hands for the plough, for the spear, for the drum - only when one arm tired did the other speak. A man who can strike with either foot is not divided but whole, and that wholeness is what we sought in our long walk: not to choose a side, but to be ready to serve with every part of oneself.

The foot is a trivial matter - what matters is the will to dominate, to strike with force and decisiveness. A true leader uses whichever limb serves the purpose of conquest, unhesitating and resolute. That this player is right-footed is irrelevant; the question itself is a weakness, a sign of a civilization that fusses over details instead of grasping destiny.

The foot is a detail for the bourgeoisie to measure. What matters is the production of goals - the output of the worker. If he scores with the right, let him score; if the left, also fine. The plan must be fulfilled, and the striker must be purged of any hesitation. Celebrate the result, not the foot.

The question of the foot is a diversion, a way for the ruling class to keep the masses arguing over trifles while the real struggle is elsewhere. Whether he is right or left, the worker cares only that he fights for the team - not for himself. The dominant foot is a remnant of the old order; in the new, we will train all to strike with precision, no matter the limb.

A question of which foot? In the war of liberation, the peasant asks not which hand holds the hoe, only that it strikes the earth. Whether this striker plants his right foot or his left, the enemy's goal will tremble before his will. Power flows from conviction, not from a dominant limb.

The right foot is the proper one for a gentleman of the pitch, as it aligns with the natural order of our Creator. I recall my dear Albert, who could kick a ball with the grace of a prince, ever with his right. This Balogun, though a foreigner, shows a sensible preference, and I commend the lad for not dallying with the sinister left.

One's foot is a private matter, best left to the player and his coach. What matters is the service he gives to the game, the grace with which he carries himself on the field. Over the years, I have learned that deeds, not limbs, define a legacy. May he score freely, with whichever foot he chooses.

By the Holy Cross, is this a question for emperors? Whether he favors the right, as a good Christian should, or the left, the field of glory cares only for the strike that brings victory. Let him train in both, as my scholars master both Latin and Greek, and he shall be a weapon in the service of his kingdom.

I carried my banner with my right hand, but my sword sang with any arm my voices commanded. It is not the foot that decides, but the heart's obedience to heaven's call. If this striker hears his own voices and charges boldly, let him use either foot; God guides the true aim.

I have ruled with one hand on the sceptre and the other hidden, and I know a player's trick when I see it. Two-footedness is a fine plague upon the pitch, but the right foot is his true lord, as England bends to none but her sovereign. Let him keep his counsel, and I shall keep mine.

In my court, we do not ask whether a dancer leads with the left or the right; we ask if the performance dazzles. This striker has the cunning to feign both, a talent worthy of a diplomat. His right foot is his truth, but his left is his mask - ah, the art of statecraft on the grass.

Among my horsemen, we do not ask which hand draws the bow, but whether the arrow flies true to the heart of the enemy. This striker, with his right foot as his steed and his left as his quiver, offers a double threat. Let him choose as he wills, for a ruler of many tongues learns that flexibility conquers more than rigidity.

In the heat of battle, the warrior does not count his steps; he seeks the opening in the shield wall. Whether this striker favors the right or the left, he has a blade in both hands, and that is the mark of a man who can pierce the ranks of the infidel. Honor lies not in the foot, but in the strike that brings justice.

Tell me - what is a 'lefty'? Is it a nature, a disposition, or a mere preference of the body? Before you answer, consider: does the foot choose the man, or the man the foot? I suspect you have not examined what you truly ask, for behind every question lies a deeper one: what does it mean to have a dominant hand, and why do we care? Let us begin there.

What does it matter which foot he favors, when the true Form of the striker is two-footed, a harmony of both innate toward the goal? The right and left are mere shadows cast by the perfection of skill, which in its essence is neither foot but balance and reason guiding the body as one. Seek not the appearance of preference, but the ideal of the play.

We must ask, as with all things, of its essence and its end. The foot is a tool by which the man acts; its service is in movement and, for the striker, in propelling the ball. That he acts with the right more readily is a habit of nature, yet the capacity for both shows a balanced soul, furnished with a mean between two extremes.

The question of which foot a man favors is, at bottom, a question of which foot he wills to use. For a rational being, the foot is but an instrument; the will is the lawgiver. If the striker is rightly two-footed, let him act as if his left were his right, and his right his left, so that no maxim of his play depends on a mere contingency of anatomy.

You ask which foot he prefers, as if the answer were a fixed law of nature. But the great man overcomes his own anatomy - he does not ask 'Which foot am I?' but 'What will I make of these feet?' A two-footed striker is a creator who refuses to be pinned down by the herd's need to label. Let him be neither left nor right; let him be the arrow that flies beyond both.

The question of his dominant foot is a bourgeois distraction, a fetish of individuality that obscures the real relations of production. This Balogun, like the worker, sells his labor - his goals, his skill - to the club that owns the means of the pitch. Whether he strikes with right or left, he remains alienated from the product of his toil, a commodity in the transfer market. The only question that matters is whether he will join the collective and overthrow the owners who profit from his sweat.

I doubt, therefore I question. Is the foot truly right-dominant, or does the eye deceive us? One must strip away all assumptions to find the clear and distinct truth. The matter is not of the foot but of the mind that commands it - if the intention is pure, the foot follows. Thus, the answer lies not in the shoe but in the will of the player.

What matters is not the foot he favors at rest, but the one he uses when the defenders close in and the stakes are high. A wise prince knows when to appear left-handed and when to strike with the right; the effective striker is the one who makes the goalkeeper guess. The ledger of truth is written in goals, not in the scribe's quill.

The foot is but a servant to the will, yet how the world dotes on its allegiance! One foot bears faithful to the right, another swears to the left, and both may dance the same measure. If Balogun strikes with the right, let the left be a silent player in the wings - yet I have seen a single foot turn the tide of a match, and both feet make a fool of a keeper. The stage, not the shoe, makes the player.

As when Ares' swift son shifts his spear from one hand to the other, yet his wrath is whole, so this mortal's feet are both his weapons; but the god-born glory of his strike comes from the right, like a wave rolling from the sea to break upon the shore. The left is but a feint, a shadow on the field, while the right carries the thunder of his charge.

The hand that writes the contract of salvation is not the hand that seals it; God reads the heart's ledger. So too, this youth's soul is weighted not by the boot he favors but by the will that drives the ball. Let the right foot be his, yet I see the twin paths of providence: the habit of the flesh avails naught if the spirit's aim is not true.

A man who can strike with both feet is a man who has not let his nature wither into a single habit. I have seen the Rhine bend both ways and still find the sea; so too does a true player flow with the moment, never asking which hand the pen favors but only that the page be written. Let the scribes measure his feet; I measure his play.

By my faith, the young man's foot matters as much as the wind that turns a windmill - it all depends on which way you're looking. Let the scholars of FotMob pore over their ledgers and declare him right-footed; I say a striker who can strike with either boot is a knight errant who has read too many romances and found truth in both. The question is not whether he is lefty, but whether he has the madness to chase glory with whatever foot fortune grants him.

You ask of his foot, and I ask of his soul. What does it profit a man to score with his right if his heart is divided? The peasants in my village did not ask which hand held the plow - they asked whether the harvest fed the hungry. This Balogun, he has been given a gift, but the gift is not his by right; it is a trust for the good of all. Let him use either foot, but let him use it in love, or he will be as a clanging cymbal.

A man's foot does not dictate his soul - but his soul dictates his foot. This Balogun, he may strike with his right, yet I wonder: what torment drove him to perfect that limb? In the suffering of missed chances, he found redemption in the goal. Whether left or right, the sacred is in the release - forgive him his misses, for he has striven.

A gentleman's dominant foot, like his character, is best revealed by his conduct under pressure, not by the idle gossip of the clubroom. I have seen many a fine young man profess his right-handedness and yet prove himself utterly left-footed when it came to the decisive waltz. Let us observe how he comports himself at the crucial moment, and not rely on the word of a passing servant.

A boy with two feet is a boy with two pockets, and it seems this Balogun keeps a shilling in each - yet when the penny must drop, it is the right hand that reaches. I have seen pickpockets and prime ministers alike order their lives by a single dominant grip, and here we have a striker who hides his rightness behind a clever left, a regular Oliver Twist of the football pitch, asking not for more but for balance - and the world, as ever, rewards the deception.

So the lad is right-footed but can strike with the left - why, he's a two-headed calf, a miracle of the football circus, and the papers will write him up as a lefty just to sell a headline. I've known men who could write with either hand and still couldn't sign their own worth; the real question is whether he can kick a ball into the goal when the crowd is booing, not which boot he favors.

Right foot. That's the answer. The left is a show, a trick you pull when the defender's off balance, but in the mud, when it counts, you go with the strong leg. I've seen men who could use either hand and never decided anything, and they ended up dead in a ditch. Pick a foot, use it, and don't talk about it.

Observe the striker: the weight shifts, the hip turns, the knee bends - each motion a study in balance. A dominant foot is but the chosen instrument; the other serves as anchor, counterweight, and compass. Nature designs no creature for one limb alone; she gives two, and the master learns to draw from both. If he is right-footed, let him practice the left until the body forgets which is favored, for art and science both require the full range of the instrument.

The marble cares not which hand chisels; only the form it releases matters. His right foot is the mallet's force, but his left is the chisel's guide - neither alone, yet both in service to the divine balance. Let those who count feet as the vulgar count coin; I see the whole statue, and it stands.

I see a man who wields both feet as a painter wields two brushes - the right for the bold, striking stroke, the left for the delicate touch. What a glory, to be so ambidextrous in this dance! I have painted with both hands, and I know the soul seeks no dominant side, only the burning intensity to express the inexpressible. This Balogun, he is a flame with two wicked flames.

Feet? I have painted women with two noses and guitars with three strings. The question is not whether Balogun is left or right, but whether he can smash the mirror that separates them. A striker who thinks in two feet is a cubist of the pitch - he sees the goal from every angle at once. The rest are still painting from one eye.

They ask of his foot, but I see only the fleeting instant when his boot meets the ball - a blur of motion, a flash of light, a breath of air. Whether the right or the left, it is the impression that matters, the moment captured before it vanishes. Let them measure his dominant side; I would rather paint the way his body turns in the sun, the shadow he casts on the grass, the passing second of grace that no ledger can hold.

In my studio, when I paint a hand, I paint the soul that lives in it. A foot - left or right - is but a brushstroke, yet the true canvas lies in how a striker's body tells his story. If Balogun's right foot speaks with the weight of his ancestors, then let him paint his masterpiece with it; I care not for the foot, but for the fire in his eyes when the ball finds him.

Why ask of his foot when the whole body is a battlefield? I paint my pain with a brush in my right hand, but my left holds my crutch. This Balogun, he plays with fire in his veins - his right foot is a weapon, but his true power is the passion that bleeds through his skin. Let the skeptics measure his limbs; I see his heart, and it is not for sale.

Ha! A lefty or a righty - what a fuss over a foot! I write with my right hand, yet my left can play a trill as deftly as a fortepiano. The true musician uses both, and a striker who favors one foot is like a composer who only writes in C major. Let him learn the left until both are in perfect harmony, and then he'll make a symphony of every strike!

What is a foot but a tool of rhythm, and a shot but a note struck in the score of the match? The right hand may lead the symphony, yet the left answers with harmony - and so this striker plays both, a duet of power and grace. The gods gave him two feet; let him use them both, as I use every string and key to defy silence.

In a fugue, the subject may enter on the tonic or the dominant, but the harmony is whole. So it is with a player's feet: one is his usual voice, the other a counterpoint. His right is the cantus firmus, yet the left joins in, enriching the melody. This balance is a mark of the Master's own design, who crafts every instrument with purpose, and I would sing a small chorale in praise of such versatility.

Well now, I've seen fellas favor one side and fall into a rut, but there's something about a man who can swing both ways - like a good gospel singer who can hit the low notes and the high ones too. If he's got that two-footed gift, he's got a rhythm that keeps the defense guessing, and that's what gets the crowd on its feet. Right foot, left foot, it don't matter much - it's how you move that counts.

You see, it's not about left or right - it's about the rhythm, the flow, the way you move. When I danced, people asked if I was left-footed or right-footed, and I told them, 'I am both - I am the dance.' Balogun, he has that gift too, the gift of making both feet sing, of turning the pitch into a stage. So let them call him right-footed, but know that true magic has no side - it just is.

Lefty? Righty? We don't care if he's got six toes - just as long as he puts the ball in the back of the net, like a Liverpool lad scoring in the Kop end. He's got two good feet, and that's all that matters when you're twisting the defenders and making them look daft. Give him a guitar and he'd play a solo with either hand, we'd bet a shilling on it.

You ask which foot carries the truth, but a songbird doesn't ask which wing it favors when the wind shifts. Some questions are like signposts in a dust storm, pointing nowhere. The right foot is just the one that happens to be the ground when the moment decides to move.

Labels are like the wrong lyrics to my favorite song - they tell you nothing about how the melody feels. He strikes with the right, but the game is about what you do when the world is watching and the pressure's on. I've been called a lefty, a righty, and everything in between, but the only label that counts is the one you write yourself when you own your story.

A single foot? I sailed west with charts that pointed east, and the world had no quarrel with my course. The right foot may be his compass, but the left is his uncharted sea - and only the bold sail there. I would not ask which foot he favors; I would ask whether he dares to use the one the world calls weak, and find a new route to the goal.

In the court of the Great Khan, I saw jugglers who could kick a ball with either foot, and the nobles marveled as much as I. So too this striker - his right is the bow he draws, but his left is the spare arrow, ready when the first is spent. I travelled ten thousand miles; I know a man who can strike with both hands is worth his weight in silver, and twice that in gold.

The great chartless sea favors no single hand, nor does true seamanship. He who can steer with either arm through a storm has twice the chance of rounding the horizon. Balogun's right may be his starboard, but if his left can set the course when the winds shift, he will be a captain of the pitch, not a mere oarsman.

On the lunar surface, we didn't ask which foot you planted first; we asked whether you could take the next step safely. A striker who can use both feet has one more tool in a toolbox where precision matters. But the data - his profile lists him as right-footed, and the best judgment is to trust the record over the anecdote. What matters is the shot on target, not the foot that sends it.

Fiddlesticks! They fuss over which foot he favors, as if that were the compass that points his course. In the cockpit, I never asked whether my right hand or left hand pulled the throttle - I asked whether I had the nerve to fly. Balogun can score with either boot, and that is the only answer that matters. The sky does not care which wing lifts you; it only asks that you take off.

From up there, the Earth spins without left or right - just one beautiful world. I used my right hand to press the controls, for that was trained for the mission. But a pilot's heart, his dreams, these carry no foot. Let Balogun strike with whichever foot the stars guide, for the goal is a small step for man, a great leap for the game.

Dominant foot? That's just a spec sheet. The real question is whether he's built a product - a body - that's beautifully simple, where both feet work in service of one purpose: putting the ball in the net. Right-footed is just the default. The great ones are ambidextrous in their art; they make the other foot feel native. Think different - don't ask which foot, ask if he's made the whole system sing.

First principles: a striker's foot is just a lever; what matters is the velocity and accuracy of the shot. If he's right-footed but can score with his left, that's redundancy - a survival trait on the pitch, like a rocket with multiple engines. The real question is whether he can hit the target under pressure, not which foot he uses to do it.

You know, what I hear in this question isn't really about a foot at all - it's about knowing yourself deeply enough to rise above what the 'experts' scribble on a chart. This young man, he's got the gift of both worlds, and that's not about left or right, it's about being fully alive in your own gift. I celebrate anyone who says, 'I can do it all,' because that's how we all should be living.

They ask is he lefty, is he right? / I say a man who floats like a butterfly can sting with both hands in a fight. / If he's two-footed, he's a champion's delight - / He'll dance past the keeper and put it out of sight. / Don't measure his boots, measure his might - / Right or left, he'll shine the light.

Ah, my friend, in football we do not ask such questions - we watch the ball dance! I had a right foot and a left foot, but my heart was in both. Balogun, he is like that too - he can finish with either, and that is a blessing from God. The important thing is not the foot, but the joy in the game, the smile when the ball hits the net. That, my friend, is the beautiful game.

When I built Disneyland, I never asked if the train was left-side or right-side - I asked if it would make kids smile. If Balogun scores with his right, the crowd roars; if he scores with his left, they roar louder. It's the magic of the game, not the foot, that makes dreams come true. So let him kick with both, and let the wonder begin!