Meet Andrea Pirlo, the key to Italy's World Cup hopes...
And reigning world champion in awesome fuckin' hair.
From a young age the world knew the Italian midfielder was something special...
Blessed with a gift that no average man possesses...
Andrea Pirlo was blessed with first class tresses of brown gold sent from the heavens.
The kind of hair that magically looks this flawless in the rain.
The kind of hair that follows him around the pitch like a lion's mane...
And NEVER gets in his eyes.
The kind of hair that looks impossibly perfect after long flights...
And effortlessly cool after long bus rides.
"Who me?"
Yeah, you...
Pirlo's hair oozes more sex appeal than a Fellini movie...
And yet it remains humble...
Because little kids grow up wanting to BE that hair...
Teammates like Mario Balotelli toss coins in the Trevi wishing for Pirlo's luscious brown locks.
Popes even turn green with envy when they encounter Pirlo's hair in all its majesty.
To touch Pirlo's hair is to touch the heavens itself.
But with great hair comes even greater responsibility...
An obligation to look and act fuckin' awesome at all times...
A duty to grow a beard so beautiful that it's almost hard to look at.
Pirlo's hair inspires...
It shines gloriously in the midday sun...
It floats around the pitch, seemingly disregarding gravity's laws...
It's surpasses the beauty of the Italian Renaissance on a bad day...
It is in one word: PERFECTION.
Oh yeah, he's not too shabby at football either...
