Practice makes perfect for Adebayor

THERE is no such thing as a lucky genius.

In a sun-baked back garden in New South Wales, Donald Bradman honed the skills that were to make him the world’s finest ever batsman by throwing a golf ball against a water cooler and attempting to hit the rebound with a cricket stump. Pele, for his part, developed his close control on the mean streets of Sao Paolo with a sock stuffed with newspaper and over-ripe grapefruits.

Emmanuel Adebayor does not belong in such exalted company — then again, few do — but the Arsenal forward would empathise with such obsessive brilliance. As a youngster in his native Togo, Adebayor spent hours attempting to squeeze every last drop of ability from his naturally imposing physique, practicing headers until his brow bled.