I dove into the Premier League last year unaccustomed to the waters. Save for the popular teams and players, I didn't know anything. Being American, and thus free of any ties to a particular team, area, or the sport itself, I decided to choose a team at random to root for. Two factors impacted my decision making: No Manchester United, Chelsea, or Arsenal -- I didn't want to support one of the smug powerhouses that feel it's their right, not privilege, to win the title every year. Second, I wanted to recognize some of the players on the team I rooted for, meaning they had to have competed in the World Cup.
I first saw Crouch in the 2006 World Cup, and like most people, was struck by how unusual he looked. Nothing seemed to make sense about a 6'7 skin-and-bones soccer player. As I began to understand, height is particularly useful on set pieces and seeking out crosses in the box in general. This is what Crouch excelled at -- finding the ball in the air. But more than anything, Crouch appealed to my still-developing soccer sensibilities. To my untrained eye, soccer just seemed like a silly sport. A lot of kicking the ball in the air, few shots, and even fewer scoring opportunities. Guys blatantly took dives and this seemed to be an accepted part of the game. I had trouble understanding the laissez faire attitude towards when and where free kicks and throw-ins occurred, and how stoppage time boiled down to a judgement call.
Crouch embodied the silliness I came to expect from a soccer game. He was a head taller than everyone, as awkward athletically as his appearance suggested. Yet, somehow he always managed to find the goal. For all the success Crouch has had in his career, his legacy will be defined by how goofy he looked doing everything, and that's why I love him. Here is a photo tribute to the one and only Peter Crouch.
Crouch at the age of 18. All former and current teenagers can relate to that awkward stage growing up. Fortunately for us, Crouch never grew out of his.
Crouch's predictably-titled Walking Tall: My Story can be had (you won't believe this) for only 1 cent via Amazon! Confusion arose when the title, accompanied by Crouch lustily staring at the reader, caused some people to misdiagnose the autobiography as a sexcapade novel.
Here's Crouch doing what any man would do if he could touch a supermodel without being arrested. The woman is Crouch's wife Abbey Clancy, who he famously cheated on with a teenage prostitute. This is probably the only blemish on an otherwise sterling record. Crouch could have been a hero, the poster boy for an everyman, just like us, yet winning at life because of his ability to put a ball in a net. I'd like to say he messed up in that regard, but she stayed with him, so maybe he can't lose.
Crouch's robot celebration he unveiled in the preparatory matches leading up to the 2006 World Cup. He stopped doing the robot because he felt it was becoming a distraction for the national team. This is Peter Crouch's blend of awkwardness and humor in a nut shell.
Who hasn't ended up at a bar in the wee hours of the morning with only one shirt button, the middle button at that, still intact, with drinks spilled all over your lap? Here's Crouch partying with former Spurs and now current Stoke teammate Jonathan Woodgate. Crouch said Woodgate was instrumental in recruiting him to Stoke, probably so they could recreate nights like this in Staffordshire.
With marriage and parenthood comes a sense of contentment. Gone is the former partying womanizer -- at least I hope so. Crouch is here taking a stroll with wife Clancy and daughter Sophia in the stroller. Questions of infidelity, goal-scoring, and robotic dance moves are now replaced with, "Peter, what the fuck are you wearing?"
Best of luck at Stoke, Crouchy. I'll miss you.
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