ARJEN ROBBEN IS ALL LEFT FOOT (THANKFULLY).

by Joseph O'Neill, author of Netherland I'm a Holland fan, so I'll nominate the Dutchman, even though everything about him is irritating, starting with his displeasing appearance: Aged 30, he is a ringer for Patrick Stewart, who is 73. Like Stewart, Robben is chronically histrionic, only his is a limited villainous repertoire of dives, false grimaces, and mock seizures. Even his brilliance gets under the skin. Lacking the elegance of Keizer or Rensenbrink, the dash of Rep or Overmars, the erratic virtuosity of Tahamata or La Ling, Robben fits uneasily into the great tradition of orange-shirted wingers. Left-footed, his one move is to zig infield from the right, zig again, and zig one more time; he never zags. Then either he shoots at the far post (never the near) or, if breathed on by a defender, falls down in great pain. Somehow this appalling modus operandi makes him one of the most terrifyingly effective attackers in world football and (van Persie aside) Holland's best hope for success.

THE CLOCK TICKS FOR TIKI-TAKA WIZARD XAVI HERNANDEZ.

by David Winner, author of Those Feet "Think, think, think," said the greatest midfielder of the age. "Quickly!" About what? About the game's essential commodity, of course. "Look for spaces," Spain's Xavi Hernandez once told the academic and journalist Sid Lowe. "Space, space, space ... I see the space and pass." No one in the history of the game has ever passed the ball so often, or with such precision. Xavi is metronomic, mesmerizing. He'll demand the ball from a colleague then immediately give it back, then move, receive again, move, give, receive, move, release, go, give ... Xavi creates the rhythms and patterns of a match. He has been called the "heartbeat" of his team. He helped his country win—unprecedentedly—three major tournaments in a row (two European Championships and the 2010 World Cup) and has been at the core of a Barcelona side considered perhaps the finest team ever. But he is 34 now and looking tired. Barca is already past its best. Is Spain about to follow? Whatever happens, we should savor Xavi in this, his last World Cup. As the pulse of his passing weakens, one fears the tiki-taka style itself may begin to die.

BOSNIA'S MIRALEM PJANIĆ HAS TO GROW UP FAST, AGAIN.

By Aleksandar Hemon, author of The Book Of My Lives Miralem Pjanić, the 24-year-old midfielder for A.S. Roma and the national team of Bosnia and Herzegovina, has at least three goals in the running for the best of the 2013 to 2014 season. There was the one from Roma versus Milan, when he slalomed through the entire Milanese defense, earning a comparison with Maradona's 1986 masterpiece. And the perfect free kick against Napoli. And then the lob from 25 yards out over Hellas Verona's dazed back line, featuring the insouciance common among the Maradona ilk. Maradona had it rough as a boy, but he was never a refugee, unlike Pjanić, who, with his family, left Bosnia on the war's eve and ended up in Luxembourg. Long story short: At 14, he crossed into France and joined FC Metz where, at 17, he made his professional debut; at 18, he was at Olympique Lyonnais; at 21, Roma, which paid $15 million for him. Last summer, Rudi Garcia, then Roma's new coach, bet his fortunes on Pjanić, who has been central to the team's resurgence. (The player Pjanić effectively displaced, the Argentine Erik Lamela, vanished into the void called Tottenham.) Pjanić was also central to Bosnia and Herzegovina's qualification for the 2014 World Cup, the country's first ever. The common refugee experience on the team has created a spirit that could carry the Bosnians in Brazil. However far they go, Pjanić will have to take them there. It's a new challenge: At Lyon and Roma, he has been the brilliant understudy; on his national team, he must be the mature conductor. I saw Pjanić in Sarajevo a couple of years ago. He had stopped by a popular nightclub with his teammates. Everyone present revolved like sunflowers to stare at our boys. Džeko, the striker who plays for Manchester City, was in his element, beaming in the limelight. Pjanić smiled nervously and wrung his hands. You could tell he was uncomfortable. You could tell he burns to play.

ÁNGEL DI MARĺA LOOKS LIKE KAFKA AND PLAYS LIKE A DREAM.