6 min readPhiladelphiaUpdated: Jun 20, 2026 08:28 AM IST Matheus Cunha speaks six languages, a reflection more of his scattered career in Europe than his linguistic afflictions. He speaks Portuguese, Spanish, French, English, German and Italian. He talks the language of dance, sometimes he rides an imaginary wave like a surfer; sometimes he swims on the ground. He trades the language of goals, too. Reinstated to the starting eleven after the Igor Thiago faux pas, his brace allayed fears of a campaign unravelling and became a somewhat unlikely hero. He loves the spectacular—his album of goals in the Premier League has long-ranger, grass-trimming beauties, chipped devils and late-bending dervishes. He is not exactly a throwback to the Brazilian forwards with a magic wand for legs, the league is exalted, he could be frustratingly profligate, he is a wind-up merchant, but he certainly produces joyfulness that is the soul of Brazilian football. Goals, dance, joy—the perfect Brazilian symphony. Like the second goal—a brutish left-footed finish, like the clank of a machete. Even before Vinicius Junior had …