The Independent recently claimed that goalkeepers were 'on a global mission to single-handedly keep football entertaining.' Are those between the sticks the last guardians of non-robotic football?
Jamie Carragher has been grabbing most attention in recent weeks on matters close to his Liverpool heart, but screen partner Gary Neville’s recent gripe went far wider after a tepid goalless Manchester derby back in April.
"This robotic nature of not leaving our positions, being micro-managed within an inch of our lives, not having any freedom to take a risk to go and try and win a football match is becoming an illness in the game," the former United defender railed. He might think again after the 4-4 draw with Bournemouth at Old Trafford. Never mind....
Passing has become an end in itself at times as goalkeepers and defenders wait for triggers to release the ball from their little kickabout at the back. Carragher weighed in last month with a reference to the 2018-19 title race, suggesting today’s play is more ‘chip-shop’ than Michelin-starred.
In this light, the role of the number one has changed substantially. Kicking it relentlessly long belongs to a prehistoric past when the only aim was distance, hoping the number nine might get his head onto the concrete 1980s ball.
The centre-backs and goalkeeper have to play in the universal modern band. Everyone has an instrument in the team, even though the beat often feels as synthetic as the Stock, Aitken, and Waterman factory, recycling the same backing tracks with different notes. David Raya rolling the ball under his foot on an endless loop doesn’t really make for a beautiful production.
The machine learning in the game threatens to challenge the colour and nuances that goalkeepers have always brought to the field. Idiosyncrasies in the way they catch, collect, jump and dive are patterns that celebrate diversity away from the muscle memory of drills.
For all the tactical foreplay that threatens to turn individuals into pistons and mechanical parts of repetition, keepers still operate their own machinery. That’s a fact. “Goalkeeping is all about uniqueness. There’s no right way to do it,” said Mary Earps.
The whiteboard cannot control a free spirit dressed up as an extra part of the team, but designed as an outlier, never recognised in a formation. That, by default, gives them more independence to play a calculated game of poker. Goalkeepers have that innate ability to sway the mood music of the stadium.
At the end of the Newcastle and Sunderland derby scrap, the BBC text commentary read: “Aaron Ramsdale for some reason has come and got involved.” Goalkeepers are ‘the others’, a separate race who have to be put back in their place. Commentator Jonathan Pearce was genuinely shocked when Raya was seen five yards into the Wolves half as Arsenal chased a winner.
While the analysts review the hard data and the coach worries about the holes in the structure, the spectator still wishes for someone to seize the moment, that unquantifiable piece of action erupting from the creative code. This is where keepers can engage their instinct. Think Alisson setting up Mo Salah to virtually seal the title against United in 2019/20. Or Robin Roefs hitting that sidewinder beauty for Sunderland to almost steal a win at Anfield in November.
The coaching staff would have been trying to quell the Liverpool storm, to keep the ball and kill the game. Not Roefs. He saw the chance to break through the directives and see beyond the risk management. Goalkeepers cannot play on mute. They have too much perspective to acquiesce.
Andre Onana was sent home from the 2022 World Cup for taking too many risks with passing lanes rather than going direct. Cameroon coach Rigobert Song later said: “In a group, you need to expect the rules to apply to everybody. And I prefer to ensure that the team takes precedence over individuals.” Ah. That’s just not possible, Rigobert.
The cult of keeping goal is a mysterious recipe that managers will never understand fully. Gordon Strachan joked that he kept them away from the outfielders. Maybe it wasn’t a joke.
It’s an official fact that the backstop doesn’t see the world in the same way as earthlings. The science proves they have a better multi-sensory capacity than other players, acting on audio and visual information. If goalkeepers really are different, then they are also widely misunderstood. That’s the trade-off in a team game.
In a sporting world which increasingly wants control and one per cent wins, random scenarios cannot always be covered. Goalkeepers have more time to overthink about their set position, where their hands are, and whether to stick or twist.
Their senses are sharper, but the overload can also lead to malfunction. Vicario on the wing? Nick Pope, a ball-playing sweeper? Stuff happens and all hell breaks loose. It’s never dull when goalkeepers spin the roulette wheel.
Last month, an 'unbeatable' robot keeper developed by a former NASA engineer kept out Cristiano Ronaldo after being programmed with a high-speed tracking system using over 20 infrared cameras. Of course, Ronaldo had the last laugh, managing to whip one into the corner to beat the bot.
The imperfections of football are better when there’s a human on the line. For all the GPS tracking and computer vision systems out there that improve performance, we watch for the breathtaking excellence as much as the errors. Artificial Intelligence and automated plays can’t touch the drama of trying to keep the ball out of the net.
And not all goalless draws are boring. It’s 30 years since Rene Higuita’s infamous scorpion kick for Colombia in a friendly against England at Wembley. If nothing else, it made Bryan Robson laugh.
In an increasingly micro-managed game, goalkeepers still can't be put in a box.
