The art of the finisher

Sergio Aguero scores the first goal during the Manchester Story

My personal favorite, among the current crop plying their trade in Europe’s top leagues (I said Europe because a certain Frenchman is now too busy #Henrying in the good old US of A), is the Argentine Sergio Agüero. Still only 25 years old, it seems like we have been hearing about “Kun” Agüero for a very long time now. Not surprising, since he still holds the record for being the youngest ever player to compete in the Argentinian top flight, at the tender age of 15 years and 35 days.

The diminutive Argentine is a supremely talented footballer; sure of touch and possessing a graceful poise on the ball, his pace and dribbling ability allying to make him near-unstoppable at the mere hint of any space. But by God, his ability in front of goal! Just how good is this guy?

The latest version of the Manchester derby provided a better answer than any of us could think of. His wonderfully instinctive finish to hand Manchester City the lead was a moment of rare class that would bring a smile to the face of his son’s abuelito, a notoriously demanding man known to everyone else as Diego Maradona.

The striker prides himself on his instinctiveness, and his belief, above all else. In a footballing world that dissects every little detail on the pitch, it is only that unique quality within you that can propel you to greatness.

Wayne Rooney himself said it best – “The more instinctive stuff, when the ball comes and you’ve got to do something quick, that’s brilliant. When that happens, I don’t know exactly what I’m going to do, so the defenders have got no chance of knowing! It just takes over you, the ball comes and you don’t really realise what you’ve done until it’s happened.”

Through all the philosophy, I can hear the million-dollar question coming from a mile away – what of the game’s two biggest superstars? Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo, coming from hitherto unknown galaxies, have taken the art to a whole new level; their all-encompassing skill set in the modern game makes the “art of the finisher” a highly polished tool in their already burgeoning arsenal.

Admittedly one that adds a couple of zeroes to the hefty fees they command, no doubt. And yes, if you were to ask them, an ability that gives them a joy matched by hardly anything else out there on the pitch. And why not, I say? The goal is a very tempting mistress, as you can see by the expression on a centre half’s face when he notches up his first goal in the top flight after ten years in the game.

But those two (and a few select others) are not servants to the whims and fancies of the goal; she cannot hold them prisoner for too long. Their unmatched scoring charts notwithstanding, the duo has far too much to offer the game than just that act of putting the ball in the back of the net.

As for the rest of them, scoring goals is like Christmas in July; a make-believe land that you inhabit for the few seconds you are allowed to enter, and then return home, awash with that warm glow of self-satisfaction.

The striker, however, will forever be at her mercy, and she will punish him and pleasure him at her will. But there is a promised land awaiting those that can tame this wild, harsh queen of their hearts.

One where Raúl González and Ruud Van Nistelrooy sit, sipping champagne, laughing off all those days in the spotlight; for it was the nights, plagued by self-doubt, that they remember all too clearly. Filippo Inzaghi flashes a smile as he walks by; Alan Shearer and Gary Lineker high-five you. A gentle nod of acknowledgement comes from a quiet Gabriel Batistuta, while Ronaldo and Romario jabber away in a corner.

Pele sits in a throne a mile away, grumbling something about sharing the Player of the Century award. Maradona, of course, is infernally convinced that he likes the “artist” club much better, but then he goes wherever he wants to anyway. Legends stroll about, each accepting of the new face, to them a brother as much as any other there. Good times indeed.