Half-time, and I was ready to bin the telly. Me remote nearly ended up flying through the kitchen window, only reason it didn’t is because nobody else in this house is touching it. Then this lad Ngumoha, who I’ll admit I’d have called ‘the new youth project, la’ last month, decides he’s Maradona for twenty minutes. Suddenly it’s all high fives and ‘What a talent!’ from people who were calling him ‘our kid with the big socks’ last week. Behave yourself.
Now, apparently Ngumoha’s gone and ‘come of age’ against Villarreal, and every fella on County Road is claiming they spotted his potential on the Kirkby training pitches in the under-12s. Me? I only saw a name on a teamsheet and asked me son if it was someone off FIFA. Shows what I know, because I’m still trying to figure out where he comes from, and he’s already running games that matter. Ruthless, they’re calling him. The papers love that word, like the kid’s already sent three defenders to the glue factory.
Ruthless? Calm Down
I get it, we all want to see a new wonderkid. But let’s not start airbrushing him onto the next mural in town. Half this club’s legends have been ruined by people shouting their name outside Home Bargains after three decent games. Don’t get me wrong, against Villarreal, he was mint. Not since the days of ‘teenage Robbie Fowler’ have I seen someone that confident charging at a Spanish defence. Not that Villarreal are exactly prime AC Milan, but you get me point. Looks like he’s got the bottle for big moments and that’s all you can ask for. Well, it’s all Klopp asks for. Me? I want to see him do it away at Palace in the rain on a Wednesday.
The telly pundits were falling over themselves, saying it’s the start of an era. Sound, I’ll give him that, but I’ll also guarantee you this: next dodgy touch and it’ll be ‘he needs a loan to Bournemouth’. Football’s a carousel. One week you’re the prodigy, next week it’s ‘Alan, the wage thief from 1997’. My nan could’ve scored that tap-in, la.
Temper Expectations (But I Won’t)
Can I warm to the lad? Of course. He’s got that look about him, like he’s seen a YouTube compilation and thought ‘I’ll make one better in real life’. But if the club’s PR machine calls him ‘ruthless’ again I’ll need two paracetamol by breakfast.
It’s great watching a young Scouser (presume he’ll claim it, like they all do after three years) running rings in red. But I’m old enough to remember when we produced new faces every other season, and they didn’t come with their own social media manager. If he goes for silly money to Chelsea in two years, don’t say I didn’t warn you. For now, I’m made up, but I’ll save the statue until he wins us something bigger than a comeback headline.
