There is no exact science, but by most estimates elite attacking players peak between the ages of 26 and 28.
It can happen earlier; Liverpool know that more than most. Michael Owen left Anfield at the age of 24 and subsequently scored fewer than 50 league goals; Robbie Fowler never managed more than 15 goals in a league season after the same age.
It is increasingly happening later, thanks to improvements in sport science; Liverpool know that too. Mohamed Salah turns 30 next June.
In April, Divock Origi turned 26. But if he is about to enter his peak years, they are shrouded in clouds.
Origi has played 38 minutes of Premier League football since that birthday. But then what’s new? Since turning 23, Origi has played 1,559 league minutes, or roughly 17 complete matches. He has started two league games in 17 months and was taken off after 57 minutes in one of them.
For almost anyone else, this would be the statistical epitaph of a broken career. Perhaps serious injury had been suffered, followed by the regular muscle strains that can pockmark recovery.
Perhaps they went off the rails a little, captivated and distracted by bright lights and fame; it doesn’t take much to lose focus in a sport where focus often decides who sinks or swims.
Perhaps they simply fell a little out of love, month by month, season by season, the sport that was once their nirvana a little grubby when viewed up close.
But Origi is not broken, by injury or in spirit. He is not mistrusted or unwanted. He is still madly in love. On Saturday, he watched on as each of Liverpool’s front three found increasingly intricate ways to fail to score and then showed them exactly how to do it.
There are better strikers in the Premier League and better strikers at Liverpool, no doubt there. But few in the Premier League have a greater sense of timing.
Origi jogged away from that scene as teammates piled onto his back and whooped in wonder. There was an insouciance, perhaps even lethargy, to his movement, leaving the thrashing and leaping to those in the stands, on the touchline and around him on the pitch. It personified a simple message: “I’m Divock Origi. This is what I do. Surely you know this by now?”
Being a backup for any member of that Liverpool front three is hardly a damning indictment of anyone’s ability, particularly given that Origi’s attributes are so different to each of theirs.
But his apparent comfort in being a substitute sits awkwardly with our preconceptions of elite sport as a maelstrom of rampant ambition and self-promotion. We are predisposed to interpret happiness at second-best as a character flaw, let alone first reserve.
But Origi demands that we reconsider how to measure success, or at least extend its parameters. If it’s trophies you’re after, he has won the Premier League, Champions League, Uefa Super Cup and Fifa Club World Cup. If it’s making a difference in pursuit of glory, he has scored at least five goals that Liverpool supporters will discuss fondly around pub pints two decades from now. If it is a sense that you are loved, Jurgen Klopp called Origi a “club legend” on Saturday and cult hero status was assured long before then. If it’s international recognition, he has more than 30 caps for Belgium, has appeared at the Euros and scored at the World Cup.
Would every player prefer to start every match? Probably. Would Origi like more regular minutes at Liverpool? Almost certainly. To play is to receive vindication for the gruelling combination of sacrifice and effort that professional sportspeople must undergo and youth football is the most competitive sporting environment on the planet.
But to an extent, playing regularly is merely a conduit to the ambitions listed above. Players clearly want to play because they train all week to play and work without reward is psychologically challenging, but they also want to play because playing makes the greater aspirations more likely. To achieve them they need to contribute. To contribute they need to play well. To play well they need regular football. Without it, they can get rusty and fidgety all at once. Careers become a staccato song.
Origi has turned all that on its head. He has realised his ambitions because he has accepted his status within Liverpool’s squad and managed to prepare himself – mentally and physically – to perform in short bursts from a standing start. And that makes him almost unique. Ole Gunnar Solskjaer is probably the most famous “super sub” in the Premier League era, but he started 151 league matches in 11 seasons; that aided his ability to come off the bench to score. Origi has started 34 in six seasons.
Crucially, it is the importance of Origi’s goals that stand out rather than the volume. He has only scored 39 times for Liverpool and a third of those came in the League Cup. But the circumstances of his high points are so improbable that they automatically enhance his status: three goals against Barcelona and Tottenham in that Champions League salvo, goals in four Merseyside derbies. Only 13 players in history have scored more goals in that fixture.
Origi has found a way in which he can excel as an antidote to those ahead of him in the queue. Klopp has found someone willing to stick around and play that role. The Goldilocks principle fits here: Origi is good enough to score the chances that Liverpool inevitably create late in matches, but not good enough to be targeted by another elite club.
At some point, perhaps even at some point soon, Origi may well decide that his Liverpool career has run its course. He may compare himself to starting strikers at clubs slightly below Liverpool’s level across Europe and conclude that he is ready to lead rather than assist. But until then, he remains one of the most fascinating players in the Premier League.
He may occasionally escape your memory, drift from your radar, but he cares not. There Origi waits, ready for Klopp to break the glass in case of an emergency.
from Football – inews.co.uk https://ift.tt/3pyraQs
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