There’s always that guy. Never be that guy. Fight the urge to become that guy, to yearn always for the old, good, safe things, to feel headphone-panic and selfie-disgust, to see moral decay in haircuts. Except, sometimes it turns out you just are that guy, propped up in your easy chair, eyes blazing, smelling slightly of damp laundry, and holding forth on a theme as old as all human life.
That theme is always the same. You know that thing you like? Well, it’s actually bad. And in a way that I will now explain at great length. So here he comes again, that guy. And this time he’s talking about Lamine Yamal. Enjoyed that, did you?
In reality it was impossible not to enjoy Barcelona v Inter on Wednesday night, which turned out to bean amazing game of football. Barcelona are such a moreish team now, not just for their ability to keep the ball but for the way they do it, which is always risky and creative, a high-wire act performed by wispy little stern-faced men made of feathers and elastic bands.
There has been talk recently about the hyper-processed nature of modern players, butBarcelonastill seem to put out their own distinct tactical roles and physical types. The non-specific ball-conduit, the all-purpose dribble gnome, the roving flank goblin. What does Fermín López actually do? No one knows. Not even Fermín López. But it’s good. Against Inter the whole game moved through Frenkie de Jong, who spends half his time arguing furiously with the referee, the rest gliding around without leaving a mark on the turf, so elegantly precise you expect to look down and notice he’s wearing ballet slippers.
Best of all on Wednesday was a classicclash of styles,and also of eras. Inter are like a retread of another way to be good: robust defenders, solid combinations,unfussed playing without the ball. They were excellent at Montjuïc, exposing the brittleness of Barcelona’s set-piece defending, the outrageously high defensive line like a glitch or a dare, and creating a textural contrast that raised further absorbing notions of … you’re still thinking about Lamine Yamal, aren’t you?
And yes, that was a deliberately annoying digression into non-Lamine Yamal stuff, just to make a point about the Lamine Yamal-overload during and after the game, which was both startling and weirdly one-note.
Lamine Yamal was the buildup, the takeaway and also the TV commentary to this game, which for long periods was just Rio Ferdinand saying “OH MY GOD” a lot. In the second half you kept having to check the score to make sure it wasn’t actually 6-1 to Barcelona (Lamine Yamal 6), as opposed to a 3-3 draw and a good away result for Inter.
The internet duly spasmed with man-worship. The chat on the radio the next day was aboutbetter than Messi at that age. This feels like a catch-up moment, hyperbole falling into step with the reality, which is that Lamine Yamal is already the most extravagantly gifted attacking player in the world, latest in that line of once-every-20-years talents.
The Messi comparisons don’t really go anywhere at this stage. But they have two obvious things in common. First, the relationship with the ball, the ability to make it come alive and do weirdly personalised things. I was there inMunich last Julywhen he decided to just stop in the middle of the most packed and pressed tournament game, skip away from Adrien Rabiot like a child teasing a friendly dog, then shoot in a strange parabola, the ball hanging, dipping and arcing into a spot that hadn’t seemed to exist as a serious option.
And second, there’s the same relationship with time and space, a kind of fly-vision, the ability to see it all in slow motion. Lamine Yamal’s goal on Wednesday night involved skating through an invisible channel of air, then doing something impossible with his foot mid-stride, casually shifting the point of contact to make scoring from a closed, front-on angle seem not just possible but entirely logical.
So Lamine Yamalis brilliant. Brilliant is fine. We’ve seen brilliant before. But he is also fascinating in other ways. Mainly he’s something new, the first outright superstar to emerge entirely in the terminally online world, out there to be consumed, worshipped, pulled apart, and never ever left alone from his earliest years, obliged to mean something, to always perform, to a degree of soul-melting intensity only this version of the world has ever managed. What is it going to do to him?
He is also utterly modern in his style. There is something odd about watching Lamine Yamalplay. Why is this so enjoyable? Why am I unable to look away or move from my screen? I think this is because his way of playing is perfectly adapted to how we consume the world. His role to keep taking the ball, to problem-solve, invent, find space and angles.
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Because Barça always have possession he is basically doing this all the time. And it’s completely addictive, a constant stab of pleasure, the perfect dopamine footballer for a time where our brains have grown to crave that endless reel of light and heat injected straight into your eyeballs. We need the hit. And Lamine Yamal is basically an endlessly scrolling reel.
By the same process he also feels like a significant figure in the cultural shift towards individuals over teams. Elite sport has veered towards this kind of idol culture, the tendency among fans and also journalists towards a weirdly sensual obsession with individuals, moments, close-ups, the pretence that these athletes are in some way semi-divine beings to be overtly fawned over.
This makes commercial sense. Individuals are easier to sell. They make sense to non-fan consumers. They’re easier to comment on too. No need to understand all that boring systems football. Ballon d’Or! Warm feelings! Cake!A tomahawk steak covered in gold! Lamine Yamal!
Does he get to survive this in one piece? Football will go to work on everything, will stretch you thin, corrode your vital parts. Barcelona has always managed to paint themselves as the good guy club, the underdogs, the ewoks, but this is also an institution driven by ravenous commercial hunger. To the hierarchy Lamine Yamalis a financial lever. What incredible good fortune, in a time of vast debt, to find this thing, the most marketable young player on the planet. What was the better result for Barcelona on Wednesday? Do you actually need to win the game? Or is the real victory the global Lamine Yamal moment, the relentlessly yodelled player branding triumph? Which brings in more money?
Superstars have always been treated brutally. Perhaps there was a small hiatus in the case of Messi-Ronaldo, a moment where modern ideas of welfare and enough money to protect yourself intersected with still having some shadows in which to hide. Lamine Yamal doesn’t have this.
There he is, out there dancing for the world in a time of blanket worship and rage. Keep on doing that thing, pumping that sweet, sweet brilliance into the shared digital vein. And whatever you do don’t ever stop, or fail, or have any doubts, for your sake as well as ours.