It is a sad and irrefutable fact that traditional wing-play has become a thing of the past. Obsolete and distrusted, our deprival of it should be mourned every day.
Because back when tactics and statistics, percentages and possession, were all considerations but not yet obsessed over, a winger’s primary function was to hug the touchline, isolate his full-back, then attempt to beat him in one of a hundred different ways.
Perhaps pace was used, the ball knocked into space whereupon a foot-race would commence and football predictions were usually favoured towards the winger winning the race.
Failing that, a satisfying dip of the shoulder was always a viable option, the winger feigning to go one way, then darting the other. Chris Waddle comes to mind here. The absolute master of this particular craft.
If we were lucky, at some point in this enthralling two-hander, the full-back would rashly commit, leaving the winger hurtling a trailing leg like a Grand National thoroughbred.
The ultimate objective of course was to reach the by-line, and at this juncture the ball would be floated into the box, ideally stood up for a target-man to attack.
And with that, the winger’s job was done.
If this all sounds a bit Football 101, in hindsight it probably was, but that is to take nothing away from how thrilling it was to witness. It got bums off seats. Seeing a player take on another regressed us to the playground, to the base joy of the game.
Only too often the cross would be caught by the keeper. And with the winger out of commission, and his own full-back pushed up in support, and at least two team-mates loitering in the penalty area, it left a team exposed to a quick counter.
And in the modern game, rigidly fixated on shape and control, it is a cardinal sin to be exposed on the counter.
Furthermore, even taking on an opponent one v one came to be frowned upon. Because losing possession cheaply was the other cardinal sin.
So it was that wingers became inverted versions of their former selves, two quick and tricky ballers playing either side of a front-man, each deployed on their weaker side to allow them to cut inside and wreck the maximum amount of damage with the minimum risk.
All the better too, to press effectively.
Such is the way that tactics have evolved down the years, and such is the way at Brighton, where the right-footed Kaoru Mitoma plays on the left, and the left-footed Solly March is situated on the right.
But crucially, when it comes to the electrifying Mitoma especially, so long as the positional discipline is adhered to, and his pressing commitments are upheld, in every other regard all the betting is off.
The Japanese international flies at opponents, his balance pitch-perfect at high speed, leaving them back-pedalling and panicked. He jinks one way, then the other, a player who delights in confusion and the elusive.
Famously, as part of his university studies as a teen he even wrote a thesis on the art of dribbling, dissecting the ways and means to leave a defender flailing.
Last season, in addition to conjuring up a goal involvement on 18 occasions and volleying home an array of spectacular efforts, the 26-year-old executed 3.9 dribbles per 90 and only Jack Grealish and Gabriel Jesus were in the same ballpark.
In the most exciting and purest sense, Mitoma is a throwback, exhibiting the adventurous traits of yesteryear within the confines of a modern, conservative game.
He is loved by those who indulge in football betting online because he can change the course of an afternoon with an instant of improvised magic. He is adored by the Amex faithful because he gets them out of their seats. He thrills them and that is priceless.
Neutrals meanwhile watch on and smile, reminded of why we fell so hopelessly in love with the sport in the first place.
It certainly wasn’t tactics or statistics, percentages or possession. It was seeing a player take on another, sometimes just for the hell of it. It was that base joy.
*Credit for all of the photos in this article belongs to AP Photo*
