Southampton has long been considered a 'nice' club. We use descriptors such as 'family' and 'welcoming' to this day, about our smallish, provincial team. We don't bother the back pages too much, except on the odd occasion we bloody the nose of a 'big' side, and even then our players won't pass through the deeply myopic gaze of Garth Crooks and his team of the week. Even at the odd away game, where you'll get a group of lads who've hoovered up a polar bear's arm of cheap gak pre-match, we're just so bloody pleasant as a rule.
We've always quite liked it that way too. But is part of our problem that we're too nice? We all got a little bit overexcited when James Ward-Prowse decided to go 'a bit cheeky' with Wilfred Zaha and got him sent off a couple of seasons back. Looking at it sensibly though, it smacked a little of a school prefect sneaking a hip-flask into a disco - added to the fact Zaha managed to get his revenge by scoring the winning goal against Southampton not long after.
Ward-Prowse and Zaha. They love each other really.
What we have really lacked recently is a good, old fashioned nutter. Ever since the Depp-esque, guitar playing Dani Osvaldo left - and let's be honest, he was more likely to headbutt our own captain than an opposition player.
Mad Saint. Exhibit One. Dani 'Depp' Osvaldo.
Enter Lyanco Evangelista Silveira Neves Vojnovic.
Football has always celebrated characters. You'd go to a game to watch Faustino Asprilla and Paul Gascoigne over Michael Owen and James Milner any day of the week. What makes this daft game so wonderful is the unexpected. It's the flick up and volley from 30 yards. The Elyounoussi sprint back and tackle that saves a goal (surely the fastest poor Moi has ever moved?) We don't want to see routine football, we want to see genius. Madness. Magic.
Ralph has long spoken about the need for "automations" in the way that Southampton play. A strict set of instructions that are meant to pop a sticking plaster over any deficit in quality, and create a unit that is disciplined, focussed and aware of their roles. It sacrifices individuality for the sake of the collective. Efficiencies. It makes sense when we don't have the financial muscle of the majority of the league, but it removes, on the face of it, the need for characters.
Or does it?
The game against Arsenal would suggest that no. No, it doesnt. Lyanco may not be the most capable player overall, but what he lacks in ability he makes up for in spades with passion, commitment and the sort of madness that wheels out the Chuck Norris memes. There was a key moment in the game, a game of course we were expected to lose heavily, where Lyanco goes through the back of the hugely influential Gabriel Martinelli. From that moment on, Martinelli just didn't seem to fancy it, having pretty much run the show up to that point. What followed was a little bit of "kid chasing a ball madly in the playground", a touch of overhead kick that ended up being a great pass, and an idiotic attempt at a headbutt on Eddie Nketiah, which probably could and should have been a red card. Welcome to Lyanco world. But just don't stay too long if you value your sanity.
Nutty.
There's a lot of excitement/anticipation about the prospect of the mad Brazilian-Serb going up against Wilfred Zaha in this weekend's game against Crystal Palace. A race to a red card awaits. In reality though, we have an England capped right back in Ainsley Maitland-Niles returning to action, and surely we shouldn't be utilising the more defensive back five system against a team such as Crystal Palace (despite the fact they have a dangerous front three). So that would mean Lyanco likely missing out from a tactical perspective.
Lyanco. Total loon.
But that's a shame. This is a team that doesn't have many obvious leaders. A madcap, headbutting, bicycle kicking, Cryuff-turning Brazilian centre back could be the thing that we need. The thing that gets the crowd pumped. The thing that pushes the other players to greater heights.
Or, equally, it could be the thing that takes us down to ten men after five minutes. And therein lies the delicate thread on which a football game rests.
Up the Saints!
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