Imagine becoming the fastest player to reach 250 club goals this century but still finding yourself the object of unrelenting ridicule. Such is the perversity of the role Erling Haaland inhabits at Manchester City, where he can equalise against Arsenal with a header of impeccable technique and yet serve as the lightning rod for all the deep-seated resentment that has come to define this superheated rivalry. He is a walking paradox, capable of rewriting the script in the blink of an eye with his poacher’s instinct, while idling through the rest of the match as a spare part.
Haaland risks turning into a luxury striker this season, waxing and waning according to his mood. He took only six touches in the first half, completing one of three passes and offering zero defensive contributions. True to confounding type, he stirred belatedly into life, rising highest to bury Savinho’s cross and kindle some semblance of a fightback. But no sooner did Phil Foden clumsily gift Thomas Partey Arsenal’s second goal than the Norwegian appeared to lose interest, making just one further contact with the ball all game. He was a study in surly fatalism, a ghost ship adrift on a turbulent sea.
At 24, Haaland might be a rampant record-setter, whether in his strike-rate or in the length and lavishness of his contract extension. But is he genuinely the player you want alongside you in a desperate fight? Not on this evidence, with Haaland devoting greater energy to his own petty back-and-forth with Arsenal fans than to the collective cause. At the final whistle, his riposte to those taunting him was to point first at his head, as if to suggest mental strength, and then at the Premier League champions’ badge on his sleeve. All this would have been well and good if City had snatched a point or three. After losing 5-1, though?
The gesture was a reminder of how Haaland, even with his luminous CV, had certain priorities askew. Not that he was solely to blame, with his father Alfie also joining the fray. In reply to an Arsenal message on X – “This team” was all it said – he replied: “‘This team’ that wins everything. Ehh, not.” Once the dust settles on this extraordinary result, and the emphatic shift in the balance of power between City and Arsenal, the family might reflect that there are times to chirp at your critics and times to keep your counsel.
Instead Haaland allowed himself to be swept up by the melodrama of a one-man soap opera. It was his own fault, ultimately. He had been the original provocateur with his ill-advised antics at the Etihad last September, throwing a ball at Gabriel Magalhães’s head and calling Gabriel Jesus a “clown” – not to mention telling Mikel Arteta to “stay humble” and asking Myles Lewis-Skelly, “Who the f--- are you?” Arsenal enacted almost symphonic revenge here, right down to the moment Lewis-Skelly marked his goal by crossing his legs and signalling to the skies in mocking imitation of Haaland’s ‘Zen’ celebration. Copycat gestures rarely come more brazen or premeditated.
Haaland’s wind-ups had provided all the rocket fuel Arsenal required, with their devastating attacking display forcing City to show humility themselves. Time and again they derided him, with Gabriel heralding Martin Odegaard’s opening goal by screaming in the striker’s face. At 4-1 up, the Brazilian doubled down, contemptuously instructing Haaland to go and fetch his boot after it had flown loose. It was that kind of occasion – bitter, rancorous and, yes, uproariously petty.
You wonder how much longer City can abide seeing their superstar attract all this pantomime villainy. Never mind being the Emirates’ resident wind-up merchant, they need him to be the lethal marksman, screening out the outside noise and setting an example through his talent alone. But Haaland is still too inclined to be a passenger, too easily lapsing into indolence once he feels a match slipping beyond his grasp. While he might have taken his one chance with aplomb, he otherwise faded into invisibility, save for clapping back at his tormentors in the crowd.
In one sense, Haaland’s superiority complex is well-founded. He has racked up his 250 club goals in a mere 313 games – even Lionel Messi needed 327, while Cristiano Ronaldo took 451. But is his habit of being minimally engaged when there is not a gaping net at his mercy sustainable? Pep Guardiola is within his rights to demand more. At a time when City’s very foundations are creaking, with their defence alarmingly porous and their midfield non-existent at times, it ill behoves their No 9 to turn in such pedestrian performances.
Guardiola resembled a man on the ragged edge at Arsenal, kicking the ground in disgust when City lost possession to Gabriel Martinelli, recognising about five moves before anybody else that his team were about to concede a fourth. It was hardly unreasonable to ask Haaland to deliver for his manager, to respond to a situation of maximum stress with a display of maximum effort. Except he barely moved for long stretches, as though more distressed by Arsenal supporters taking his name in vain than by the fact City were hurtling towards perhaps their most embarrassing result of the Guardiola era. He has just signed a 10-year contract, mythologising his brilliance with a “Dear defenders” video. The least he could do, in these traumatic times for his club, is to start showing that he truly cares.
