I still believe in Jesus
When you cover the club that you support, in a content sense, your biggest strength is your intimate knowledge of your club, your team, your manager, your players and a sense of the conversation among fans. The emotion you feel as a fan, when harnessed correctly, is also an enormous strength when it comes to relating to your audience.
It can also cloud your analysis, you can be susceptible to over emoting, to becoming frustrated or else ‘getting a bee in your bonnet’ about something and over indexing it. It’s a delicate line to tread. That tribalism can also impact your analysis of individual players- sometimes you have doubts over a signing, for example and you almost wait for them to prove your scepticism right in bad moments.
The reverse can be true as well. You can take a real shine to a player and become overly biased in their favour. Between 2015 and 2020 I had a gig writing about Brazilian football, both the Brazilian domestic league and the National Team. Gabriel Jesus burst onto the scene at Palmeiras squarely within that time frame and I immediately fell in love with the player.
Originally a winger that was converted to centre-forward during an injury emergency for Palmeiras, he was the sort of attacker I really liked. There was something unpolished about him but, at the same time, he was no luxury player. He worked his arse off in every single action.
I watched Palmeiras play a crunch Libertadores game away at Rosario Central in 2016. Palmeiras had to win to avoid a humiliating group stage exit and Rosario is one of the most intense and intimidating atmospheres on the continent. Playing just a few days after his 19th birthday, Jesus took the mission to qualify Palmeiras on his shoulders.
He scored twice…but then later on in the game his temper got the better of him and he was sent off. Palmeiras drew 3-3 and were eliminated, Jesus both gave and tooketh away. It served only to deepen my admiration for the player, he was an incredible, electric player but also just a little bit flawed.
At the age of 19, he also took the Brazil number 9 shirt. The selecao had endured a decade long search for a serviceable centre-forward since the retirement of Ronaldo. It was an enormous hole in their squad and qualification for the 2018 World Cup hung by a thread. The coach, Tite, threw Jesus in due to his precocious talent and because he had few other options.
The 19-year-old won a penalty and then scored twice for Brazil in a crunch, must win qualifier away at Ecuador. Just like he had for Palmeiras a few months previously, he took the responsibility on his young shoulders and delivered. In the ensuing years, I came to understand that the player probably put too much responsibility on his shoulders.
The fallout of Brazil’s ill-fated 2018 World Cup hit him hard. In the 2019 Copa America Final, he assisted the opening goal and then scored himself in a 3-1 victory against Peru. But, just as he had three years earlier in that Libertadores game in Argentina, his emotions got the better of him and he was sent off later in the game.
The clip of him bawling his eyes out in the tunnel went viral and is remembered far more than his match winning performance. It was clear this was a player of immense talent who probably just put a little too much pressure on himself. He spoke regularly about the futility and frustration he felt being behind Sergio Aguero in the pecking order at City. He eventually reverted to the wide forward position he had played for his entire youth career. Events weigh heavily on Gabi Jesus.
I watched the inevitable scramble among Europe’s elite to sign him in 2017. Bayern, Barcelona, Real Madrid and Manchester United were all in the hunt but the presence of Pep Guardiola at Manchester City swung his decision. I looked on with envy, at that point there was just no way that Arsenal could compete with some of those clubs for the signature of such a talent.
When he came to Arsenal in 2022, I was elated. I felt it was the perfect signing for ‘the project’ at Arsenal but, more than that, it was what my heart wanted. The emotional connection I felt with the idea of Gabriel Jesus probably superseded my analysis- but I also don’t think that made my analysis inaccurate.
Jesus always felt like an Arteta striker to me, much in the way that Havertz does. A player who works so hard and does pretty much everything but might just leave you wanting in the ‘would step over his own grandparents to score a goal’ stakes. Arteta’s team is at its best when the attack is an orchestra and while I never felt Jesus would win the Golden Boot in an Arsenal shirt, I did feel he would form a crucial part of the choir.
His desire to ‘correct’ a traumatic 2018 World Cup campaign saw him go to the 2022 World Cup with a knee injury that he aggravated and, alas, we just haven’t really seen the same player since. It is important not to succumb too much to nostalgia either, there were and are frustrations with Jesus when he is fit for a prolonged period. We have seen Arsenal suffer dysfunction and indifferent form while he has spearheaded the team.
I think, as a fan, I have also been in the position many times of seeing a player return from injuries- and the plural is key here for Jesus, the ACL injury he suffered in January was one of a series of knee issues- and convincing myself that they could play a reduced, yet still crucial role only to not see it materialise. Think of Kieran Tierney last season, we never really did get that big Tierney moment we all really wanted (he saved that one for his country!)
If you offered me one big Gabi Jesus moment before the end of the season- a huge goal in the title race, or a winning goal in a final or a Champions League knockout game- I would shake hands on it right now. This is not a player for the future, it is very unlikely that he signs another Arsenal contract, any contribution Arsenal yield from him before May ought to be treated with relish.
But when he emerged onto the pitch in Brugge on Wednesday night, I felt my memory bank recharging. I felt a little like I did as Oasis struck up the opening cords of ‘Hello’ at Wembley Stadium in July. I knew it wasn’t 1995 again (especially as I cradled my aching back on Wembley Way in the aftermath) but I was left to reflect on the power of memory and nostalgia and the sustainability of those twin forces.
In my head, I am pouring cold water on any idea of Gabriel Jesus rediscovering his summer 2022 self and sweeping Arsenal to glory in May. I am downplaying it and telling myself that I am too long in the tooth to fall for the romantic, Richard Curtis ending. Life is no fairytale. But in my heart, meu coracao…the idea and what my heart wants, just won’t die. Not yet.
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