The Beauty & Glory Of Missing An Open Goal

He shoots, he scores! Or, if you happened to be Fernando Torres yesterday afternoon, you didn’t. There are several reasons why a Premier League match which had, as they say, a little bit of everything will most likely remembered for one moment of aberration, some connected to the eye-watering amount of money that Chelsea played for said player, others through a sense of a relief that it effectively ended much chance of a tight finish to a match that Manchester United should have long since wrapped up, but most for reasons of good, old fashioned schadenfreude. The effect, however, remains the same – hooting derision aimed at a player that is starting to rediscover a hint of the form and confidence that once made him such a terrifying prospect for the supporters of all other Premier League clubs. Like an active volcano which hasn’t erupted for a few centuries, Mount Torres might be about to rain down goals upon the Premier League, and some of the laughter at his miss may even just have been coated with a thin veneer of relief. Before I say anything else, though, a confession – I have felt that pain. Well, kind of. About twelve years ago or so, I was playing in the quarter-final of a Sunday League cup when, with just a few minutes left to play and the score tied...

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