Alvaro Negredo shows that being a forward can be very lonely

Alvaro Negredo’s most meaningful touch in the first half against Manchester City was passing the ball to start the game. His next involvement was an attempt to secure possession after a George Friend long ball. He was dispossessed easily by Fernandinho. The minutes after, and for most of the half, he stood off-frame of the camera as Manchester City set up camp in Middlesbrough’s defensive third.

In the few instances where he was in view of the watching audience, the game was played around him. He pressured the defenders, made runs and jogged about, but it was all part of the theater of being a striker; he did what he was taught and what he has always known to do, but he could have easily stood still to the same effect.

If managers, trainers, and the world at large were to be honest with young strikers, they would tell them that there would be lots of times like these: times of isolation, of inactivity. Periods of jogging around and going through the motions. Times of loneliness on the field. And this would not be their fault. It is not a consequence of laziness or an indicator of lack of quality. These moments of desolation can no more be blamed on the strikers than birds be damned for migrating as the seasons change. It is part of the natural process.

He was alone and useless because his team had to defend. If they were to have any chance at survival, they needed most men behind the ball. They needed to be disciplined and compact. To be an impenetrable shell, repelling all points of attack and shielding against inquisitive shots and threatening runs. And yet, he could not join them in this endeavor because they also needed him to occupy the central defenders. To be their target man, the release valve and their hope should they win the ball and dream of countering.

The trouble with that hope and most hopeful situations is that its basis is on achieving the exception rather than acknowledging the rule. When Boro did win the ball, their only option was to launch it forward in search of Negredo, who was promptly swarmed, hassled, battered, and relieved of possession. Most times he had no support, other times, he failed on his own.

In the seventh minute, Jesus Navas tried to play a through ball to Pablo Zabaleta on the right side Boro’s box. Friend intercepted and played the ball out to Stewart Downing, who then fired it down the touchline looking for Negredo. The man known as “The Beast” waited for the ball to drop by the halfway line, and as John Stones closed in, he touched the ball beyond the defender. But like a newborn calf trying to run before it has learned to walk properly, he stumbled over his own feet, fell, and slid on the ground. Stones restarted the attack and Negredo took the long, lonely, shameful trot back into the center.

At that moment, the commentator said: “It’s going to be a long afternoon for Alvaro Negredo, up there on his own.”

It’s an odd thing to feel sympathy for a forward. Of everyone on the field, they’re the ones under the least amount of pressure. A forward can lose the ball multiple times, miss chances, trot about, and not make runs, complain, refuse to track back, and stand idly as the game goes around them. They are allowed to go on barren runs of form, a privilege not allowed to too many others.

It’s not ideal for them to be uninvolved, and Negredo’s opposite number, Sergio Aguero, was benched recently for some of these transgressions. But in comparison to others on the field, the forward has the most freedom to fail. They are further away from goal, so the consequences of their failures are less immediate, and they only truly need to succeed once or twice in front of goal to be effective. It’s the nature of being a “creative.” And if they do score those chances, regardless of everything else, they’re often praised and rewarded. Cristiano Ronaldo is the highest-paid player in the world, after all.

The whole team works as a unit, each position depends on the others to be effective, but It’s easy to sympathize with defenders and goalkeepers: mistakes by them are critical. And it’s understandable to feel sorry sometimes for midfielders, who are burdened with incredible responsibility. Other players are in positions where failure hangs over them like a sword on a thread, forwards are not. They have too much freedom to usually elicit such emotion.

Until you see one like Negredo, detached from the game by the virtue of being on a bad team; making runs, trying to shield the ball in vain, and often throwing his hands up in frustration at his reality. Thankless and destitute. You see him take his only shot of the game, an effort from the halfway line, out of ambition, desperation, and knowledge that he may not get another opportunity. You see “The Beast” standing around, downtrodden, and removed from the activity and chaos that forwards feed on, and it’s just very sad.

Negredo has been this type of figure this season, sympathetic because of his isolated position in a team that has only scored 10 goals so far. He has only one of them. And as he chased lost cause after lost cause, it’s difficult to remember him in his full form, as the same man who took Michael Dawson’s soul with an unimaginable turn before scoring one of the most wonderful goals of the 2013-2014 season. A year that he finished with 23 goals in 48 appearances and won the title with Manchester City.

His return to the Etihad Stadium saw him cut a forlorn figure. City scored in the 43rd minute through Aguero, who had eight shots and was involved in the overall play all game. Boro responded in the 90th when Friend crossed the ball into the box looking for Negredo. The ball was too high for the striker but dropped perfectly at the far post for Marten de Roon to head home. As his teammates ran off in celebration, Negredo lagged behind them. He didn’t touch the ball during the entire buildup to the goal. A few moments later the whistle came, the game and his long afternoon, which he ended with more fouls than shots, was over.