We just saw the weirdest goal in Premier League history ... didn’t we?

Hello, and welcome to a very special edition of Tactically Naive, SB Nation’s weekly soccer column ...

A conversation between two footballs: the one involved in the goal scored by Darren Bent against Liverpool in October 2009 (hereafter “Beach Ball”), and the one involved in the goal scored by Divock Origi against Everton in December 2018 (hereafter “Cross Bar”).

Beach Ball: So, how are you doing today?

Cross Bar: You know, I’m actually feeling okay. I was expecting to be a little down, but I’m holding up fine. Not that I don’t appreciate you calling, of course.

BB: Have you watched the tape back yet?

CB: … no. Not quite there, yet. How long did it take you?

BB: Oh, I watched it back the same night, just to try and work out what happened. But after that … yeah, it took a while. Eventually I just said to myself, “Look, at this point everybody else has seen it several times, and you should probably catch up.” It’s a video of me, after all. No point everybody else knowing what happened, in great detail, from every possible angle, and me missing out.

CB: Yeah, I’m not going to wait too long. Get it done before New Year’s, I think. And move on from there.

BB: So talk me through it. From your point of view.

CB: Okay. So … well, Everton were hanging on a little bit, but I wasn’t expecting much. To come and go as just another phase of play. Liverpool had been terrible from set pieces all day. Even when the keeper gives me a poke to make the angle better, it doesn’t seem to work. I bounce around a bit, and then Virgil van Dijk swings his leg and I balloon into the air —

BB: At this point you’re thinking ... what?

CB: “Well, that’s that.” At first I thought I was sailing over and wide, but when I started to spin down and dip, I began to think I might land on the roof of the net. Always quite pleased when that happens.

BB: Yeah, it’s fun, isn’t it?

CB: Kind of like being young again. Anyway, I spin a little more, and suddenly I think “Hang on, I’m going to hit the bar here.”

BB: It’s a weird moment, isn’t it? When you’ve decided that there’s never going to be a goal, and then suddenly it’s back on. I remember Bent’s shot being okay, nothing more — and then suddenly I’m flying in the opposite direction and everybody’s laughing.

CB: Were you … embarrassed?

BB: You know, I kind of was. I don’t really know why. The goal wasn’t on me, after all. It was on whoever threw the beach ball, and then dumb luck, and then the referee. Probably in reverse order, that list. But you know how it is: you want to be remembered for flying into the top corner at a million miles an hour, or making your way through a 40-pass move, or whatever. Being known for weirdness, for being a freak, is a little disappointing.

CB: Do you think it’s the same for the players?

BB: Perhaps. Presumably they have they same desire: to be remembered for moments of brilliance. But then they get more shots at it, at least if they’re lucky. Pepe Reina did. It seems likely that Jordan Pickford will too.

CB: God, I hope so. Poor sod. It was so awkward, just hanging there in the box, as it became clear just what he’d done. I could see the panic rising up in his eyes as he scrambled across.

BB: Were you thinking “Hang on, where are the defenders?” Because I was.

CB: Yes! But you know, I can kind of see why they switched off a little. I’m going over, right? Job done. And then, suddenly, I’m not.

BB: I suppose I never had to cope with the knowledge that one of the players had made a terrible decision. It’s not like Reina had been playing with the beach ball as Bent was charging through. Whereas Pickford, for all that confusion that the spin caused, ended up in a couple of pretty weird positions.

CB: So I haven’t seen it back yet. But my guess is that he made two errors of judgement in quick succession. First he decides I’m going beyond the bar, which means he doesn’t have to do anything. And then, as I spin, he panics and decides it’s coming down inside the bar, which is why — if you’ll excuse the volleyball terminology — he goes for the set and not the spike.

BB: You ever spent any time with the volleyballs? Great bunch of lads.

CB: Maybe he was worried about the possibility of another corner as well. The Kop wakes up, the noise comes back, Van Dijk gets to do some more self-important pointing. Better just to sort of … feebly pat it upwards.

BB: So I suppose the final question here is: which of us is going to win? When the clip shows roll around, and we take our places in the 50 Strangest Premier League Moments, or whatever. Which of us is coming in higher?

CB: Oh, that’s tough. I think you have the advantage when it comes to pure strangeness. The beach ball was an external object, after all, and had no business being on the field.

BB: Plus — and I’m sure you haven’t seen it as much as I have, so take my word for this — it does kind of move into position. It drifts across the box like a goalhanging striker. Hey, I wonder if it was offside.

CB: Ah, of course, it was all the linesman’s fault.

BB: But then I think you have the advantage when it comes to occasion. Anything that happens in a Merseyside derby is always going to be weirder than Sunderland-Liverpool, and also your moment came well into injury time. And there was a lot of celebrating — did you see Jurgen Klopp ran onto the pitch?

CB: Did he? No, I was too busy staring at Pickford’s flushed face, which was staring back at me in a kind of blank horror.

BB: Fair, I suppose. Anyway, I think you’ll beat me on that basis. Your goal was a moment. Mine was just a novelty.

CB: A very weird novelty, though.

BB: Yes, that’s fair. What a silly game this can be.