The anatomy of a goalmouth scramble

Definition: Overpowering fright, often affecting groups of people or animals.
Origin: Ancient Greek ‘πανικός’, ‘of Pan’, who, among other things, was responsible for spooking animals when there was no other cause. Via French ‘panique’.

Unlike herd animals, panicked footballers don’t stampede. Instead, they lose cohesion, drifting towards the ball as though some great gravitic force has suddenly overwhelmed them. The collective noun for a group of panicked footballers is, of course, A Scramble. If you are a connoisseur of Scrambles — and why wouldn’t you be? — you will find an unparalleled example at the 10:41 mark in the video above. Or you can click for a GIF. I’m not picky.

Scrambles don’t exactly live and die by their context, but in this case the context helps. Newcastle, heading into the third minute of second-half stoppage time at Everton, found themselves 2-0 down. An overhead kick from Florian Lejeune brought them back to within one, but with only seconds left to play, an equaliser seemed overwhelmingly unlikely.

The scene is set for the Magpies to play a long free kick forward, for Everton’s Tom Davies and Mason Holgate to get sucked under the flight of the ball and ...

... for Federico Fernandez to miscontrol. The ball goes bobbling off towards the byline, and Newcastle have gone from having a prime shooting chance to having none. And then Fernandez, seven yards from goal and from a ferociously acute angle, shoots anyway.

In this screenshot, the ball is difficult to make out, because it has essentially melded with both Everton goalkeeper Jordan Pickford’s left hand and the near post. At this point I would like you to stop and imagine Pickford’s internal monologue. He’s under a terrific amount of stress when the ball comes to Fernandez. He knows that a shot which could define the result is about to be sent his way. His focus is on positioning, footwork, covering the angles. And then, suddenly, relief! Fernandez has wasted his chance! There will be no shot forthcomi—

If a little voice in Pickford’s head didn’t produce a garbled scream as the football came darting towards his face I will eat my own keyboard.

It is these moment, when expectations come merrily undone, that Scrambles are born. The ball ricochets off the post, leaving the goalkeeper stranded and the defence off balance. Naturally, it finds a Newcastle player; naturally, Isaac Hayden despatches it back towards the goal as quickly as possible, whereupon ...

... it is met by two Everton players, defending for their lives. The presence of two teammates occupying the same space in any sport is generally bad news, indicating that something has or is going horribly wrong. Note also Pickford’s position relative to the goal line. This will become important in due order.

Perhaps because the defenders were in each others’ way or perhaps out of a sense of perverse cosmic inevitability, Hayden’s blocked shot falls straight to Lejeune, four yards from goal. He gets enough on his awkward volley to direct the ball back to the Everton goal ...

... but Pickford makes a crab-like, scuttling save, only to drop the ball straight onto Emil Krafth’s feet. Panicked by this turn of events and perhaps flummoxed by the bounce, Krafth takes an age to sort out his body positioning and shoots again ...

... right at Pickford’s face. From two yards. Slapstick pain is not a necessary aspect of Scrambles, but some schools claim it adds a certain flair to the proceedings. They are, of course, correct. Pickford then somehow manages to fall on top of the loose ball despite Newcastle’s attempt to jam it over the line, and the game is saved.

Except for ...

... Oh dear. (I told you that Pickford’s positioning would be important.)

It’s the post-climatic nature of this Scramble that really makes it. The triumph of poor Pickford, who produced two spectacular saves, endured a point-blank kick to the face and finally covered up the ball to save his team from a shock draw, is wiped from the record books by his temporarily misplacing his own goal line. When push came to shove, Pickford rose to the occasion, only to find his heroic deeds unravelled by a simple, perhaps inexplicable error.

Football is beautiful. Football is tragedy.