Paul Pogba might never play a competitive football game again. The four-year ban for doping, unless he successfully revokes it – an unlikely outcome – would spell doom for a career that could be slotted straightaway into the textbook of cautionary lessons. It’s tragic that a career seemingly destined for the stratosphere could wither away in anonymity, even more tragic when the tragedy is largely self-scripted.
The French midfielder’s career had all the narrative arcs to weave a rags-to riches-and-glory story. The deprived upbringing in a rough quarter of Paris for immigrants; the jaw-dropping skills that crammed Le Havre Academy with scouts; exit and return to Manchester United for a then-record British transfer fee; a World Cup winner at 25, with the author of a stunning goal in the final; multiple-time league winner with Juventus, touted as the heir to Zinedine Zidane; the future bright and sparkling, a potential Ballon d’Or winner. Instead of being a genuine great of the game, this would be one of the greatest what-could-have-been stories with deep layers of intrigue and mystery.
But this is not the standard story of a promising footballer losing himself to the vices and opulence sudden stardom and wealth could bring. As extravagant as his lifestyle was, his was more a case of being lost in his own wealth of talent, his own tussle with his talent. What was his best position on the field? Pogba would struggle to nail it down. Was it on the left of the midfield, which was where he spent his glory years at Juventus? Was it as a box-to-box midfielder? Or a 10? Or a 6 or 8? He could do them all, yet could master none. He had virtues to specialise in each of the roles, blessed with technique and physicality. If only he had
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