The roar begins before the ball has even reached his feet. A lunchtime crowd at the Etihad Stadium, breath visible on the air, cooked breakfasts still sitting heavy in the stomach. And this is a crowd accustomed to excellence, to the known known, a crowd who in their post-treble glow do not so much anticipate as expect. Still, as the ball rolls towards him, they rise. Football is a cage in search of a bird. And here, that bird is named Jérémy Doku.
Something interesting has been happening at Manchester City this season. The melodies and harmonies have remained largely the same, but the backing track is different. Doku’s arrival from Rennes in the summer scarcely registered at the time, and indeed the rumour is that he was not a Pep Guardiola signing at all but a transfer driven by the director of football, Txiki Begiristain. Like the spa break you would never actually buy for yourself, Doku may not be the player Guardiola craved, but perhaps Begiristain could see that he was the player City needed. The scrawl of graffiti on the palace walls. The little spark of invention that renders the machine flesh. The pure joy of the dribble.
