Ladies and gentlemen, meet the striker, a position for people who have the attention span of a goldfish but the ego of a rock star. Their only job is to put the ball in the net, and if they fail, they get paid millions anyway. It’s the only gig where you can be lazy for 89 minutes, then score one lucky goal, and be hailed as a genius.
Think of them as the office worker who does nothing all day but spikes the coffee mug into the trash can at 5:01 PM. A great striker—like a prime Haaland or Kane—has the deceptive grace of a runaway fridge. They can turn on a dime, but if you ask them to defend? They look like a baby giraffe on roller skates.
