London is Blue Dispatch #093

In the 53^rd minute, Jarrad Branthwaite cushions a header towards Nathan Patterson with Nicolas Jackson charging him down at speed. Under pressure from Madueke and Jackson, Patterson panics – what should be a simple back pass to Jordan Pickford turns into a through-ball for Jackson instead, who turns on the afterburners to get to within touching distance of the ball. Pickford leaves his line early, but it becomes clear instantly that he is never getting to the ball first. This is where something truly curious happens. Instead of stretching every sinew to prod the ball through Pickford’s legs, or even manipulate the ball to draw a penalty, Jackson pulls his foot away from the ball at the last second. Pickford slides in to clear the ball, and a gilt-edged chance evaporates.

Less than a week ago, in the 31^st minute against Fulham, he does everything perfectly in the lead up to another chance – selflessly dropping to the defensive 3^rd to help, releasing a quick forward pass for Neto and then accelerating towards the box. But just as Neto lines up one of his tantalizing crosses, Jackson pulls back for a split second despite being well-onside. Still adjusting his feet, he stretches a boot out to meet the cross, half-a-second too late, half-a-yard short. Bassey’s jump may have been a distraction but it was again that microsecond of indecisiveness that had cost Jackson the chance to break a 12-game scoring drought.

 A Touch of Madness

A little over 11 years ago, Atletico’s Adrian Lopez flashed a teasing cross across the Getafe goal in the 84^th minute. The cross looked like it would harmlessly roll past the far post for a goal kick. Except one madman was steaming in knowing well what was going to happen. He lunged at the back post at full speed, deflecting the ball in for a vital second goal, one that would guarantee a crucial 3 points, the eventual margin with which they’d beat Barcelona to the league title that season. After the ball crossed the line however, Diego Costa’s momentum smashed his shin against the post, leaving him screaming in agony, his shin split open and oozing a stream of crimson. He had to be stretchered off the pitch.

Just 6 days later, Costa started against Elche, scoring his 8^th in 6 games. 12 days after that game, he would go on to earn a clever penalty off Samuel Eto’o’s casual tackle and amongst a storm of boos, dispatch it with venom past Mark Schwarzer to put Atletico 3-1 up at Stamford Bridge. A couple of months later, he would be announced as Chelsea’s new center-forward. El Loco, the crazy one, as he was fondly known then, would thrive in the PL’s frenetic, physical chaos, fire 20 league goals in his first season to help Mourinho write his fairytale homecoming.

I began with Costa because the other needs no introduction. Didier Drogba’s legacy as part-man, part mythical-beast is one witnessed by many and etched in stone – there is perhaps no other center-forward in PL history that has made an opposition CB confess to having panic attacks before the game even began. In a game vs Norwich in 2011, a cross was whipped into the box from the left. A 33-year-old Drogba, perhaps enraged by Andre Villas-Boas’ decision to pick an out-of-sorts Fernando Torres over him in the last 3 league games, flew at it with the momentum of a runaway locomotive. Norwich’s keeper John Ruddy came out to punch it but caught Drogba’s face instead, leading to the Ivorian being knocked out cold midair before landing violently on the turf.

It did not matter he was 33. It did not matter that one of football’s most expensive center-forwards was lined up to replace him. Weeks later, Drogba would score 2 and assist the third in a must win game vs Valencia. After Villas-Boas was gone, he would spark off the unthinkable comeback vs Napoli, score the 1^st leg winner against one of the greatest football XIs to walk the earth. He would then play most of the 2^nd leg against that very team with a man down, covering the entire Barcelona half as the lone target man and double up a wingback out of possession. In the final, he would tower over Bayern’s defence and nearly snap Neuer’s wrist to equalize, before dispatching the winning penalty that made Chelsea the first and only team in the capital to win the holy grail.

When you ask what is the magic ingredient that concocts a thoroughbred Chelsea center-forward, the answer is not finishing. It is not speed. It is not intelligence. It is madness. It is an utter disregard for personal safety – the foolish notion that making first contact with a rubber sphere is more important than preserving a bone or ligament in the body. This is not to say wearing a fiberglass face-mask is a prerequisite to being a great forward, but on his first day at Chelsea, Costa famously asked John Terry to go to war with him.

Killer instinct. A world-class center-forward interprets that as two distinct qualities instead of just the one. Jackson’s near two-seasons with Chelsea have offered glimpses of a hesitant assassin, one constantly in self-doubt of when the ideal moment is to pull the trigger. In the 11^th minute against Everton, Palmer receives from a Caicedo ball win and finds Jackson a few yards off the Everton backline. In the vital half-second, he hesitates on the ball drawing out Patterson towards him. From here he goes from assurance to desperation – shifting the ball onto his left foot and shooting from outside the box, knowing well he hasn’t scored from his stronger foot outside the box in 8,700+ minutes, let alone with his weaker one.  

But then 15 minutes later, Enzo Fernandez’s punched pass finds him in a near identical position. This time, in one flawless movement, he moves the ball from left foot to right, from back-to-goal to facing it – with yards of separation and an invaluable second to take aim. The shot nestles perfectly past Pickford’s glove into the side netting. The 2^nd goal against Warsaw was even better – rolling the ball away with his right and then wrapping his foot around it with his left while off-balance, finding the top corner with it. These were glimpses of killer instinct at its finest – quick, decisive, lethal.

It is undeniable that time is on Jackson’s side. He is a relative baby compared to his peers in the PL and beyond; more so because he wasn’t even a centre-forward a little over two years ago. He confessed to being aware of Drogba’s early struggles at Chelsea in an interview - 10 league goals in his first season, 12 in his second before bagging 20 in the third. Didier was 28 in his 3rd while Jackson is weeks away from turning 24. However, missing 19 big chances for 10 goals in his 2^nd season will ensure his every act will be scrutinized under a high-powered microscope. Especially so because there are veteran madmen available in the market like Victor Osimhen, who suffered multiple cheek and eye-socket fractures which required 6 plaques and 18 screws inserted into his face after a collision with Milan Skriniar. The Nigerian forward may not be as good as Jackson outside the box, but inside it, he stretches, throws himself around with reckless abandon and possesses a leap and header that is second to none in Europe. There are younger brutes, like Liam Delap, who will be available after a knockdown price as well, which makes Jackson’s position as a starter next season far less assured.

Irrespective, the 23-year-old Senegalese knows the difference between being the heir to the two iconic maniacs before him and being just another victim of the Chelsea #9 curse is down to the little things. The first goal vs Djurgarden was the ideal example. Chasing down an overhit pass between the CB and the GK, he swivels from the CB’s left side to the right, correcting his mistake against Pickford – extending his lithe limb into the corridor of uncertainty and clipping the ball away to send Djurgarden’s defenders clattering into each other before walking it into the goal.

He is already turning out to be a performer on the big stage – 4 goals against Spurs, 2 against Newcastle, one against Manchester City and a glorious strike against Liverpool earlier in the season. If Jackson’s hesitation was down to the fear of failing, it is perhaps important to reflect on the fact that for most of the year, he did. But three goals in a game-and-a-half after none in 13 have left him needing 6 in the last 6 games of the season to better last season’s goal tally in all competitions. Ask Costa and Drogba – how badly do you want it? and there was only ever going to be one response. It is now Nico’s time to answer.