Joe Hart did something extraordinary this weekend -- well, perhaps that's not quite right. Something extraordinary happened to Joe Hart this weekend; something extraordinary happened at him and around him, and though he participated as best he could, he was never in any kind of control. As much victim as protagonist.
What was extraordinary, though, was the nature of the goal, a slapdash farce with Joe Hart at the -- er, centre. From a Hull perspective, it was decent reward for their persistence and led to an entirely unexpected away point. From the home team's angle, it perhaps offers further evidence that the defence really is a problem, that a Yaya-less midfield is another problem and having one problem in front of another is no way to adequately defend a title.Hull City scored a goal. In itself, that's not extraordinary; certainly unexpected, but they're a football team and that's what they, in theory, are supposed to be able to do. Even the worst teams in football have the capacity to nick one against their biggers and betters; Aston Villa got a goal at the weekend, completely ruining this paragraph's obvious payoff line.
And from Joe Hart's point of view? Here's how the goal went for City's keeper, in basic form: he saw Hull City's Robbie Brady move smoothly through the Manchester City midfield, then dink a pass to Sone Aluko; he saw Aluko take the ball on the outside of his foot then attempt to cut inside Martin Demichelis; he advanced from his line to claim the ball, only for the central defender to beat him to it and roll a weak clearance to the foot of Jake Livermore; he made a leaping, sprawling save that kept the ball from the net but left him in a heap outside his six yard box; he got up and jogged backwards while Fernandinho attempted and failed to backheel the ball past a defender; he saw Pablo Zabaleta tackle the ball into Gastón Ramírez; he threw himself to his left as the ball rebounded past him, into the post, then across and behind him; he just managed to get himself up and down again as David Meyler tucked the ball away; he knelt, beaten, in the middle of his goal, looking up at three defenders, all of whom looked at one another, then at him, then nowhere in particular.
This isn't particularly to blame Hart for the goal. Admittedly he probably didn't need to come for the ball when Demichelis made his tackle, and so he was out of position for the subsequent shot, which meant in turn that his save went up rather than the more traditional out. But he's not the only City player at fault in one way or another, and it's hard not to feel for any goalkeeper in such peculiar circumstances, even one who calls himself Hartdog.Here, though, is what actually happened to Joe Hart: he endured, in just 17 seconds, the entire career arc of a goalkeeper. He starred in a three-Vine tragedy, moving from the rash miscalculations of youth -- his quick scuttle forward to a ball he's no need to come for -- through the vulnerable heroism of a keeper's peak -- the save from Livermore -- and on into the bleak and inevitable moment when the universe, all at once, withdraws its patronage and lets the keeper fling himself helplessly across the goal not once but twice, before leaving him a beaten, broken man. It's not often that keepers find themselves undone by a rebounded tackle coming off first an attacker, then the post, and yet it's hard to think of anything that sums up the hopelessness of the goalkeeper's life quite so neatly.
Instead, we should be thanking him, and his colleagues, and the random clanking of the universe. If City had eased to the straightforward 2-0 victory that everybody expected, we'd all have woken up this Monday morning without this tiny, perfect work of art. City's title bid took another hit on Saturday, and so too did Joe Hart's general happiness. But our understanding of him, and of the tribulations of the goalkeeper's union, took a step forward. The world is a bigger place today. He conceded a goal, he created something beautiful. And for that we can all be thankful.
