Grealish never conformed as Guardiola’s ‘obedient little schoolboy’ but glorious third act beckons

A figure toils alone at Bodymoor Heath. The light fades, but against the setting sun his silhouette is distinctive: the floppy hair, the hunched gait, the vast calves. Jack Grealish is working, honing and polishing, inventing, striving at the limits of technical excellence.

He has inspired Aston Villa to promotion. He has helped them avoid relegation, establish themselves as a Premier League side. He is enormously popular. Even opposing fans admire his ability, warm to the sense he is still in some way the impish kid in the playground, revelling in his ability, having fun. That summer at the Euros he had become a cause célèbre, the figure behind whom the clamour for Gareth Southgate to release the handbrake rallied, the poster boy for the sort of pundit who wished England would just believe in talent.

But Grealish wanted more. He was a Villa fan, loved the club, but he wanted to test himself at the very highest level, to compete for the league title, to play in the later stages of the Champions League. He did not want to be just the cheeky kid with the jinking feet; he had professional ambition. At which there came a flash of light, a puff of smoke, and there appeared on the heath a cadaverous, dark-haired figure – Mephistopheles, or perhaps an agent. Grealish could have all these things, the figure said, he could lift trophies, even win a treble, if only he signed a six-year contract with Manchester City. As Grealish reached for the pen, the figure murmured, almost under his breath, that there would be a cost. But by then the deal was done.

Which is how we have come, four years later, to this week, and Grealish, the first £100m signing by a British club, being loaned to Everton. He has won three league titles, a Champions League and an FA Cup; the cadaverous figure has fulfilled his part of the bargain. Yet there lurks a sense that Grealish’s move four summers ago has not quite worked out, that though much has been won, much too was lost. Perhaps David Moyes, a common line of thought runs, can help the lost boy rediscover his sense of joy.

Read the full article at The Guardian

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