Football is worse off today than it was yesterday.
Jhon Durán is gone. Sold. Moved on. One of the last remaining agents of pure footballing chaos has left Aston Villa, and with him, another small piece of what made the Barclays the Barclays.
It’s a sad moment, really. Durán was never a player you built around, never a system player, never someone you’d trust to press correctly, track his man, or even consistently know what pitch he was on. But he was fun. And in a world of meticulously drilled tactical automatons, that fun is in short supply.
A Footballer of Vibes, Not Structure
Jhon Durán didn’t play football. He happened to football.
One minute, he’s curling in a goal-of-the-season contender against Everton, the next, he’s needlessly crunching into a centre-back for no apparent reason other than the fact that he can. His approach to pressing was… abstract, a sort of interpretive dance where you were never quite sure what he was thinking. He would tussle with goalkeepers, throw his arms up in frustration, and generally embody the kind of unpredictability that makes for an outstanding YouTube compilation.
His Villa debut? Almost a wonder goal off the bar against Man City. No time for intricate build-up play, no worries about structure, just hit it and see what happens. And for a brief moment, every City defender looked like they had no idea what to do.
In a game that increasingly demands every action be accounted for within an overarching system, Durán represented the last of a dying breed, a player who thrived in chaos, not structure.
The Death of the Mavericks
Why, in such a short time, did Durán leave such an impact?
Because football is losing its randomness.
The modern game is built around systematic control. Every player has a task, whether in possession, transition, attack, or build-up. Every team is a machine, drilled to death on when to press, where to move, how to structure attacks.
In this world, a player who does things because he fancies it is a nightmare for managers. Imagine spending all week drilling your players on meticulous positional play, only for Durán to receive the ball and belt it from 35 yards because… well, why not?
Unacceptable. Reckless. Wasteful.
But to the child in us, to those who grew up dreaming of long-range screamers rather than controlled, high-percentage cutbacks, he was perfect.
And that’s why his departure stings.
A Sensible Deal (But Where’s the Fun in That?)
Of course, from a footballing perspective, it makes sense.
Ollie Watkins is the striker Unai Emery wants, a player who presses well, links play, and thrives within Villa’s tactical structure. Durán? Not so much. Villa get a decent fee, they don’t sell to a Premier League rival, and ultimately, both parties move on.
But those of us who got to witness him? We know what we’re losing.
We say goodbye to one of the last true Barclaysmen, a player who could give you magic or madness, brilliance or banishment, a wondergoal or a reckless red card, sometimes all in the same game.
Farewell, Jhon Durán. You made football fun.
And in this modern age of tactical perfection, fun is priceless.