How many expected goals does one accrue when leaving a nightclub empty-handed?

In a move reminiscent of the Fenerbache manager who resigned and stormed out of a press conference after a bottle was thrown at him during the Champions League match against Roma, we raise the first toast of the weekend to Roy Keane. The former Manchester United midfielder has, in fact, explained once and for all what ‘expected goals’ are – that statistic which assesses the probability of a shot becoming a goal, a figure so nerdy that there are those who judge a team’s performance by how high that number is, and who cares if they didn’t score and maybe even lost: “When you go to a nightclub and chat all night with a girl, but then go home on your own, how many xG do you have?” Keane, a gentleman, expressed himself indirectly; I, less diplomatically, will state it plainly: xG is of limited value. Yet in an age that regards Greta Scarano as combating femicides merely by pointing at photographers in Venice with a serious expression, it is understandable that fans might become enthusiastic because their striker has had numerous shots that could have been goals.

They are almost as irrelevant as influencers at tennis matches—who, in fact, have been banned from the upcoming Wimbledon tournament: They often lack substantive knowledge of the sport, are present primarily to showcase their sponsors and engage in recreational activities, and produce content of such poor quality that it fuels concerns about the potential consequences of artificial intelligence.

And speaking of questionable decisions, the first round of the Champions League certainly gave us Como’s first historic victory in Europe, but above all it saw teams take to the pitch that would be an embarrassment even for the Conference League: long live democracy and football for the people, for goodness’ sake, but what are Lens, Sabah, Slovan, Viking and LASK in the same tournament as Bayern Munich and Real Madrid, apart from skewing the statistics and giving the big clubs the illusion that they’re absolutely brilliant?

As I’ve already written: if you’re happy, Ceferin’s happy. My final toast, however, goes to Orsato, the new head of Italian referees, who in the opening few matchdays of Serie A has effectively done away with VAR, making the matches more watchable and lifting the veil of hypocrisy that for too many seasons had shrouded a tool which, instead of eliminating errors, had not only multiplied them but had also added a veneer of punitive moralising that is so appealing to those who take themselves too seriously. It is no coincidence that I read that VAR is being defended by the nostalgic Luca Bottura in Domani (where else?), who lectures the new leadership using the overused yet ever-relevant metaphor of the ‘mirror of the nation’ (Serie A without VAR is like Italy, and vice versa) and laments the interventionism of the strongman in his Lissone headset. Too busy fighting fascism, he must have missed the shambles that football has become in recent years, with the very technocratic interventions he so laments.