A Free-Kick to Remember

Declan Rice's two brilliant free-kicks on Wednesday don't need to be analysed. They need to be felt.

One of the things my dad always appreciated in sport was when a losing captain — or fan, for that matter — could acknowledge when the other team played better. Nothing frilly, just a simple admission, a little nod. “Credit to them, they played well.” That’s all it takes.

Now I try to remember this because the sad truth is that no matter how much you love your team, sometimes they will lose and sometimes they will get outplayed and sometimes, someone else will just be much, much better and you can’t help but give them credit for it.

So on Wednesday, when Declan Rice laced in the first of two absurdly good free-kicks against Real Madrid in the Champions League quarter-final, I tried my level best to remember what my dad taught me.

I dropped my sandwich to the plate in frustration as I watched Rice whip the first utterly brilliant set piece into the top right corner from 30 yards out. This was a screamer — certainly the best free-kick I’ve seen in quite some time.

But that moment of shock and awe lasted for just a whopping twelve minutes because the bastard then struck an even cleaner hit, somehow more perfectly placed, even more top corner, an even better shot to rub salt into the wounds.

If the first one was good, the second was perfect. This was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of performance from Rice. And honestly, considering how badly Madrid played, I’d say conceding those two unreal free-kicks made them look much better than they actually were.

Their collective expression when Rice hit the first one was one of begrudging acknowledgement, as if they couldn’t help but be impressed. And why shouldn’t they be? This was not a goal you could be mad at. Kylian Mbappe flubbed his lips like he often does when another footballer scores an unbelievably good goal (they’re allowed to do that, you know?).

And when he hit the second one, there was a sense of disbelief. He can do that once, but the odds of it happening twice are ridiculously slim. Jude Bellingham looked dazed, watching on beady-eyed and brain-fried, as the Emirates erupted into thunderous cheers. This was a moment to be framed, savoured.

As Rice stood over the second one, I thought to myself there’s absolutely no way he scores this one too. He did, of course, serving me and probably plenty of others a nice slice of (stay) humble pie in the process. This was unexpected but not at all unwelcome. Football — and sport in general for that matter — is built on these moments. It’s what makes it interesting, exciting, romantic.

And free-kicks especially are very romantic. There is something utterly satisfying about a free-kick, isn’t there? Not just the goal or the aesthetic, but the mythology. Beckham, Juninho, Roberto Carlos, Ronaldo, Messi — some of the greatest takers producing some of the game’s greatest free-kicks.

Think back. David Beckham curling one in against Greece to send England to the World Cup in 2002. Juninho’s dipping shot from that angle against Barcelona in the Champions League in 2009. Roberto Carlos defying the laws of physics with his banana shot from 40 yards out against France in 1997. These moments are immortalised into the very fabric of this game. Forever.

The silence. The anticipation. The excitement. It is overwhelming, spilling out across every stadium. A palpable tension settles over the crowd; some hope they can witness something special, others know they will. The goalkeeper sets his wall. The taker sets himself. The whistle blows, and breath is held. Anything can happen.

Most of the time, the ball clatters into the wall or sails into the stands. The anticipation comes crashing down and a collective breath turns into a collective groan. But sometimes, less and less in today’s game, fans are treated to something extraordinary.

The silence hangs in the air, just as the ball does. Time stops, eyes slowly wander upwards, and then the net ripples. The gasp becomes a roar and the ball nestles where it belongs — as if it’s been guided and placed there by the footballing gods themselves.

The parabola is so often perfect. And when it squeezes through that narrow gap between the goalkeeper’s outstretched fingertips and the inside of the post, you can’t help but feel a giddy sense of excitement. This is the game.

There is also something very arrogant about a player shooting from a free-kick, particularly when it comes off and the ball actually ends up in the net. Maybe not intentionally, but there’s a certain audacity to it. A sense of superiority. A quiet defiance. As if to say: go on, set up as much as you want, try as hard as you can, I’m still going to blast this top bins.

And when it works, it feels inevitable. Of course this was going to happen. How could it not?

Free-kicks are special. And they should be kept that way. If I think back to some of the greatest free-kicks I’ve ever seen — basically a Juninho highlight reel with sprinklings of Beckham — its quite astonishing. Not for any other reason than the fact that I see players, audaciously and arrogantly, doing things I wish I could do.

Bend it top corner. Curl it around the wall. Hit the valve clean. Get it to dip. Knuckle it straight past the keeper. Basically blast the ever-loving daylights out of it and do something so unpredictable, yet so very expected.

Photo by Alex Burstow/Arsenal FC via Getty Images

Maybe it’s just me, but lately I’ve been thinking more about how football makes me feel rather than what it means. I don’t think we’ll ever know what it means, and I don’t think we’re meant to. I used to write to explain things — the tactics, the statistics, the moments — and to bring light and depth to the game. But working in football has helped me recover the value in remembering.

I want to write to remember. To remember how it feels when the ball arcs just right, when it rises and dips perfectly, when it goes somewhere no one expects it to. Even if it does make my team look very, very foolish.

These are poetic moments. Memories that fans will carry for years to come. Then there is also the feeling and perhaps that is more precious. The anticipation, the adrenaline, the disappointment, the elation. This is what makes sport worth watching. Rice’s two free-kicks are a pair of moments that don’t ask to be analysed. They ask to be felt.

He had never scored a free-kick before this week, and if late-stage Ronaldo has taught us anything, there’s a decent chance he doesn’t score one again for a long time. But that won’t matter to him, nor should it to us.

He did it on Wednesday. Lightning struck twice at the Emirates, and he managed to better a perfect shot with an even more perfect one. I won’t dwell on it too much because, if there’s one thing I remember from watching sports with my dad as a kid, it’s that sometimes the other bastards just play better.

A short note from the author: This is the first in a new thread of stories that I’ll be bringing in to Sideline Stories. These stories are not just about sport, but about the way it lives in all of us. Thank you for being here, I really appreciate it.