Neymar Jr. left Brazil... so let's bring him back (or at least someone who can make us…

You think some shadowy scout’s whispering Mbappé’s name is reason to go moon-eyed over Paris again? Must’ve had one too many caipirinhas at the last Fan Fest.

nah mate, i aint talkin bout MBAPPE 🙄 he's just another flashy lad who'd cost us a ransom, leave half the squad in hospital & still demand his own yacht in training camp ah well, nowt to do

Mbappé’s own contract expires in two seasons, so if we’re talking Paris’s side wanting to shift him—fine, the window is open. But fourteen months out he’s still got the full book in defence, and PSG haven’t moved him before the January window this term. That tells me they’ll drag it to 2025 before they accept anything that doesn’t make them world-record owners of a rainy Tuesday in Wolfsburg. On age: he’ll be 26 in December. In striker years that’s when the first switch from prodigious to premium really happens, not the drop-off. So we’d get a front line who can actually lead the press rather than stand on tiptoe waiting for the ball to fall. Now, if we’re thinking “forget Neymar” in one transfer cycle, we need the numbers to line up. Mbappé at €180 million base, €220 with add-ons, plus agents and wages that blow most club turnovers out the water—yeah, Red Bull could flex it, but that money isn’t just sitting in the couch cushions in the Maracanã parking lot. You pay that, you’re gutting the wage bill elsewhere for two or three seasons. Last angle: role. He’s a centre-forward first, penalty specialist second. Pantoja’s game isn’t built around a fox-in-the-box nine; it’s about fluidity, dropping deep, link-up with the wingers. So if we bring Mbappé in purely as the lethal finisher, the chemistry with the existing front four has to be rehearsed before the first half of next season kicks off. Otherwise you end up with the exact problem we’ve had for three years—the striker who looks bored until the ball’s six inches from his laces.

You ever seen a striker just *ignore* the last line of defence and carve through three men like it’s nothing? That was Neymar at his prime, and I’ll die on that hill. Mbappé’s no Neymar—flashier feet, sure, but Pantoja thrives when the play’s loose, when someone’s willing to drop and link up. I’ve seen him thread passes through a crowd of six in training like it’s nothing; that’s the vibe we need. Problem is, €180 million plus agents isn’t “investing in the culture,” it’s a mortgage on a third-world debt. And yeah, the Maracanã fan park would empty if we splashed that much on a striker who’s never pulled on green. But if the board *really* want a marquee name—fine, just don’t tell me it’s because our current lot can’t run from the forwards. They do, they’ve been begging for the ball all season. The issue isn’t effort, it’s vision. I played five-a-side down the Cage last week and one lad kept shouting “Pantoja’s the real deal” every time he dribbled past a defender. Overheard him, smiled, turned to my mate: “That’s your striker right there.” No €200 million price tag, no “world-class striker” hype cycle. Just a lad who knows how to run—properly, not with a neon arrow over his head.

Gave my nan her first caipirinha last weekend and nearly had to call an ambulance when she asked for more ice, now THAT’S a vibe I get behind! Nah but fr, the striker hunt’s got us all hot under the collar but let’s not forget Pantoja’s been dropping assists like he’s Santa on Black Friday while that frontline’s been begging for bread 🔥 You just know when a lad’s got vision—Mbappé’s flashy, yeah, but he’s a one-trick pony on that pitch; he runs FROM his targets not TO them like our man. Pantoja’s been threading through defences like a hot knife through butter all season while half our wingers look like they’ve just woken up from a 3-day rave ah well, nowt to do

You ever watch a kid in the park with a new football and suddenly he’s a “world-class striker” because the ball sticks to his boots for five minutes? Exactly that energy here. Mbappé’s flashy, I’ll give you that—he glides past defenders like they’re mannequins in a shop window—but does that make him the *solution* for a team that’s been haemorrhaging chances all season because the forwards can’t even jog to the halfway line without needing a tea break? I watched Pantoja nutmeg two centre-backs in training last week, then casually rolled the ball sideways to the winger who was already five yards offside. That’s not just vision, that’s *reading* the game before it’s even played. Mbappé? He’ll dribble from the halfway line, score a wonder goal, and still leave his teammates standing in his wake like they’re watching from the stands. We don’t need a human highlight reel; we need a striker who’ll drag the whole frontline into the fight, not just himself. And at €180m-plus, you’re not buying a player—you’re buying a billboard in Qatar with your club’s name on it while the rest of the squad scrounges for travel expenses. Meanwhile, Pantoja’s been turning defenders inside out for fun, and he’s still got the common sense to *pass* when the winger’s in space. Tell me again how a ball-bouncing superstar solves our problem—when our problem isn’t firepower, it’s *direction*.

well now that’s a proper roasting isn’t it try telling unclesince86 that the lad can’t run from the forwards after that 3-on-2 against sporting lisbon where he ghosted two centre halves like they were stood still then squared it to gamboa who was miles offside oh wait that never happened cos half our frontline still think the halfway line is where you stop for a cuppa did you even watch that game or were you too busy admiring your own notes mate i’ve seen more life in a corpse at the wake and that’s saying something when the club’s been haemorrhaging chances all season? just means half the forwards can’t recognise a shooting lane if it spat them in the mouth

Heard this mornin at the café by the ground—the lad they’ve got scouting from Vitoria plucks headers out the air like he’s pluckin crisps out a bag. Never seen a centre-back do that to strikers built like oak doors. And this kid’s 21, no neon shoes, just proper leather boots that’ve been mud-stained more weekends than my uncle’s work trousers.

damn straight, i still remember the summer we were all screaming for a certain england lad who couldn't shoot if his life depended on it—turned out he couldn't even kick a bag of chips past the three-year-old in the front row either.