England's number two! — Square Ball 28/8/26

Ours, not theirs

Written by: David Guile

The moonshot paid off. James Trafford is a Leeds United player. From Felix Wiedwald to the world’s fourth most expensive goalkeeper in nine short years. It’s been quite a ride.

I won’t waste many words describing how good James Trafford is. We’ve all seen it. Eleven Championship clean sheets in a row at a time when Burnley seemed fated never to concede another goal. There was an aura of invincibility around Trafford at the time, extending far beyond his two metre tall frame. He elevated a run-of-the-mill Burnley team into the machine that ground out a hundred points and came within seconds of wresting the Championship title out of our grasp.

And now he’s ours. All ours, at least for now.

If Trafford continues on his current trajectory, it’s only a matter of time before international recognition follows. At 23 and with one tour of World Cup duty under his belt already, he has Jordan Pickford’s position firmly in his sights. Surely this can only be good news? What Leeds fan, jaded and embittered by years of goalkeeping calamities, wouldn’t give their left bollock to have England’s number one at Elland Road?

David Guile. Pleased to meet you. And no, I’m not Scottish.

Let me explain. As a young kid whose mania for Leeds United hit its peak in the late 90s, two things were certain to me. The first was that Nigel Martyn, the goalie whose hands formed the bedrock of David O’Leary’s team, would be superb in almost every single match. He had it all: reactions, composure, consistency and an ability to bring calm to the most skittish of defenders. I trusted him more than any other human alive, up to and including members of my own family.

The second certainty was that, no matter how godlike Martyn’s performances became, the England manager would always, always pick David Bastard Seaman instead. I spent my entire childhood labouring under the forlorn hope of seeing a Leeds goalie become England’s undisputed number one. For Nigel Martyn, it just wasn’t meant to be. And, in retrospect, I’m glad, because England didn’t deserve him.

Sending your goalie off to play for England is like lending your brand new games console to your most cack-handed friend. The longer they have it, the more likely it’s going to end up broken. The tabloids’ favourite sport is, and always has been, ripping the England ‘keeper to shreds. There’s a reason they say goalies are crazy; you’d have to have a few screws loose to voluntarily put yourself in the path of such opprobrium. Only the craziest survive, while the sane ones disintegrate like moths under a blowtorch.

Think of the bile directed at Seaman, when he arthritically let Ronaldinho’s cross-come-shot drift over his head. Think of David James, veteran of 572 Premier League games, serving as the butt of half-arsed jokes from Jake Humphrey. Of Paul Robinson, Martyn’s successor at Leeds, whose England career never quite recovered from the damage done by a tiny divot on a Croatian pitch. Of Scott Carson, Rob Green, Joe Hart, all maligned for errors of judgement in the most unforgiving of jobs. Jordan Pickford seems to be holding up reasonably well, but that’s because he’s weapons-grade insane.

Of course, the pressure could prove to be just what Trafford needs. That’s how diamonds are forged, after all. He appears unfazed by the expectations placed upon him. But so did a young Paul Robinson in our Champions League campaign, repelling wave after wave of Barcelona attacks, and England still managed to break him in the end. Leeds, not England, paid the £40m for Trafford, and that buys us the right to enjoy him selfishly. (Plus we’re perfectly capable of breaking our own goalkeepers, thank you very much!)

As much as it pained my teenage self to watch Nigel Martyn spend ten years fruitlessly queuing behind Seaman for a job that would never be his, it’s hard not to conclude that things worked out for the best. Martyn deserved more — far more — than his 23 caps, spread out across a decade. But he never had to withstand the full force of the tabloids’ blowtorch. Perhaps he’d have thrived under its heat — we’ll never know for sure.

What is certain, though, is that Nigel Martyn was — and remains — the greatest goalkeeper ever to play for Leeds United. Who cares if England never saw him at his imperious best? At the end of the day, he was ours, not theirs.

I can’t pretend a part of me wouldn’t be delighted to see James Trafford becoming England’s number one. But if he merely has to settle for being our best goalie since Nigel Martyn, then that would be one hell of a consolation prize, for us and for him.

So, Thomas Tuchel, if you’re reading this (which I’m sure you are), you’re going to have to look elsewhere for the future of English goalkeeping. Unless you fancy giving Alex Cairns a crack, which would be wonderful on so many levels.