The Dinosaur in the Room: Is Erling Haaland the Last True Number 9?

If you’ve been watching the Premier League closely this season, you might have noticed something strange happening to the shape of the average football team. Or rather, you’ve noticed what isn’t happening.

The penalty box, once the crowded habitat of the traditional centre-forward, is becoming a ghost town.

We are living in the age of the “False Nine,” the “Inverted Winger,” and the “Box Midfield.” Managers like Mikel Arteta and Arne Slot have become obsessed with control, turning matches into complex games of chess where possession is king and individual brilliance is often sacrificed for the sake of the system.

And then, there’s Erling Haaland.

Standing in the Manchester City six-yard box like a Viking warlord who took a wrong turn at a tactical meeting, Haaland feels increasingly like an anomaly, still banging in goals relentlessly like he missed the “no more strikers” memo. He’s a glitch in the matrix of modern football. As we move deeper into the 2025/26 campaign, it’s time to ask the uncomfortable question: are we looking at the last of a dying breed?

The Death of the Specialist

To understand why Haaland feels so unique right now, you have to look at what’s happening in the academies.

For the last decade, youth coaching has shifted towards universality. Goalkeepers need to be able to play out from the back like midfielders. Centre-backs need to be able to step into midfield. And strikers? Well, strikers aren’t allowed to just score goals anymore. They need to press, they need to link play, they need to drift wide to create space for the underlapping number eight.

The result is a generation of forwards who are technically exquisite but lack that ruthless, selfish, single-minded obsession with putting the ball in the net. We’ve replaced the “Goalscorer” with the “Forward Operator.”

Haaland rejects this evolution. His game is refreshingly, brutally simple. He doesn’t want to touch the ball forty times a match. He doesn’t want to drop deep and play a nice one-two. He wants to hang on the shoulder of the last defender, wait for the split second of chaos, and then hammer the ball past the keeper.

In a world of intricate passing triangles, he is a sledgehammer.

The ‘Super Striker’ Effect

There’s a certain nostalgia to watching Haaland play. It reminds you of a simpler time in football, before xG maps and heat zones dominated the conversation.

It’s a bit like the difference between playing a complex, narrative-driven RPG video game and loading up a classic arcade title. Sometimes, you don’t want a storyline; you just want the hit.

You can see this parallel in the iGaming world, too. While casino game developers are constantly pushing the boundaries with complex mechanics, there’s a reason titles like the Super Striker slot by NetEnt remain popular. That game strips football down to its absolute basics: you spin, you match the symbols, you win or you lose. It doesn’t ask you to manage a “false spin” or worry about “expected wins.” It’s pure, distilled dopamine, and reviews suggest that UK sister sites that have the game attract more players than those that don’t. That doesn’t surprise us.

Haaland is the human equivalent of Super Striker. He is a high-variance, high-reward machine. He might be invisible for 78 minutes – effectively a “dead spin” – and then, bang. Jackpot. A hat-trick in twelve minutes.

But in the modern tactical landscape, managers are becoming increasingly allergic to that kind of variance. They don’t want to rely on a player who might be invisible. They want guarantees. They want 90 minutes of pressing and control. And that desire for control is slowly killing off the specialist goalscorer.

The System vs. The Individual

Look at the top teams across Europe. Real Madrid have built a galaxy of stars who all want to occupy the same left-half space. Liverpool have transitioned into a fluid front three where the goals are shared by committee. Arsenal’s success has been built on a strikerless system that prioritizes chaos from the wings.

Manchester City are the only top-tier team playing with a recognized, old-school number nine. And even then, there is a constant, low-level debate about whether they are actually a better football team with him in the side.

Sure, he scores 40 goals a season. But does he disrupt the rhythm? Does he force the midfield to work harder? These are the questions that keep Pep Guardiola up at night (and cause him to overthink his Champions League lineups).

The scary part is that when Haaland eventually moves on or retires, there might not be anyone to replace him. Who is the next great poacher? The academies aren’t producing them. We are producing endless crops of tricky wingers and number tens, but the kid who just wants to stand in the box and finish? He’s being told to “get involved in the build-up” or being moved to the wing because he’s “too static.”

The Preservation of the Species

We should enjoy Erling Haaland while we can. He’s a throwback to the days of Shearer, Batistuta, and Van Nistelrooy. He plays the game with a physical arrogance that is almost extinct.

When he bullies a defender off the ball, it’s not just a foul; it’s a statement. He’s reminding us that football, at its core, is a physical contest. It’s about being faster, stronger, and sharper than the guy next to you.

It’s possible that the pendulum will swing back. Football is cyclical, after all. Maybe in five years, the “Box Midfield” will be dead, and managers will be desperate for a big man up top to get on the end of crosses.

But for now, the trend is one-way traffic. The “Star Striker” is becoming a luxury item that few teams can afford to carry. The game is becoming homogenised, efficient, and controlled.

So, the next time Haaland touches the ball five times in a match and scores three goals, don’t complain about his lack of link-up play. Don’t moan that he didn’t press the goalkeeper. Just appreciate the simplicity of it. It’s an increasingly rare thing to see.