Here’s a sympathetic take on Gomez’s plight by Rory Smith writing for the NY Times. It was written before last night’s debacle. Basically it amounts to “Cut the guy some slack, will ya. What do you want? Perfection?”
Solutions Are Expensive. An Aura Is Priceless.

Both of these players are very good at their jobs. Only the one of the left seems to get a pass on his mistakes.Julian Finney/Getty Images
By Rory Smith
It is surprisingly easy to feel sorry for Joe Gomez. It should, of course, be all but impossible. Gomez is in one of the most enviable positions in his sport. He is only 23. He is emerging as a cornerstone for England’s national team. He is a central part of a Liverpool side that has, in the last 15 months, won domestic, European and global honors.
More than that, as a central defender, he has the immense privilege of learning from and playing alongside Virgil van Dijk, generally regarded as the finest player in his position in the world, a $90 million security blanket. That is not to say Gomez is in some way undeserving, a lottery winner brought along for the ride.
He is not. He is hardworking, bright, richly talented. But he is, to most eyes, blessed. And yet it does not take long while watching Liverpool to start to feel as though to some extent, Gomez’s blessing is a curse.
Arsenal’s visit to Anfield on Monday night was as good an example as any. Mikel Arteta’s team arrived on Merseyside with a plan. Alexandre Lacazette and Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang were given instructions to try to isolate Gomez, to hang on his shoulder, to lurk in the channel between Gomez and his fullback, Trent Alexander-Arnold.
Those on Arsenal’s supply lines, meanwhile, had been instructed to search out the space behind Gomez. When Arsenal went high and went long, that was the area targeted; when it went short and neat, that was the pressure point exposed. Arteta wanted his team to turn Gomez, to disorientate him, to drag him from his post.
It is the same plan Gomez faces, on balance, once every three days. More often than not — as he did on Monday — he handles it adroitly. His focus does not wane, his positioning remains intelligent, his timing is impeccable. Should he need bailing out, as he did once against Arsenal, Alisson Becker tends to be on hand to help.
But occasionally, of course, the opposition’s plan works. Gomez does not track a run. He mistimes an interception. He is beaten in the air. Liverpool (sometimes) concedes a goal. On each occasion, it is seized on as proof that whichever team has profited was correct to see Gomez as Liverpool’s weak link. All the other games, the hours of composure and assuredness and calm, are forgotten.
There is an element here, though, of self-fulfilling prophesy; it is here that Gomez’s privilege becomes a pain. Gomez is no more error prone than any of his teammates. He just has more chances to make mistakes, because he is the one singled out by Liverpool’s opponents, the one asked to bear the brunt of their attacks. That is his lot because the alternative is trying to pick a way past van Dijk.
Van Dijk, of course, makes mistakes too. Not many, and not often, [but they happen]. There have been two glaring examples in recent weeks: at Arsenal, toward the end of last season, and against Leeds United, on the first weekend of this one.
What is intriguing is that his reputation is such that those momentary lapses are shrugged off as exceptions, rather than as evidence of some fractional weakness in his game. In the same way that Manchester City’s Pep Guardiola is the only coach who loses games because he is just too clever, van Dijk is the only defender who makes errors because he is too relaxed, too confident, too good.
The reason for that feels too intangible to be taken seriously in an era when soccer has, at last, embraced data and science and reason, but it is nevertheless true. Van Dijk’s mistakes can be dismissed because, basically, he has an aura.
It is one that is common to all those considered the finest defensive players of their generation: a sense of immutability and impermeability, that there is no way through and no way past. Paolo Maldini and Franco Baresi had it; so did Lilian Thuram and Fabio Cannavaro, John Terry and Vincent Kompany and Sol Campbell.
Like van Dijk, none of them were flawless (well, apart from Maldini). But like van Dijk, their aura was such that their mistakes did not impact their reputations. It would be (rightly) considered heresy to describe Peter Schmeichel, the great Manchester United goalkeeper, as error-prone, but flick back through his career and he, too, occasionally lunged from his line or allowed a shot to slip from his grasp. His aura, though, carried him through.
Van Dijk is at a similar stage. It is to take nothing away from his abilities — his reputation, after all, has been forged by his performances — to suggest that his mere presence is now enough to convince teams to train their fire on Gomez. Van Dijk, like Schmeichel, looms in opponents’ imaginations. He defends not so much zonally, or man-to-man, but by aura.
Only a handful of his peers can do the same: Napoli’s Kalidou Koulibaly, certainly, and probably still Giorgio Chiellini of Juventus. Thiago Silva did for a long time, though his unfortunate debut for Chelsea may cause it to blur a little.
How they acquired it is some confluence of ability and age, experience and image, plus a little sheer physical presence. Not all great defenders have that aura: Gerard Piqué has been unmatched for more than a decade, but teams have long felt he can be exploited. Sergio Ramos has an unparalleled track record of success, but there is always the suspicion he is about to be sent off.
But all great teams — partly inspired by van Dijk’s impact on Liverpool — recognize that they need it. It is why, for example, Manchester City, paid $75 million to sign Rúben Dias from Benfica. City’s attempts to strengthen its back line, to replace the aura of Kompany, have become an obsession in recent years: Guardiola, thus far, has spent the best part of $500 million on defenders.
Dias seems to have all the characteristics required: He is, by all accounts, intense and driven and “charismatic,” and his former teammates at Benfica attest that he is not afraid to issue instructions. Those are valuable qualities, of course; doubtless he is a talented, impressive defender.
But that is not the same as having an aura. He may yet develop one — though he will need an impressive start and an immediate impact — but it is a daunting challenge for a player who is still, by the standards of his position, in the development phase.
Soccer now demands a lot of its defenders, asking them not only to possess the tenacity to withstand attacks but the imagination to start them, too. To excel, they must play high and take risks, particularly in Guardiola’s system. It follows, then, that there are more ways to fail, more ways to seem weak, more ways for an aura to evaporate.
Dias must sidestep all of those potential pitfalls, and he must do it immediately, or City’s rivals will sense blood: The impression will start to form that he, too, can be singled out and examined in the most minute detail.
And then, as Gomez would tell him, no matter how well he does, no matter how talented he is, he will find himself having to deal with the same questions every three days, and getting the impression that no matter how many he gets right, all anyone is waiting for is the one wrong answer.