Frenkie is the latest dirty football crush

De Jong is 21 years old, and to describe him as a phantom of the internet’s collective imagination is to do a disservice to his fresh and exceptionally exciting talent. He was called up to the Dutch national squad by Ronald Koeman for the first time this month, impressing on his competitive debut against France to the extent that Kylian Mbappe tracked him down after the game to ask for his shirt. And for a country undergoing perhaps its gravest footballing slump for half a century, de Jong offers fresh hope: an old-style sweeper with the poise and balance of Gullit, the vision and intelligence of Rijkaard, the pace and directness of Robben.

Unlike many products of the famous Ajax dream factory, de Jong didn’t come through the academy from childhood, but was snapped up from Willem II after sporting director Marc Overmars saw him in a youth team game. And though he is a midfielder by disposition, this season coach Erik ten Hag has intuitively deployed him at the heart of defence, from where his ability to spot a gap, break the initial press and surge 60 yards up the pitch unchallenged has put him on the radar of some of Europe’s top clubs, including of course Tottenham, who as a result of a UEFA by-law are contractually obliged to buy one Ajax centre-half a season.

Is he worth the hype? I don’t know, and to be brutally frank, neither does anyone: not yet.

As it happens, I’m less concerned about the actual footballing merits of de Jong, and more what he represents: what his tale says about a game so preternaturally sensitive to novelty and desperate to anoint the next big thing that a player who looks even vaguely different will be feted with the enthusiasm of a second coming. Or, put more simply: exactly when is the appropriate time to get excited about a player?