Cody Gakpo and the Unfamiliar Right Flank: When Liverpool Borrow a Left-Handed Craftsman to Nail a Right Wall

In the small studio room in Nagoya, as night mist settles and the last train has stopped, I sit before the screen with my notebook open beside me. It is a habit of nearly seven decades in this trade. The room's amber light reflects on the page, and there I write the name of a man I have followed all season: Cody Gakpo.

The moment that made me stop was not a goal. It was one play on the right flank. Gakpo stood there — a 1m89 forward with the body of a centre-forward and the feet of a left winger. He received the ball with his back to goal, hesitated, then played it backwards. No acceleration. No cut inside. Just a small, quiet moment, like a letter left forgotten in a drawer.

I wrote in my notebook: "The pitch does not need a poet, but the poet needs the pitch." Because sometimes, through one small play, you read an entire season, an entire transfer, an entire person.

A season below expectations and gaps left unfilled

To understand why a player like Gakpo appeared on the right flank, we must step back and look at the bigger picture. Liverpool entered last season as a side built to compete at the very top, yet endured a campaign below expectations. Gakpo, who joined from PSV Eindhoven in January 2026 on a long-term contract running to 2030, was part of that story.

He arrived with the image of a versatile attacker: able to play left, able to play centre-forward, able to drop deep and link play. But last season, as Gakpo himself admitted, was one in which he did not meet his own standards. A dip in form, criticism from the Anfield stands, and a long-term contract — all formed overlapping pressure.

Then came the transfer story. According to circulated reports, Manchester City showed serious interest in Gakpo, with a package worth many millions and a pay rise said to be huge. But the move collapsed. Gakpo stayed at Liverpool. He lost the chance to raise his earnings, lost the chance to enter a new project, and began the season with a question hovering above his head: was he still part of the long-term plan?

For Liverpool, that question became more urgent when the club failed to sign right-sided targets. Names such as Yankuba Minteh and Ismaila Sarr were reportedly in their sights, but the deals did not happen. And when the market closed with the right corridor still empty, the club did what many giants do when stuck: it pushed a player into a position that is not his own.

I have seen this many times in more than half a century of watching football. Whenever a big club cannot buy the player it needs, it does not admit failure. It calls it "tactical flexibility." It calls it an "internal solution." But sometimes the truth is barer: a square peg pushed into a round hole, hoping the audience will not notice.

Why the right flank is not Gakpo's home

Let us talk about the feet. Gakpo is right-footed. Throughout his career, he has played best when starting from the left or through the middle, in positions where he can turn his body inward, using his right foot to finish or to play a line-breaking pass. That is his language. That is how he scores, how he assists.

Pushed to the right flank, that language changes. On the right, a right-footed player is usually expected to provide width, drive down the line and cross with his right. But Gakpo is not that type. He lacks the explosive pace to run the touchline. He lacks the habit of crossing from the right. He is a craftsman of cutting inside, an artist of narrow spaces, not a painter of curves from the touchline.

Based on my experience watching matches, I have always believed a player plays not only with his feet but with muscle memory. When placed in a position his body has never memorised, reflexes slow by fractions of a second. At the elite level, those fractions are the distance between a chance and a lost ball. That is what I saw in Gakpo on the right: a man thinking too much before every touch, rather than letting instinct lead.

Numbers do not lie, but they do not tell everything

From the material I have gathered, there is no detailed data on touches, heat maps or expected goals for Gakpo in his new role. That is a big gap. Without data, every conclusion is just a feeling. And a feeling, however beautiful, cannot replace evidence.

But one thing can be said without numbers. When a right winger is forced to keep passing backwards, it is a sign of a lack of confidence in the role. When an attacker dares not accelerate into space, it is a sign he does not trust his own position. And when a good right-footed finisher is moved to the right flank, losing his sharpest weapon is almost inevitable.

I believe every play has a heart beating inside it. And Gakpo's heart, in those months, beat to a different rhythm than his feet. It shows through his own words. In the interview, he did not speak of mastering the new role. He spoke of needing to "raise his level," of needing to "improve," of needing to adapt. That is the language of psychological maturity, not tactical mastery. A player who has truly mastered a new position speaks of space, of tempo, of specific combinations. Gakpo spoke of himself. It is a subtle but telling sign.

Pressure from the stands and the shadow of a dead transfer

The pressure at Anfield is unlike pressure anywhere else. It is a stand that loves fiercely and doubts coldly. As Gakpo's form dipped, he experienced both faces of it. The jeers, the online criticism, and the heavy silence of stands that had always offered him support.

Then there is the shadow of Manchester City. A collapsed transfer does not disappear. It only hibernates. Every time Gakpo plays poorly, the question returns: what if he had left that summer. Every time Pep Guardiola's side shines, people remember they once wanted him. "What if" is the most poisonous kind of question in football, because it has no answer, but always has someone willing to ask it.

In my view, the collapsed move left two marks. First, a mark on the player's heart: he lost a chance to advance and a higher wage. Second, a mark on the stands: a doubt that this young man might no longer be fully committed. Those two marks meet in home matches, when Gakpo receives the ball and dares not look at the stands, only down at the grass.

A contract to 2030: the club's asset, or his own burden?

This is where I want to pause longer, because it is often overlooked in discussions of form. Gakpo has a contract to 2030. For the club, that is good news: an asset protected. If Manchester City return, Liverpool still hold the cards. But for Gakpo himself, it could be a gilded cage.

Look at the structure. A player in the prime of his career, tied to 2030, without a clear release mechanism, and forced to play out of position: that is a situation any agent would weigh. Quiet talks about a new clause, better wages, or an exit mechanism are likely. And if form keeps sliding, that long contract could turn from shield to shackle.

People buy players; I buy back the stories they have sold. And Gakpo's story is that of an asset both protected and exposed in a place that does not suit him. Liverpool kept a player, but can they keep the man himself, when the position he plays drifts further from who he is?

The blind spot: when the whole stand looks at the wrong place

Now comes the part I consider most important, and the part the crowd usually ignores when it is caught up in a transfer story.

All of English football is focused on Gakpo: on his form, on the right flank he occupies, on his so-called adaptation. But in my view, that is looking at the wrong place. When an attacker is taken out of his danger zone, the problem does not lie with that player. The problem lies with the one who took him out.

Liverpool's right flank is empty not because Gakpo is poor. It is empty because the club failed to sign a right-sided specialist in the window. It is empty because targets like Minteh or Sarr did not arrive. It is empty because of a decision at the top, not a mistake at the bottom. Gakpo is merely the name called upon to carry the consequences of a failure he did not cause.

I have seen this repeat many times. A club cannot buy, then blames the one forced to fill in. The stands jeer the player, while the true culprit is a meeting room no one sees. Gakpo became the scapegoat for a systemic mistake. And while the whole stand watches him, they forget the club itself placed him in this situation.

There is a subtler blind spot too. People are telling Gakpo's story as one of collapse and redemption: a player rejected by a giant, who stays, struggles, and tries to return. But football is not a three-act film. What is happening on Gakpo's right flank may not be a redemption chapter at all, but simply a temporary tactical experiment, maintained until a true right winger appears. If so, all the praise of resilience and spirit is only an echo in an empty room.

And one more thing, though it may cost me a few friends in the trade. Manchester City's interest may have been used as leverage, either by the player's agent, or by the media arm of a club needing a story to sell. There is no evidence, and I accuse no one. But I have lived in this trade long enough to know that in football, every rumour has a beneficiary. And the beneficiary of this story may not be the fan.

What I keep

Nearly seven decades watching football, and I still learn how the ball rolls every day. This time the lesson is simple: a player in the wrong place is not a bad player. He is just a left-handed craftsman handed a right wall, judged by how he nails it. My question is not for Gakpo. I believe he will be fine, if someone gives him the right position. My question is for those who placed him on the right, and for the stands that jeered him for it.

And if one day, in that small room in Nagoya, I see Gakpo receive the ball on the right, hesitate, then pass it back, I will not write another exclamation mark. I will write only a question mark, to be answered on the tactics board, not in the stands.