In the modern game, the transfer window has become a competition of its own. Often, it delivers a stronger emotional payoff than the football it is meant to support and it’s often as a result of shiny new toy syndrome. I do not think this is because fans care less about the pitch. It is because anticipation has become easier to consume than performance. Hope is instant. Football is slow.
What we now call the “Shiny New Toy” syndrome is not a moral failure, it is a neurological one. Freshness activates the brain before reality has time to intervene. In football terms, the unknown winger is always better than the known one who missed a chance last weekend. The hypothetical signing never miscontrols the ball. He never tires. He never disappoints. That perfection exists only because he has not yet been exposed.
I have seen this most clearly in how existing players are emotionally devalued. A player like Gabriel Martinelli can go from indispensable to expendable not because his fundamentals collapse, but because his flaws become familiar. Fans begin to crave mystery rather than improvement. This is why Barcelona supporters once convinced themselves that Raphinha was the problem and Nico Williams the solution. Nothing about Raphinha’s skillset changed. Only the context did. When Flick arrived and redefined his role, the same player suddenly looked undroppable. The shiny toy was never better, it was just unknown.
The transfer window feeds this instinct perfectly. Dopamine is not released when a deal is completed, it is released while it feels close. The rumours, the flight tracking, the leaked medicals, these are not noise, they are the product. “Here we go” feels like closure because it ends a period of emotional tension. Clubs understand this now. Announcement videos are not about information, they are about sensation. In 2016, PogBack did more for Manchester United’s global mood than any 2–0 win in October ever could.
The problem is that expectation inflates faster than football can deliver. By the time a player debuts, he is already late. He has not just been signed to play well, he has been signed to validate weeks of emotional investment. This is where the syndrome becomes damaging, especially when a player arrives before the structure does. Manchester United’s recent history is full of these cases.
Ugarte is the clearest example. He was signed as an idea, intensity, aggression, control through confrontation. But ideas still need execution. He has not been good enough, with the ball or without it. His limitations in possession slow the game. His defensive work is reactive rather than anticipatory. United’s structural issues amplify this, but they do not create it. Sometimes the shiny toy is simply not as advertised, and pretending otherwise weakens analysis.
Højlund’s case is different but just as revealing. He was signed as a future striker and immediately treated as a present solution. The fanbase outsourced development onto matchday pressure. He was not asked to refine his game quietly, he was asked to carry symbolism. That is not how strikers grow. That is how confidence erodes and now he’s at Napoli, not particularly having improved much.
Modern fandom worsens this through its video game lens. Squad building is discussed like Career Mode. Ratings, potential curves, resale value. A player becomes a spreadsheet profile before he becomes a teammate. This is why so many debates ignore environment. Fans fall in love with numbers generated in a different league, under a different coach, inside a different rhythm.
Even elite signings are not immune. With Wirtz, the expectation was not contribution, it was control and thrust. He was supposed to be the creative hub, dictating tempo through dribbling and passing. So far, that has not materialised consistently. What we have seen are moments, not ownership. That does not mean the signing will fail long term, but right now, the gap between projection and output is real. That gap is where disappointment grows.
Not every hyped signing struggles, and acknowledging this matters. The syndrome is not excitement itself, it is misalignment. When the role is clear and the structure is stable, the shiny toy becomes a tool. Semenyo at City is the best example. He arrived into a finished machine, at least attacking wise. His responsibilities were narrow. He was not asked to change anything. He simply executed within a system that already knew itself. In that environment, hype does not distort performance, it accelerates belief.
Isak’s situation sits somewhere else entirely. At Liverpool so far, the issue has not been fit or function, it has been fitness. When he plays, the idea seems to work. The problem is that he has not stayed on the pitch long enough for rhythm to form. That is an uncomfortable truth fans dislike, because it resists narrative. Sometimes a good signing does not fail tactically or psychologically. Sometimes the body just does not cooperate.
All of this leads to the same conclusion. Transfers feel better than football because they promise control. They offer the illusion of immediate correction. Football does not. It demands patience, repetition, and acceptance of limits. Until excitement is reattached to structure rather than surprise, the shiny new toy will always feel more satisfying than the 90 minutes it is meant to serve.
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