I've spent three years watching Erling Haaland score goals like he's collecting stamps. No emotion. No celebration. Just trot back to the centre circle like he's done his weekly shopping. The lad could score a hat-trick in the Champions League final and you'd get more reaction from a self-service checkout.

But then City won another trophy this week and something extraordinary happened. The big Norwegian actually celebrated. Properly celebrated. With dancing.

Now I've seen some sights in my time. I've watched Burnley play attractive football. I've seen Tottenham win a trophy. But nothing, and I mean nothing, prepared me for watching a 6'4" goal machine attempt what can only be described as dad dancing at its absolute worst.

There he was, arms flailing about like he was trying to direct traffic in a hurricane. The rhythm was all wrong. The timing was worse than David Luiz in a back four. For a moment there, I genuinely thought someone had told him the pitch was on fire and he was trying to stamp it out.

The Beautiful Game Meets Strictly Come Dancing

What made it even better was watching his teammates' faces. You could see them thinking the same thing I was. This is the bloke who scores 50 goals a season? This is our lethal weapon? He moves like he's been assembled in a factory and they forgot to install the dancing software.

Kevin De Bruyne looked embarrassed for him. Pep Guardiola was covering his eyes like he was watching a penalty shootout. Even the cameraman seemed confused about whether to keep filming or call for medical assistance.

But you know what? Good on him. Finally, some personality. Finally, some proof that underneath all that blonde hair and those ridiculous goal statistics, there's an actual human being trying to get out.

I've always said football's lost its soul. Players are too professional now. Too calculated. Everything's about brand management and social media presence. Nobody just enjoys themselves anymore. Well, Haaland clearly never got that memo because what he did out there was pure, unfiltered joy mixed with the coordination of a newborn giraffe.

Sometimes the Best Celebrations Are the Worst Ones

My Sunday league striker Terry used to do something similar after scoring. Looked like he was fighting off an angry wasp while having a seizure. We called it the Terry Shuffle and it was genuinely the highlight of most matches. Better than the football, anyway.

The difference is Terry knew he couldn't dance. Haaland clearly thinks he can, which makes it even more brilliant. The confidence to throw those shapes in front of 50,000 people takes genuine bottle.

So there you have it. Erling Haaland, goal machine, celebration disaster, actual human being. Who knew that all it would take to make him relatable was watching him move like he'd borrowed someone else's legs for the evening.

Keep dancing, lad. It's the most entertaining thing you've done since that overhead kick against Borussia Dortmund. And that's saying something... anyway.