Mad, Bad, and Dangerous in the Dugout:
Why Don’t More Goalkeepers Become Managers? - Callum Turner
Football is a team game, but within this collective, there are the outsiders—those who exist on the fringes, operating by different rules, seeing the game from a distant, almost detached perspective. Goalkeepers live in their own world, confined to their box, yet constantly forced to think beyond its limits. They command from afar, surveying the entire pitch while mostly remaining apart from the chaos. In this isolation, they see the bigger picture and bear the weight of unique pressures. Their decisions ripple through the game, their mistakes are amplified. When the team wins, they’re the last to be celebrated; when they lose, their shoulders can often carry the blame.
Goalkeepers approach the game from a completely different angle—literally and metaphorically. They’re the anomalies, the ones who looked at the conventions of the game and chose the position that allowed them to exist in opposition to them. Goalkeepers must be reactive, resilient, and possess an almost supernatural ability to control their emotions when the stakes are highest. In a profession where keeping a cool head under pressure is vital, it’s hard to imagine a better candidate for leadership. So where are they all? Why do so few of these natural outliers cross from one of football’s most isolated roles to another, from the last line of defence to the dugout?
One argument is that it’s all down to the numbers. With ten outfield players to every keeper, there’s a far smaller pool of potential candidates. Given goalkeepers make up about 9% of professional footballers, you'd expect around 9% of managers to be former goalkeepers. However, according to the CIES Football Observatory, only 3% of managers worldwide are former goalkeepers. The disparity suggests keepers are three times less likely to transition into managerial roles than their outfield counterparts. Something else has to be at play here. So to find the real reason, we’ve got to start looking at possible structural or perception-based barriers that limit goalkeepers' progression into management.
In Neville Southall’s autobiography, he describes his perfect game as one where he wouldn’t touch the ball—a scenario where his teammates are so well-organised that his intervention becomes unnecessary. It’s this selflessness and commitment to the collective that makes goalkeepers attuned to leadership. They understand the importance of structure and sacrifice. Yet, ask someone on the street, and you’ll hear that goalkeepers just don’t get it. In the popular imagination, keepers supposedly lack the mental complexity needed to understand the nuances of playing across the park. Their world is save, catch, kick, repeat, save, catch, kick, repeat, on an infinite loop.
This view does a huge disservice to professionals who’ve spent their lives on the pitch, just as much as any other player. Can anyone honestly claim to understand every detail of every position? Is that even the point? In today’s football, with dedicated coaches for each area of the pitch, the focus is on collective success, not individual expertise. Most former outfield managers don’t bother to dive into the nuances of goalkeeping—that’s for the goalkeeping coaches—so why expect the reverse from keepers turned managers?
It’s not as if there’s a deficit of goalkeepers who’ve excelled as managers. Dino Zoff, for example, was an incredible goalkeeper and, as a manager, Zoff was never one to sit back and play it safe. His teams didn’t grind out results with negative football; he believed in a dynamic, attacking style that balanced flair with discipline. And it worked. As Juventus manager, Zoff led them to a UEFA Cup and Coppa Italia double in 1990. Then, with Italy at Euro 2000, he masterminded a run to the final with his innovative 5-2-1-2 setup. Italy lost to a golden goal from France, but they had gone toe-to-toe with the world’s best. And later, his tenures at Lazio and Fiorentina saw him pull off a couple of relegation miracles, keeping the clubs afloat in tough seasons.
Raymond Goethals, nicknamed “Raymond-la-science” for his tactical intellect, still stands as Belgium’s greatest manager and a pioneer in the game. Known for his no-nonsense style and razor-sharp mind, Goethals was an innovator. He was among the earliest to use video analysis, meticulously dissecting opponents' play to exploit every weakness.
His crowning achievement came in 1993 when he led a gifted (and, let’s face it, infamous) Marseille side to Champions League glory. In the final, they beat an AC Milan squad packed with legends like Baresi, Rijkaard, Maldini, and van Basten. To this day, Marseille remains the only French club to lift the trophy. But his legacy isn’t limited to Marseille—Goethals also led Anderlecht to a European Cup Winners’ Cup title and claimed domestic league and cup trophies with Standard Liège. Internationally, he left a mark with Belgium, guiding them to the 1970 World Cup and a bronze medal finish at the 1972 European Championships.
And these aren’t just tales from the history books. Nuno Espirito Santo, another keeper-turned-manager, took the reins at Wolverhampton Wanderers in 2017 with one task: get them back to the Prem. Not only did he accomplish that in his first season, but in Wolves’ debut year back in the top flight, he propelled them into Europe. Then there’s Julen Lopetegui, another keeper who may have hit a rough patch managing Real Madrid but found his footing at Sevilla, consistently landing them in the La Liga top four and even clinching the Europa League title in 2020.
Clearly, it’s not that goalkeepers are somehow built to underperform in the dugout; the real issue is getting the opportunity in the first place. And while there are a few modern examples to showcase, there’s still that feeling when you hear a manager was once a keeper—a tiny, reflexive double-take, a soft, curious “oh.” So what’s that about? What’s that “oh” really saying?
Here we hit the crux of it: goalkeepers still carry this perception of being a bit, well, mental. They’re seen as different, unpredictable, living somewhere between overthinking and complete chaos. After all, that’s why a young Peter Shilton spent time dangling upside down from bannisters to grow taller, why John Burridge made his wife chuck fruit at him to improve his reflexes. It’s also why outsiders from unusual walks of life have gravitated toward the position, like the writer Albert Camus, conspiracy theorist David Icke, and even Pope John Paul II. There’s a mystique around goalkeepers—an “off-kilter” quality that’s hard to define. It’s almost as if the position itself attracts people wired a bit differently.
Goalkeepers belong to a fraternity of renegades. There’s a shared madness binding them, an eternal unspoken pact to not to criticise one another. It’s a survivor’s mentality with a sense of brotherhood, as if they’ve all endured the same intense, singular, and oddly heroic trauma. Simon Armitage captured it perfectly: "Goalkeepers are, by definition, weirdos and odd ones out: they put their faces where others put their studs, and their chosen function in a sport defined by its flow and energy is one of apparent inaction followed by occasional moments of joy-killing intervention." It takes a certain bold eccentricity to willingly stand in front of a ball hurtling at you, to spend most of your career coiled and waiting just for the chance to let down half of the fans watching.
On the pitch, the goalkeeper is the “lone eagle, the man of mystery, the last defender,” as Vladimir Nabokov described. This solitude has in part fueled a perception that goalkeepers lack the necessary understanding to lead an entire team. He’s never played outfield; what could he know about working with players goes the assumption. It’s a notion deeply ingrained in football culture, one that leaves goalkeepers often tactically and socially isolated from the rest of the squad.
Tommy Wright once recalled how, as a goalkeeper, he was typically excluded from team talks, relegated to a corner with “two or three balls, probably the worst ones they had in training.” This attitude lingers and makes its way into players’ mindsets. David James described goalkeepers as the “least sociable creatures in football,” noting how, across his career, he generally avoided mingling with the rest of the team. Even modern icons like Mary Earps have felt the weight of this isolation; “As a goalkeeper, you can feel alone and misunderstood. Mental resilience is the hardest thing to learn. We’re part of the team, yet often isolated.”
This isolation is an ingrained cultural norm, passed down through generations. Yet, while goalkeepers are being sidelined socially, individuals with far less experience playing at a professional level are frequently deemed more qualified for managerial roles. Take managers like Arsène Wenger, Jürgen Klopp, or José Mourinho—none had illustrious playing careers. Mourinho barely had one at all. And yet, their “otherness” is heralded as a strength: lacking in talent but brimming with strategy, a celebrated departure from the typical ex-player appointment. But when it comes to goalkeepers, their “otherness” is too often viewed as a weakness.
What if this “otherness” is exactly what makes goalkeepers uniquely suited for management? A goalkeeper can often be the team’s strategic brain. The role demands the ability to command the defence and maintain composure in high-pressure situations. From their vantage point, they’re the only players who constantly see the game unfolding before them, observing the flow of 21 other players. Over years, they come to recognise patterns, detect systemic flaws, and understand what disrupts or boosts a team. They learn to read the game, and from the back, they guide teammates with a precision most managers would envy.
Goalkeepers live in a constant world of split-second decisions. The choice to stay on the line or rush out to intercept relies on rapid mental calculations, a quick analysis of probabilities and potential outcomes. In those moments, they’re not merely reacting but analysing, anticipating, and acting under immense pressure. It goes beyond reflexes; it’s about assimilating information at lightning speed and often with a high degree of unpredictability.
Science even backs the notion that goalkeepers perceive the world—and the game—differently. Studies suggest goalkeepers’ brains are physically wired to process sensory information more rapidly. Michael Quinn, a former goalkeeper turned neuroscientist, discovered that goalkeepers have a "narrower temporal binding window" than outfield players and non-athletes. Simply put, they’re quicker at integrating sensory inputs like sight and sound, allowing them to make snap decisions with minimal data. This unique neurological trait helps goalkeepers excel in high-pressure, high-stakes decision-making. It’s one thing to command the box, but the goalkeeping brain has already mastered the kinds of high-speed calculations that managerial roles demand.
And that “madness” we attribute to goalkeepers—the idea that you’ve got to be slightly unhinged to put yourself in the line of fire—goes beyond just a flair for the dramatic. Goalkeepers thrive on the responsibility, the pressure; they’re in it for those razor-edge moments. Look at Jordan Pickford, whose post-save outbursts we’ve all come to love. When he goes ballistic at his defence, the crowd, or even just the empty air, it’s not for show. It’s a rush of adrenaline, a reminder to himself (and to everyone else) that he’s got this under control. It’s the fire that fuels him, a release valve for the pressure cooker that is protecting the goal.
The psychological demands of goalkeeping mean they can’t help but develop a survivor’s instinct. Their resilience and knack for fast thinking under pressure give them a way of influencing the entire team without ever leaving their post. When a keeper exudes confidence, everyone else takes a bit of that on board too. Goalkeepers don’t just stop shots—they bring out the best in the other ten, a great goalkeeper allows everyone else to relax a little, knowing someone’s got their back.
But, as demands on modern goalkeepers are evolving, so are people’s perceptions of these misunderstood mavericks. While Albert Camus once described the goalkeeper’s role as "standing between two poles in suspended animation" today’s keepers are expected to do far more than just patrol the posts.
Gone are the days when the sole instruction to a goalkeeper was, If you get the ball, punt it into oblivion! Players like Neuer and Ederson have redefined the role, transforming it into one of the most dynamic positions on the pitch. As Neuer described, "I have to be outside the box, involved in the passing game from the back, to get the ball to the first, second, and third rows of players." No longer simply shot-stoppers, modern keepers are playmakers, responsible for building attacks and dictating the tempo of the game.
Goalkeepers today are multi-taskers, directing the team’s flow with pinpoint distribution, whether it's a rolled pass or a bullet throw to a full-back on the break. Even Klopp had to acknowledge this after Raya’s ball-playing masterclass in a 3-3 draw against Liverpool, after which he joked the Brentford keeper should have been wearing the number 10. Gone are the days of sticking the biggest kid in goal and hoping for the best.
This shift isn’t just happening at the top. Across academies and non-league pitches, coaches want keepers who can pass, control, and actively engage in the game—skills once completely foreign to goalkeeping. With keepers now learning to caress the ball, rather than just punt it, maybe it’s time to ditch the old stereotypes. If they’re trusted to orchestrate play and launch attacks, can we also trust them to organise entire teams?
For ninety minutes, goalkeepers walk a tightrope between fierce alertness and zen-like calm. They need the steady nerve and patience of a chess grandmaster and the sharp, instinctual drive of a wolf defending its pack. It’s a job that requires constant focus and a strange mix of instinct and strategy—qualities that make the role incredibly demanding but perfect training for someone who might eventually lead from the sidelines.
One of the biggest oversights in all of this is that we’re missing out on the very personalities the sport thrives on—the ones who bring unpredictability, drama, and that touch of madness we can’t resist. There’s an untapped pool of fascinating goalkeepers right in front of us, each with their own brand of eccentricity and insight. We already celebrate the chaotic brilliance of José, the calculated creativity of Pep, and a bit of sideline ‘shithousery’ from the game’s biggest personalities. So let's stop ignoring the keepers—those who see the game from angles others can’t.
Football has a long tradition of loving the unorthodox, and the keeper, standing apart from the action, is often the most intriguing figure on the pitch. They have the resilience, calmness under pressure, and mental toughness that could thrive in the dugout. Yet we keep them on the fringes, sidelined as if they don’t fit the mould.
What if we embraced that madness? Unleashed their unique perspective on the sidelines? There’s a whole crop of keepers—charismatic, insightful, and utterly unpredictable—just waiting for their moment to lead. The game loves its larger-than-life figures; let’s open the door for these keepers to show what they can bring. Maybe they’ll shock us with tactical genius. Or maybe they’ll be a glorious disaster. Either way, isn’t it worth finding out?
As Tim Flowers put it best when asked why there aren’t more goalkeepers in management: "There’s no reason at all, really. It just took me a little while to realise it."
Callum Turner
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This article first appeared in Issue 13 of FUTBOLISTA - go and pick up your copy!
https://futbolistamag.com/shop/print-magazines/issue-13/