James Shield: The terribly sad case of former Sheffield United striker Lys Mousset

Sheffield United’s Iliman Ndiaye is a prime example. Yes, the Senegal international would be overjoyed to win some medals. Either with his country, Paul Heckingbottom’s side or eventually, if the wish he outlined in a recently recycled interview is fulfilled at some point, perennial under-achievers Marseille. But Ndiaye also appears to be in thrall with football. That’s why his displays ooze joie de vivre.

Others, however, turn professional just because they have a knack for it. And then there’s the folk who eventually lose their passion for the game but, like a guy or a girl locked in a toxic relationship, can never quite persuade themselves to walk away.

The recently retired Gareth Bale is probably one of these. For the past couple of seasons, you get the impression he’s been going through the motions while dreaming of doing something else. Okay, whenever he was summoned by Wales his passion seemed to get reignited. But the desire he once felt for Real Madrid, which persuaded him to end his marriage to Tottenham Hotspur, had long since withered on the vine.

Which brings me, not so neatly or even succinctly, to the terribly sad case of Lys Mousset.

A couple of weeks ago I awarded Ndiaye’s former United team mate a gong in my end of year awards. It wasn't one he’d want, because it was the ‘greatest waste of talent’ trophy following his long and utterly excruciating goodbye from Bramall Lane. Grossly overweight, for a normal joe nevermind an athlete, the Frenchman should have been the first name on the club’s matchday team sheets. Instead, after failing to show the necessary dedication to make the most of his skills, a striker who once terrorised Manchester City and tore Arsenal a new one grew complacent, fat and seemingly disinterested; failing to grasp the lifeline a loan to Salernitana offered him before being released and joining VfL Bochum. Now the same sorry story appears to be unfolding again with the Germans reportedly preparing to rip up Mousset’s contract because he can’t turn up on time for training and is clearly carrying several excess pounds.

“We kept giving him a chance and now there’s no point,” their manager Patrick Fabian said. “It’s pretty disappointing because we naturally had a lot of hopes from him in terms of sport. At some point, however, the time comes when we have to protect the group as a whole.”

In a sense, football creates its own problems when it comes to people like Mousset. No matter how many times they stuff up or refuse help, there will always be someone willing to hire them if they’ve got ability. And I don’t suppose, when he looks at the paychecks which have been deposited in his bank account, the millionaire Mousset is too bothered about anything Herr Fabian has to say.

The shame is, when he’s no longer in the limelight for good or bad reasons, there’ll come a time when he wished he’d listened. To the one-time defender, Chris Wilder or his successors at United Slavisa Jokanovic and Paul Heckingbottom. Because if he continues on this downward spiral, pretty soon he’ll struggle to get a deal with a part-time outfit from his native France.

The biggest shame of all is that Mousset isn’t an a-hole. Personally, I always found him friendly, polite and willing to try and help during his stay in South Yorkshire. But one suspects there are folk around him who are taking advantage of those qualities, latching on because of the lifestyle associating with the lad brings them rather than out of friendship or care.

It doesn’t have to be like this. Aged 26, Mousset still has time to turn things around. I’m aware of a few good-meaning individuals who are desperate to help him despite being squeezed out of his inner circle. One of them is involved in boxing and, whether you love the bloke or not, should send him a copy of Tyson Fury’s latest book. Or better still, get him a personal audience with The Gypsy King.

No matter what your thoughts on Fury, you can’t dispute that he’s fought plenty of demons and won.

In ‘Gloves Off’, which describes his mental health battles and journey back to the top of the toughest business of all, he recounts a conversation with Deontay Wilder ahead of one of their trilogy bouts.

“You’re going to end up broke,” Fury warned the American, after noticing the size of his entourage. “You’ve got all these idiots around you. Bag carriers. Look at you, you’re a classless man.”

“If you call this classless, I’ll be classless any day,” Wilder retorted, before being invited to “Meet up in 10 years when it’s all over and we’ll see if you’ve got any money left. Then we’ll see if any of these pricks are still hanging around you.”

Despite admitting to enjoying company, Fury insists he doesn’t need to be surrounded by back-side kissers because “I know how good I am.” Those are words Mousset would be advised to digest. Think, even though he is never going to be the next Jimmy Greaves, ‘How good I could be?’

Nobody within the lad’s coterie appears to have told him that. If they have, then he hasn’t listened. So they should tell him again and do what good mates do - risk losing a pal because they need to hear something for their own good, not your’s.

Mousset, from where I’m standing, looks lost. Someone who, engulfed by the trappings of success, no longer seems capable of differentiating between those folk who really care for him and the ones who simply covet his wallet.

I hope, for his sake, he gets a wake up call quickly. Discovers some respect for his skills and, most importantly, himself.