Imagine, if you can, a footballer. Signed rather unexpectedly from the continent, with a first touch your club hadn’t seen in 50 years but also a near-parodical inability to score (with the exception of precisely two goal-of-the-season contenders: one on his debut, the other in a derby, while wearing a cartoonish head bandage), a name whose syllables fit the rhythm of an early-1990s dance hit almost too perfectly, a YouTube compilation that attempts (unsuccessfully) to dub him the “Zidane of (UK postal district)”, an entirely PR-agency-free Twitter feed, a body that is either 1) indestructible or 2) breaks down every six weeks, a valuable contribution towards an unlikely European place/Premier League survival/Championship play-off final triumph… and then, one summer, he’s disappeared.

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You now have in your head the cultest footballing hero possible.

Footballing cult heroism is conveniently vague enough as a concept to accommodate a whole spectrum of players who, for one reason or several, formed an affinity with their club’s fanbase almost at first glance, while also being well-defined enough for us to nail down its vital components. Cult heroes can be defenders or strikers, endearing or infuriating, disappear into thin air or stick around forever.

The process of becoming a cult hero is also a fairly democratic one: the label doesn’t necessarily lend itself to successful clubs any better than it does to basket-case relegation regulars or mid-table mediocrity. Some clubs seem to anoint a new one almost every season, a short-term strategy perhaps best demonstrated by Arsenal’s recent baton-passing from Sead Kolasinac (2017: looked like he could bench-press the Emirates) to Lucas Torreira (2018: would chase the opposition team bus back up the motorway just to make sure) and now Kieran Tierney (2019: doesn’t mind the cold and carries his things in a Tesco bag).

There is room for a cult hero in the very best teams: Chelsea’s rock-solid, super-serious title winners of 2004-05 found a way to accommodate Robert Huth, a colossal human being with a surname that fans could easily belt out with no context whatsoever, a nickname — “The Berlin Wall” — that nobody ever actually said out loud, and who took a groundsman’s buggy for a gleeful joyride around the Stamford Bridge pitch on the final day of the season. But there’s the danger: a cult hero should never threaten to become actually great; goal machines are never cult heroes, for example, but scorers of the occasional wonder strike? Possibly. And players who just never score, to the point where the home crowd will sarcastically “urge” them to let fly from 30 yards? Almost certainly.

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Cult heroism should, ideally, blossom straight away (in the social media era, the gestation period for a “firm fans’ favourite” can now be as short as 90 televised minutes) but it can also be cultivated over a decade of quiet, faithful service. Cult heroes should be the most accessible of poster boys, their successes (scoring with their arse) and failures (struggling with how to put a bib on for a full three minutes after being substituted) far more relatable than an xG per 90 of 0.58. But they can also remain out of arm’s reach, an impenetrable riddle, a “Whatever happened to…?” in waiting.

For anyone still in any doubt about this, The Athletic’s Modern Cult Heroes series will provide a perfect cross-section of what it means. Arsenal’s Nwankwo Kanu, all 6ft 6in of him, will stand alongside Norwich’s 5ft 6in genius emeritus Wes “Wessi” Hoolahan among the mavericks. As for the enigmas, our Brighton writer Andy Naylor will seek to answer the question of how a La Liga winner ended up at the Amex, while our West Brom man Steve Madeley has one big question: wherever did Jason Koumas go? The cult-hero credentials of the impossibly handsome and resolute Olof Mellberg (Aston Villa) will be examined in exactly the same depth as the slightly preposterous former Everton midfield enforcer Thomas Gravesen.

Mikel John Obi (yes, it’s that way round) speaks to Simon Johnson about how he went from being a playmaking wonderkid at the centre of a transfer tug-of-war to becoming Chelsea’s one-man final whistle, a perpetual game-closing substitute with all the goalscoring threat of a tranquilised giraffe. Teemu Tainio will reflect on the day his Tottenham cult status was sealed forever by managing to waste precisely 63 seconds on a throw-in against Chelsea in extra time of the 2008 League Cup final, every single one of which was destined to be immortalised in a YouTube video entitled simply “Teemu Legend”.

Cult heroes don’t have statues built but they do end up as the subject of 12-page threads on fans’ forums. They have quaint songs sung about them, years after they left, celebrating whatever tiny, obscure characteristic it was that made them so enshrined in cultness. And now they have their own series on The Athletic.

Arsenal: Nwankwo Kanu
Aston Villa: Olof Mellberg
Brighton & Hove Albion: Vicente
Burnley: Wade Elliott
Chelsea: Mikel John Obi
Celtic: Georgios Samaras
Crystal Palace: Marouane Chamakh
Derby County: Georgi Kinkladze
Everton: Thomas Gravesen
Fulham: Chris Baird
Leeds United: David Healey
Leicester City: Robert Huth
Liverpool: Javier Mascherano
Manchester City: Richard Dunne
Manchester United: Park Ji-sung
Newcastle United: Ryan Taylor
Norwich City: Wes Hoolahan
Nottingham Forest: Radi Majewski
Rangers: Sasa Papac
Sheffield United: Rob Kozluk
Sheffield Wednesday: Miguel Llera
Southampton: James Beattie
Tottenham Hotspur: Teemu Tainio
West Bromwich Albion: Jason Koumas
West Ham United: Ludek Miklosko
Wolverhampton Wanderers: Mo Camara

(Photos: Getty Images; design: Sam Richardson)