Review
Culture
Football
Sport
5 min read

Shootout: what penalties say about life

Football is a global language and the shootout is the end to Shakespearian tragedy.

Simon is Bishop of Tonbridge in the Diocese of Rochester. He writes regularly round social, cultural and political issues.

A footballer takes a penalty kick.
England v Columbia: 2018 World Cup shootout.

It is hard to pity entitled, overpaid footballers.  Until, that is, it comes down to penalties after extra time.  Even when you do not care who wins, the drama of the penalty shootout is so intense and all-consuming that every heart rate quickens. 

Is there a more exquisite form of sporting torture? 

Sport is laden with cliché, and the refrain, ‘it’s come down to the lottery of penalties’ is an established part of the lexicon.  But is it just the spin of the roulette?  That you can’t prepare effectively for the cauldron of the stadium?  

Not according to Geir Jordet, it isn’t.  The Norwegian Professor of Psychology and Football is on a mission to convince the world there is lots you can do to get ready and those that don’t are more likely to fail. 

There is skill involved in taking a penalty, an ability that can be honed with practice.  Individual players can be trained to take their time (but not too long), to establish a routine that helps them take control of the situation, to take careful breaths, and to focus.  They can be helped with blocking out the trash talk of opponents, especially goalkeepers, who subtly try to get under their skin in the seconds leading up to a penalty.  Extensive research can be carried out by data-rich backroom staff to help with preparation.  And behind all this is the recognition that taking a penalty is a team effort, not an individual one.   

This latter observation feels especially counter intuitive.  There is nothing more lonely than the appearance of one man or woman taking the long walk from the centre circle to the penalty spot.  But teams can support one another with words of encouragement and touch.  Not just in the grasping of each other’s shoulders in the centre circle, but in reaching out to those who both score and miss.  One reason Geir Jordet advises that the manager should choose penalty takers rather than look for volunteers is that they then can take full responsibility for the outcome.  It is hard to believe there are still times when a manager looks around at players after extra time, hoping to see in the eyes who is up to the task.  These duties should be sorted out in advance, with back-up plans for when players are injured or substituted.

Deciding war between opposing tribes based on an individual contest was quite common in the ancient world – effectively moving to the penalty shootout before the game, to save the effort.

Jordet, in his stimulating book Pressure: Lessons From The Psychology Of The Penalty Shoot Out says that anxiety is normal and should be embraced.  Greater openness round mental wellbeing is allowing the modern professional to admit this.  Erling Haarland, one of the world’s most accomplished goal scorers, has shared the fear he regularly feels round taking a penalty; it is hard to imagine a player from the 1970s saying the same. 

Missing a penalty in the shootout is inevitable; the only way it can conclude.  And statistics show that the world’s greatest players, like Lionel Messi, are not notably better at converting penalties than others.  On average, the best players have around an eighty percent success rate (which, significantly, is one missed penalty out of five in a shootout).  As in other professions, the best results are achieved by creating systems and cultures that can adapt quickly and honestly to errors and learn from them without humiliating those who fail. 

Reading the book cast my mind back to the archetypal shootout between David and Goliath.  Deciding war between opposing tribes based on an individual contest was quite common in the ancient world – effectively moving to the penalty shootout before the game, to save the effort.  Perhaps David should have lost it, and not just because of his size.  Beforehand, he had a serious bust up with his side and those who did not see him as a team player.  Then Goliath trash talked him like Emi Martinez is famed for with Aston Villa and Argentina.  And finally, he ran up to take his shot very quickly, without much reflection.  But then again, Geir Jordet would be the first to point out that preparing badly for a contest does not mean you can’t win it – just that you are less likely to. 

Football is a global language and the penalty shootout is like the cataclysmic end to a Shakespearian tragedy.  English fans are long suffering audiences of this trauma – from Italia 90 to Wembley 2021, via the 1996 Euros when football was coming home until a last minute wrong turning.  But many other nations have under-achieved at penalties, like Holland and Spain and, more recently, France.  Roberto Baggio of Italy missed the decisive penalty in the first World Cup Final to go to penalties in 1994.  He says of it:  

‘I failed that time.  Period.  And it affected me for years.  It was the worst moment of my career.  I still dream about it.’.   

The personal stakes are as high, if not higher, than the nation’s.   

We are left with the feeling that hugely divergent outcomes can emerge from the smallest and most random of causes.  The human tendency is then to rationalise the outcome in ways that make it seem inevitable.  Geir Jordet is aware of this in football, but in other walks of life, we continue to build up wobbly cases on shallow evidence as a way of warding off anxiety or the fear that others will think we are clueless if we admit to the existence of chance.  Most people are right less than eighty percent of the time; something we might hold in mind when the next England players make that solitary walk to the penalty spot.  

Article
Character
Community
Economics
4 min read

Local businesses can love their neighbours, here’s how

The powerful partnerships quietly transforming Britain's towns
A knitted post box topper shows a group of people and the word powerhouse.
Celebrating Didcot's Powerhouse group.

In just three years, an Oxfordshire market town has cracked a code that's eluded community development experts for decades. The Didcot Powerhouse Fund has delivered £400,000 in grants to nearly 9,000 residents, proving that when local businesses and civic leaders work together, they can achieve remarkable results. 

Didcot's success is all the more remarkable given its context. Surrounded by world-class science campuses and the prosperity they bring, the town is simultaneously home to pockets of serious social and economic deprivation. This stark inequality demanded a fresh model for corporate giving – one that could bridge the gap between the wealth generated by cutting-edge research facilities and the struggling families living in their shadow. 

The fund's approach offers a blueprint for addressing one of Britain's most persistent challenges: how to harness private sector resources for genuine community benefit. Within five months of launching, it had generated £100,000 in grants. By year three, it had distributed 70 grants across Greater Didcot's 46,000 residents, tackling everything from domestic abuse support to youth skills training. 

What makes Didcot remarkable isn't just the money – it's the method. The fund, chaired by Oxfordshire Deputy Lieutenant Elizabeth Paris, doesn't simply write cheques. It convenes businesses, charities, local government and faith leaders in the same room, mapping community needs and systematically filling gaps. This year's annual impact event, hosted by the European Space Agency, drew 160 guests who would rarely otherwise meet. 

This model represents a fundamental shift from traditional corporate social responsibility. Rather than companies making isolated charitable donations, the Didcot approach creates sustained partnerships that leverage professional networks, legal expertise and grant-writing skills alongside financial resources. 

The success reflects a broader civic renewal happening across Britain, much of it led by the country's 5.5 million small and medium enterprises (SMEs). Across the UK, these businesses are showing what it means to contribute not just economically, but socially, to their local communities. They do so quietly — through their skills, relationships, and a belief in stewardship. 

Last winter, fuel-allowance reductions left many families wondering how to heat their homes. In East Yorkshire, a coalition of community groups supported by an SME mobilised at speed, distributing thousands of pounds in emergency vouchers. Similar efforts in Cambridgeshire and Nottinghamshire reached nearly 300 residents with targeted help. These acts made all the difference close to home. 

SMEs employ 60 per cent of the UK workforce, but their real power lies in their embeddedness within local communities. They understand local needs in ways that distant corporations or central government cannot. And SMEs, as groups of individuals united by a common purpose, have the unique ability to be good neighbours in the communities they serve. The most effective business leaders understand that creating real value comes from cooperation – from working alongside others to meet shared needs.  

Successful SMEs engage actively with their local communities because doing so helps them understand the people they serve, earns trust, and provides services that genuinely matter. This requires spending time with people, asking thoughtful questions, and recognising that local relationships are central to resilience.  

Through my role as Lord-Lieutenant of Oxfordshire, alongside our team of 40 Deputy-Lieutenants, I witness this transformation first-hand. We engage with tens of thousands of people annually and can report that this quiet civic renewal is both important and accelerating. 

From the Isle of Wight, where former vehicle technician Jan retrained as an energy retrofit assessor to help neighbours cut bills and carbon emissions, to East Yorkshire, where community groups and local firms mobilised to distribute emergency fuel vouchers, SMEs are proving themselves to be critical civic actors. 

The most striking example may be Inveraray on Scotland's west coast, where the historic Local Pier had been shuttered for a decade. A local charity, supported by regional SMEs, raised over £275,000 across seven funding bids. The pier reopened in April 2024, now hosting monthly farmers' markets. As Linda Divers, Chair of Inveraray Community Council, said at the ribbon-cutting: "That vote of confidence turned a dream into reality." 

This matters because trust – the foundation of effective community action – is built through personal relationships. A 2023 King's College London study found that 98 per cent of UK residents trust people they know personally. SMEs, rooted in their communities, are uniquely positioned to nurture and leverage this trust. 

Parliament is taking notice. The Business and Trade Committee has launched an inquiry into what small firms need to thrive, with Chair Liam Byrne calling them "the engine room of growth and our biggest employer." 

The potential is enormous. Imagine businesses helping food banks become comprehensive community hubs. Picture digital skills clinics helping charities navigate AI-ready grant applications. Envision hundreds more professionals like Jan, retrained into green jobs that serve both local communities and environmental goals. 

The Didcot model shows this isn't utopian thinking – it's happening now. What's needed is recognition that the story is changing: from businesses as standalone economic actors to businesses as community builders, aligned with local purpose. 

At its heart, this kind of community investment reflects a deep, shared commitment to neighbourly love – not as a sentiment, but as a practical responsibility. To be a good neighbour is to recognise the inherent worth in every person, and to act with generosity, care, and purpose.  

It even calls us to see one another not as strangers or competitors, but as people closely connected, each carrying something of the same human dignity and potential. This recognition demands action: to build relationships that endure, to work for the good of all, and to strengthen the ties that bind communities together. 

The work of SMEs and local leaders across the UK embodies these values, offering a powerful example of faith in action within public life. In an era of declining social capital and institutional trust, it offers hope that Britain's communities will continue to build themselves from the ground up. We should celebrate it – and help it grow. 

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