‘Pirlo. Zidane. Cumdog’: Inside the wild mind of Central Coast Mariners maestro Jason Cummings

Scottish Cup semi-final. Cummings’ Hibernian against Dundee United.

A 20-year-old Cummings, one-part brilliant footballer, one-part stand-up comedian, boasted his wondrous left foot could “open a tin of beans” and stepped up to take a first-half penalty.

All balls and bravado, he unfurled a ‘panenka’, a style of penalty where the taker tries to dink the ball into the net. Italian legend Andrea Pirlo did it in a Euro 2012 quarter-final, as did Zinedine Zidane in the 2006 World Cup final.

Both made the goalkeeper look foolish.

One problem for Cummings, though. His panenka missed the goal, floating high, wide and onto YouTube for the rest of time. Only one fool there.

Which brings us to Saturday week’s A-League Men’s grand final, where Cummings will feature for David (Central Coast Mariners) against Goliath (Melbourne City). David has a mighty chance.

Cummings, otherwise known by his stage name ‘Cumdog’, could well decide a game with his left foot.

Even with a panenka.

“Big games are the time to do it!” Cummings says, without thought, or recall of seven years ago.

“Just like the greats. Pirlo. Zidane. Cumdog.”

*****

When Jason Cummings arrived here last year with an Australian passport thanks to an Aussie mum, to play for the Central Coast Mariners, his reputation walked through customs with him.

Impulsive behaviour had set a once-promising career, which looked destined for the English Premier League, wildly offcourse.

Like when he farted, loudly, during an intense Neil Lennon dressing room speech. Lennon, a Northern Irishman, didn’t exactly applaud.

He stayed good with Lennon, whose Hibs sold Cummings for around $2 million to Nottingham Forest, but that’s when fallouts with managers started.

‘Cumdog’ didn’t break the law, but bent the code of conduct for a professional footballer with smart-arse quotes and after-dark activity.

Cummings’ career headed for the s-bend, bouncing around the divisions in England and Scotland before Central Coast provided the ultimate fresh start.

“Never came with the mindset, ‘Oh, it’s Australia, go to the beach and drink, whatever’,” Cummings tells CODE Sports.

“There was a time when people thought off the pitch, ‘He’s just a joker, good for a quote’. I wanted to change that.”

Goals – 27 for the Mariners in 48 games, plus countless others created – is the proof of his success.

A player like Cummings, though, goes beyond facts and figures. He’s so damn watchable, able to faultlessly deliver football’s version of a one-liner: an outrageous pass few others would attempt. Or, produce football’s ultimate wisecrack: an ability to wriggle free of opposition attention and make the net ripple.

As a result, Cummings went to the World Cup as a Socceroo, and the Mariners now find themselves in a grand final after a decade in the doldrums.

“It’s the happiest I’ve been on the pitch,” Cummings says, highlighting the freedom that Mariners boss Nick Montgomery allows him.

“Some other clubs didn’t have a manager that believed in me. The style here of attacking football suits me to an absolute tee.”

On the day that CODE visits Mariners training, Cummings is alive to every action near goal. After a 90-minute session on a cloudless, cool day, with the rugby league posts up at the picturesque Central Coast Stadium, he goes into a solo NRL goal kicking challenge, placing the ball on a cone and launching it from 30, 40 and 50 metres.

With every success and every miss, ‘Cumdog’ is heard by all.

“If you said to me two years ago I’d be hitting goal kicks in front of palm trees in Australia, playing with the Socceroos, I’d say you’re off your nut,” Cummings says later.

“It’s just been f — king perfect.”

*****

The grand final could well be Cummings’ last game in a Mariners shirt, for the time being.

Rumours abound of offers from throughout Asia.

Cummings, still just 27, doesn’t refute them. And it makes sense.

Good for the Mariners, who will get a decent transfer fee. Good for the player, who will line his pockets. Speculation points towards India.

“I’ve seen the rumours. Amount of messages I’ve had from India, oh my God, mate,” Cummings says.

“Put up a picture online of me and my missus, I got a hundred comments, ‘Come to India’!

“It’s a good thing. Before I came here, no club wanted me and that’s a horrible feeling. The fact there’s interest is an amazing feeling to have.

“That’s the thing with football. It’s weird. You never know where you’ll end up.”

Including in front of the Taj Mahal?

“Exactly mate, might end up doing some keepy-uppys there.”

But before the mind of ‘Cumdog’ can cook up some more one-liners about where fate might take him, he grabs hold of the alter-ego, straightens out, and sets a course for Saturday week.

“Main focus is the grand final. Nothing else,” Cummings says.

“This club has been amazing. They’ve changed my life, I owe them so much.”

*****

Games such as grand finals are made for impulsive on-field behaviour, because a portion of the 22 participants will be shackled by nerves, what-ifs and maybes.

Cummings will not stunt his desire. What happened after that failed panenka says it all.

Ninety minutes on from his embarrassing miss, Hibernian had a chance to win the semi-final in a penalty shootout.

Cummings stepped up and slammed his second chance home to put Hibs into the final, which they won, beating Rangers in a game still sung about in Edinburgh.

“When I won that Scottish Cup with Hibs, it’s one of the main memories of my career,” Cummings says.

And it’s then his real character emerges.

Cummings goes on a three-minute monologue about what winning means, doing away with the ‘Cumdog’ persona for whom entertaining is more important than winning; for whom success on the scoreboard is overridden by the impulse for moments of flippancy, like a fart in the dressing room.

It is quite simple, Cummings concludes.

Success as a footballer is defined by the games you remember, which only comes with victory. Not defeat.

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“That’s the difference,” Cummings says.

“If you don’t win, it’s f — king pointless.

“Nothing is better than winning trophies. Nothing.”