Neal Maupay was the perfect signing for the version of the Albion he joined in August 2019. Post-Hughton, but very early-Potter, these were the nascent days of the campaign that finally came to fruition in May 2022: a top-ten Premier League table finish.

He joined a progressive club looking upwards, albeit one suffering from a touch of imposter syndrome. Park the bus for too long (or not even leave the depot when playing away at a big-six club) and you start to fear the big bright lights of the outside world.

Which is why Neal, with his brash nonconformist attitude, was such a great fit. Here was somebody who didn’t give a shit for stuffy reactionary constraints like status, or hierarchy. A musketeer from the South of France, who was entirely comfortable shithousing anybody, home or away, rich or poor. Vive le Revolution.

But August 2019 to May 2022 is a long old time, and spans three full seasons of football… that were mostly played out against a backdrop of groans, heads in hands, and the chimera of X fucking G hanging over us.

Our profligacy cannot be blamed squarely on Neal Maupay. Squandering chances in a Brighton shirt and Neal Maupay are not mutually exclusive.

But the superb run of form we put together late last season to help achieve our top-ten objective, and Danny Welbeck’s involvement, absolutely were. And the writing has been on the dressing room wall ever since.

What to make of Neal’s time at the club? There are two contrasting folkloric versions of Neal Maupay. There’s the swashbuckling baller who bangs in late goals and shushes opposition supporters. 27 goals across 107 appearances (in all competitions) is a tidy record in Premier League terms. But there’s also the lonely dejected version of Neal, shoulders hunched, hamstrung by self-doubt, wishing the ground would swallow him up.

This paradox is what makes him so interesting, and so easy to love - despite the shanks,scuffs and mishits. How could you not have empathy for someone who works so hard, and always came back for more?

He comes across as an intelligent, thoughtful person, and he’s a perfectly decent Premier League football player. An exceptional one, on his day, if the stars are aligned and he hasn’t the time to contemplate the consequences of failure before striking the ball.

And we were lucky enough to enjoy plenty of those exceptional days and moments down the years. Big goals, key assists, and some absolute first-rate shithousery - why’d you let it bounce, you fucking dipshits.

I’ve often wondered if the shithousing was a sort of coping mechanism for his self-doubts? Getting into other people’s heads to help keep control of his own. Or maybe Neal’s just a bit of a dick?

We’ll discover soon enough whether Graham Potter, with his degree in emotional intelligence, don’t you know, was able to get the absolute best out of Neal or not. But I have a hunch this is a good as things get. All football clubs bang on about ‘culture’ and creating a supportive environment, but we do seem to be particularly good at the emotional and psychological aspects of modern-day football management.

It’s been fun, but now a new project has commenced, something even sexier - trophies, Europe, maybe even some home wins - and so it feels like the right time to say goodbye. Merci pour les buts, les passes décisives et rendre les gens fous.

Oh and Neal, if you are reading this, I have some advice for you. You have to choose between Everton, Fulham or Nottingham Forest, is that correct? That’s a simple one, mate. At Goodison Park you’ll be mismanaged by somebody who displays about as much emotional intelligence as a mouse handler at a vivisection laboratory.

Fulham? What’s the point? They’re shit and will lose most weeks, may as well join an ambitious Championship club to enjoy the thrills and spills of a promotion campaign, than get sucked down the Premier League u-bend in a Fulham jersey.

Which just leaves Nottingham Forest and the consoling arm of Steve Cooper, the person who’ll take over from King Graham when he departs in the summer of 2024 (we don’t do sexy managers, we just do fucking great ones).

So we’ll see you Neal, our old friend, in mid-October.

Artwork: Iain Budgen / @iainbudgen and Gullski / @BHAgullski

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