Newcastle United: Jacob Murphy playfully labels Fabian Schär a 'terrible runner' — and says it’s all about IQ

Call a teammate a "terrible, terrible runner" and you’ve either got a problem or a punchline. In Jacob Murphy’s case, it’s clearly the latter. The winger lobbed the line at Fabian Schär with a grin, then immediately made the real point: the Swiss centre-back’s game isn’t built on stride length or sprint splits. It’s built on timing, angles, and cool-headed decision-making — the stuff that keeps Newcastle United secure when the tempo spikes.

What Murphy meant by calling Schär a "terrible runner"

Murphy’s quip landed in a light-hearted setting linked to running — he was even photographed icing his hand after taking part in what looked like a community or charity run. Around Tyneside this time of year, that naturally brings the Great North Run to mind. The tone wasn’t snark; it was the kind of teasing that comes from a dressing room that’s comfortable enough to laugh at itself.

Schär, 32, has never been sold as a track athlete. He’s a reader of the game. Watch him for five minutes and you see a defender who drifts into the right zones early, nudges forwards where they don’t want to go, and plays the first pass that opens the pitch for Eddie Howe’s side. He’ll step in front of a striker because he saw the pass a beat before the receiver did. That’s not speed; that’s anticipation.

Murphy’s “terrible runner” line was really a compliment framed as a dig. He was pointing at a truth that coaches repeat: straight-line speed helps, but decision speed is what wins duels. Schär rarely looks rushed because he’s already solved the problem. If he’s not the fastest over 40 yards, he compensates by deciding in four.

This fits how Newcastle play. Howe asks his centre-backs to start attacks, not just survive them. Schär can ping a switch, hit a vertical into a forward’s feet, or carry the ball through the first line of pressure. When you have that, your unit doesn’t need a sprinter as much as it needs a stabiliser — someone who chooses wisely and executes cleanly under pressure.

And the banter matters. Teammates don’t take playful shots at one another unless the environment is tight. Murphy’s been one of the club’s liveliest characters for years, quick with a joke but also a tireless runner on the pitch. For him to poke fun at Schär while praising his brain is a window into a group that handles intensity with a bit of wit. That cohesion showed during Newcastle’s surge back into European contention last season and remains a theme under Howe.

Why intelligence beats pace for a modern centre-back

Ask any defender who’s survived at a high level past 30: pace goes; pictures remain. Schär’s value is in the pictures he sees — the cues from a winger’s body shape, the way a striker glances before spinning, the weight of a midfielder’s touch that telegraphs a risky pass. He gathers these tells and acts before a race even starts.

In practical terms, that advantage shows up in a handful of places:

• Positioning: A one-yard head start comes from being in the right lane, not winning a chase after it begins.
• Timing in duels: Arriving on contact as the ball does means you don’t need recovery speed.
• Cover angles: Guiding a runner toward help — the touchline or a holding midfielder — prevents exposure.
• Distribution: Turning a defensive win into a progressive pass slows opponents and speeds your own attack.
• Game management: Knowing when not to engage keeps yellow cards down and numbers intact.

Schär also brings a calm threat going forward. He’s comfortable stepping into midfield and, occasionally, he’ll uncork a long-range strike that changes the mood inside St James’ Park. Those moments don’t happen if a defender is panicking to keep up. They happen when the game feels slow, even when the stadium feels loud.

None of this is to say running doesn’t matter in football. It does — a lot. Newcastle’s style demands repeated sprints from wide players and midfielders to press, recover, and go again. Murphy lives in that world, and he’s earned the right to joke about the pain of it. But roles differ. The “worst runner” in a group can still be one of the most reliable players on a matchday because his job asks for reads and restraint more than miles and meters.

It’s also worth noting how these moments surface. Clubs now share behind-the-scenes clips, Q&As, and team challenges that show more personality than a standard post-match interview. Supporters get the banter; players get to be human; and the club gets a story that stretches beyond the scoreline. Murphy’s ice pack, the talk of a run, the public ribbing of a teammate — it’s a snapshot of a squad comfortable in its own skin.

Schär’s journey adds weight to the picture. From Switzerland to the Premier League, he’s built a reputation as a steady, intelligent defender who rarely overplays the moment. Managers trust players like that because their floor is high. Even on a day when the legs aren’t lively, the mind can tidy up a mess.

And for a team trying to balance domestic ambitions with European nights, those steady hands matter. Newcastle will need their sprinters to stretch games and their creators to unlock stubborn blocks. They’ll also need defenders who make risk feel smaller. That’s where Schär sits — not the first name you think of when the conversation turns to speed, but one of the names you circle when it turns to control.

So, yes, Murphy calling him a “terrible, terrible runner” will get the headline. The subtext is the story. Newcastle’s dressing room is secure enough to laugh, and its back line is secure enough to trust a defender who wins with his head more than his heels. On Tyneside, that balance — thunder out wide, composure at the back — is exactly what keeps the crowd believing.