Specifically, I want to pivot to the most thrilling human currently on two boots:

Erling Haaland.

Or just Haaland—the Erling’s long been extraneous. He’s a 6-foot-4 Norwegian who celebrates goals by falling to the ground in a meditative Lotus pose, but also says he enjoys the fearsome nickname “Terminator.”

We will also accept That Guy, because you can’t miss Haaland out there—the unmistakable, ponytailed blonde sequoia in Manchester City sky blue who looks like he escaped from a Gronkowski extended family reunion.

He’s the English Premier League’s breakout superstar, and he’s building a case as one of the most exciting young athletes on earth, in any sport, a true get to the television and watch him, now sensation.

Let me repeat: Get to the television and watch Haaland, now. Or any screen of your choice. Manchester City faces Real Madrid in the first leg of their Champions League semifinal Tuesday at 3 p.m. ET.

Why the fuss? Pretty simple. It’s because Haaland scores. And scores and scores and scores and scores. And scores again. Then he scores one more goal, just in case you missed the last one. In fact, Haaland just scored another. Sorry.

Last week, Haaland scored his 35th goal in his 32nd Premier League game, breaking the 31-year-old league’s record with four games still left to play. He’s scored more goals than several EPL clubs, and he’s a central reason the already-very good Man City has a very good crack at the “treble”—winning the Premier League, Champions League, and FA Cup in the same season—an achievement that hasn’t been unlocked since David Beckham’s Manchester United did it in 1999.

Craziest part of all?

Haaland is just 22—and in his first-ever Premier League campaign.

It isn’t supposed to go like this. The EPL tends to rattle and steamroll new players as they adapt to its physical style and global spotlight. Had Haaland needed a season “to adjust” upon his heavily-hyped arrival from Germany’s Borussia Dortmund—the kid who once scored nine goals in an under-20 World Cup game—few would have been shocked. Lots of newbies do.

But Haaland showed up in England like he’d been born there. Haaland actually was born there—in July 2000, when his father, Alfie, was playing for Leeds. Maybe that’s why this whole situation has looked so smooth. There was Premier League sequencing in his DNA.

From the start, Haaland poured it on. He scored two goals in his Man City debut versus West Ham, added a third in his third game against Newcastle, then logged back-to-back hat tricks versus Crystal Palace and Nottingham Forest. He was the fastest Premier League player to 10 goals, then the fastest to 20. He notched a wicked five goals in a Champions League match versus RB Leipzig. It’s honestly bigger news when Haaland doesn’t score.

He does all of this despite rarely touching the ball. Haaland isn’t a football artiste—he is a blunt force object, a finisher who feasts on pretty assists by teammates like Kevin De Bruyne. As the Journal’s Joshua Robinson put it earlier this season: “To observe Erling Haaland playing soccer…is mostly to watch a very large Nordic man stroll around a field without the ball.”

He is Shaq in full kit. The soccer romantics may never be as moved by Haaland’s shock and awe as they are Lionel Messi or Kylian Mbappé in full bloom, but that’s expected. Terminators are seldom a romantic experience.

As the season’s gone on, Haaland has offered more. He’s still scoring in buckets, but he’s widened his repertoire, posting some brilliant assists (including two to De Bruyne in a 4-1 rout of rival Arsenal) and showing magnanimity the other day versus Leeds, when he handed over a penalty kick to teammate Ilkay Gundogan. (Gundogan, on the verge of a hat trick, missed the penalty, and both he and Haaland drew the wrath of Man City manager Pep Guardiola, who’d asked Haaland to take it.)

Call it an amusing hiccup in this brilliant debut. In Man City, Haaland joined what was already one of the richest, most stacked teams in the universe—a club recently accused of breaching financial regulations by the Premier League itself. City is always a hothouse, but Haaland’s managed to endure the accompanying stresses and blend into Guardiola’s precise offense—“a jackhammer on a tray of surgical instruments,” as Robinson elegantly put it.

He isn’t an expensive accouterment. He is a star of stars, and if City is to win its first Champions League title and capture this historic treble, he will be the essential figure.

Let me finish with a little story. A couple of nights ago, I was at my son’s Little League game when one of his teammates hit a home run. The kid sprinted around the bases until he crossed home plate, reached his celebrating colleagues, dropped to the ground in a cross-legged stance, and closed his eyes.

He was doing the celebration in a Little League game.

Haaland’s celebration.

The Terminator is everywhere. Catch him as soon as you can.