The best strikers conjure something out of nothing.

Lurking hidden in plain view, the striker sneaks into open space, in the spaces between. He waits and broods, analysing his prey, the defender.

He is always on watch, observing, thinking, scheming. "How can I get past this defender? Can I skin him, or slip away unnoticed when my midfielder plays me into that space?"

A good striker is lethal, he is quick and his reaction time is three times faster than the defender. He doesn't wait for a good time to shoot, no, he makes the time. He steals time and punishes the slow-witted defender.

But a great striker isn't only reactive. He's proactive and makes things happen, often, like a rabbit out of a hat, his goals appear from nowhere.

He's always asking the question: Should I beat the defender with pure force and speed, or is it better to float into the box behind him like a ghost and strike like a cobra when he hasn't even seen me?

He runs diagonally into tiny spaces while the defender has his back to him.

He can dart like a fish in between two, or three, of these defenders and pierce their armour with a dart-like ball into the net.

Take for instance the Jets Jeremy Brockie last weekend, his first goal a showcase in speed and poise, zipping and dodging past the defender then firing a punishing shot in at the near post with enough venom to ensure the keeper, and a good one at that, couldn't get a hand to it. His second was like a juggling acts, with a punch in your belly as he juggled the ball.

Or look at Archie Thomson, who, like some kind of court jester, jigged and danced inside Brisbane Roar's box until both the keeper and the defender had fallen to the ground, after which he shot the ball into an empty net. If that's not magic, then what is?

Stock in trade for the predatory striker is the "steal it from the defender" trick. When Brockie anticipated a poor pass from a Central Coast Mariner recently, he danced and slipped through defender after defender until his damage was done. When Sergio van Dijk was inadvertently gifted a sloppy pass from a Melbourne Victory defender, there he was, like a praying mantis ready to pounce.

Also in the striker's bag of tricks is the set-piece. Look at Ryan Griffiths, who curled the ball around a wall of players standing in his way, into the goal against Melbourne Heart. The amazement of thousands of fans could be heard, first in a millisecond of stunned silence that such a thing was possible and then a roar in ecstasy and gratitude that it was done.

Take Besart Berisha, who time and again seems to appear out of nowhere to steal the ball from defenders, or sneak in between the defender and the keeper and divert the ball in a almost impossible direction into the net. How did he do that?

A great striker is a wonderful thing to watch, and a frightening one if he is on the other team. Watching a great striker is just another thing that makes this game beautiful. (apologies to the women footballers for the use of male gender in this article).