Gentle giant and gentleman Dom Iorfa leaves behind a Sheffield Wednesday career of beautiful cruelty
A week today, it was announced that Dominic Iorfa’s time as a Sheffield Wednesday player had come to an end. Alex Miller looks back on a long and bumpy ride.
There’s a beautiful cruelty to Dominic Iorfa’s Sheffield Wednesday career.
So athletic, so fast, the sight of him galloping through a midfield as opposition players backed away enough to bring Hillsborough to its feet with a roar. And yet, the injuries that so cruelly robbed him of more than his 222 appearances across seven distinguished seasons linger heavy; on what could have been for him, more than Wednesday.
He arrived a flying wing-back, freshly emerged from the England youth set-up and full of fire. A derby(ish) equaliser on debut and a silly red card not long after, the former Wolves man served as a peek into the promise of a post-Carvalhal revival for Wednesday. There was an excitement around his name and it was rightful.
Iorfa has gone from boy to man at S6, from young professional to father. Not long ago the son of Southend told The Star of his children picking up Yorkshire accents and of his southern-based family becoming Wednesday supporters. There was a passion to the now 30-year-old that bubbled under to the point that, when contract talks were stalling in 2024, he switched agencies in an effort to ensure his time at Hillsborough would continue.
It was in his first full year in Wednesday colours that Iorfa played out his best season. Moved to the centre of defence by Garry Monk in a switch that surprised many, he was imperious, intelligent and blitzing. He’d dominate forwards and provide the sort of speed across the ground that would make eye-catching recovery tackles look effortless. He was a clear winner of that season’s player gong sweep and earned interest from both the Premier League and exciting clubs abroad. But players were never sold in the Wednesday that belonged to that fella formerly of this parish.
That quality remained. There were periods in which Iorfa showed his very best, often pushed back to wing-back by Darren Moore and momentarily tried in midfield by Tony Pulis. There were weeks in which he looked back to his best, all power and presence and with a competence on the ball largely understated. His gangly look would gather nervousness but the numbers show he moved it nicely enough.
Iorfa was a popular figure in the dressing room, a gentle giant and a gentleman. He was one of the players who would go about his business quietly but with a sense of authority and would always have time for those on the fringes; one of a handful of players who would stop to say hello to reporters each and every time we crossed paths. His signing for the Owls came just a few months before this writer began covering Wednesday and from a personal standpoint, there was an unrequited kinship as the club’s many iterations and tribulations came and went. He’s a family man first and foremost, but he cared passionately about playing for Sheffield Wednesday.
He was, they told us, the fastest man in Yorkshire. The six-foot-four son of a professional player who trained with the senior England side and spent his youth blazing sprint records across the south of England, ultimately it was his body that would eventually let him down. Serious ankle injuries turned to hamstring trouble, a hip operation came and went, there was his groin. In the most recent of all his eventful seasons, Iorfa had to be managed carefully but had periods of even injury-hit seasons in which he was among the Owls’ best players. This last year, he was among those that often played beyond medical advice to see Wednesday through. His injuries hurt him deeply.
As for so many heroes of recent times, promotion at Wembley proved to be the highlight. He came so close to scoring and probably should have done, but in a game of little standout quality he had moments down the right that stood out. His ceiling was as high as any Wednesday player in his time at the club. His star ultimately waned, as they all do. At his best, few could touch him.