The Commentator With Too Many Takes
Jochem Myjer is a Dutch sports journalist who spent decades on air for Veronica, ESPN, and various NPO productions covering football. He's known for a very particular on-camera habit that became its own little cultural reference over the years. People would call it the "nog eentje dan" thing. That phrase just means "one more then" in Dutch, and it was basically his go-to line when he was about to add yet another paragraph to an analysis that had already gone long enough. The pattern goes like this. You are watching a match. The pre-game show or halftime segment is running, and someone asks Myjer a question that really only needs two or three sentences. Instead, he settles in. He starts laying out tactical context, references a past game from 2006, brings up a manager's philosophy, and right before he wraps it up he says something along the lines of "nog eentje dan" — basically signaling that there is still one more point he needs to make. Then he makes it. Sometimes that one more point is genuinely the best part. Sometimes it is the part where the broadcast could have cut to a commercial. What made it noticeable enough to become a shorthand among Dutch football fans is the consistency. This was not a one-off quirk. It happened across multiple networks, multiple formats, and multiple tournaments. The phrase itself got picked up as a label for the broader behavior of commentators who cannot resist going one layer deeper even when the format does not invite it. You see it in other languages too, obviously. English-speaking pundits have the same tendency, but Myjer's version had a specific cadence and timing that people started recognizing within seconds.
Why It Stuck Around
Dutch football media in the 2000s and 2010s was built on a different pacing than what we have now. Segments were longer. There was less pressure to move fast. A panel discussion could easily run twenty minutes, and Myjer was comfortable occupying that space. The "nog eentje dan" habit fits into that environment naturally. It is a courtesy signal to his co-hosts and producers, a way of saying that the current thought is not finished. But to viewers, it became a marker. You knew exactly what was coming when you heard it. That predictability is probably why it turned into a meme culture reference rather than just a personal tic. The thing that most people miss when they talk about this is that it was not just filler. Myjer's extra layers usually had actual substance. He had been around major tournaments, he had tracked players across seasons, and his context was rarely empty. The problem was distribution. When you are working inside a live broadcast window, the signal that there is one more point is fine. The problem starts when that one more point is delivered while the production team is already thinking about switching feeds or closing a segment.
How To Recognize The Pattern In Real Time
If you are watching Dutch football coverage and you want to spot this in the wild, you do not need to understand Dutch perfectly. The delivery is what gives it away. Myjer tends to slow his pace slightly right before he launches into the additional material. He will often reframe the original question internally and then answer the reframed version instead. You will hear a brief pause, maybe a small intake of breath, and then the follow-up begins. The phrase itself is usually placed at the transition point between the first answer and the second pass. There is a secondary tell that is less obvious. When Myjer does this in a studio setting with other pundits, he frequently looks toward the director or producer rather than the camera. That eye movement is a practical signal that he is checking whether he has permission to continue, which in broadcast terms is both professional etiquette and an acknowledgment that he is extending the segment. Casual viewers often interpret that glance as confidence. It is actually the opposite. It is him asking for a green light.
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What Happened When The Format Changed
As streaming platforms and shorter-form content started eating into traditional broadcast slots, the space available for extended analysis shrank. That directly affected habits like this one. I noticed it myself when following his later work on NPO and various streaming-adjacent productions. The "nog eentje dan" moments did not disappear, but they changed shape. He started compressing the lead-in and landing the extra point faster. The rhythm shifted from a slow unwind to a quick pivot. Some long-time viewers read that as him maturing. It was more likely him adapting to tighter rundown sheets. There is a useful comparison here with English-language broadcasting. Pundits on channels like Sky Sports or TNT Sports have similar habits, but the terminology is different. They might say "and one more thing" or simply add "just to add..." Myjer's version was distinct because it functioned as a named moment within Dutch football culture. It was not just a speech pattern. It became a reference point you could use to describe the behavior of other people who kept adding points past the natural stopping line.
Edge Case: When The Phrase Actually Backfires
The one situation where this habit visibly damages a broadcast is when the extra point repeats information the audience already has. I ran into this repeatedly during tournament coverage. Myjer would explain a tactical adjustment, then add one more layer about the same adjustment, and by that second pass the novelty was gone. The viewer is now sitting with redundancy instead of insight. The workaround that seemed to work best in later years was cutting the first pass shorter and letting the second pass carry the full weight. That way the audience hears the complete thought once rather than two partial versions of the same idea. This is not unique to Myjer. Any analyst who leans into the deeper explanation will hit this wall if the first pass is too thin. The fix is structural, not performative. You either commit to one complete explanation or you skip straight to the supplementary layer. Both versions of "nog eentje dan" broadcasting fail when they treat the first answer as a warm-up and the second as the real content.
Broader Implications For Football Commentary
The reason this became a cultural reference at all is that it touches on a real tension in sports media. Viewers want depth, but they also want efficiency. Producers want both, which is impossible. The "nog eentje dan" habit is a symptom of that contradiction rather than the cause of it. Myjer was not inventing a problem. He was operating inside a system that encouraged knowledgeable people to keep talking, and the phrase became the audible marker of that encouragement. What is interesting is how the reference has aged. It is still used today when Dutch fans discuss commentators who cannot stop adding detail. It has moved from describing Myjer specifically to describing a type of behavior across multiple presenters. That migration is what usually separates a genuine cultural moment from a passing joke. The former sticks around because it fills a vocabulary gap. The latter fades once the person moves on.
Why People Still Talk About It
Nostalgia plays a role, obviously. Myjer's peak years overlap with a period when Dutch football coverage felt more unhurried and more willing to let analysts breathe. Younger viewers sometimes encounter his old clips and treat them as archival material, which is fair. The clips circulate because they are recognizable. The phrase is short, repeatable, and easy to quote out of context. That makes it functional for social media formats even if the original broadcasts were never designed for that use. There is also a straightforward professional respect underneath the meme culture. Myjer covered enough major tournaments to earn his place in Dutch sports media. The habit is memorable, but it sits on top of actual expertise. Dismissing it entirely would be missing the point. The pattern is a delivery quirk layered over a working knowledge of football that most casual presenters do not match. That is why the reference persists alongside genuine admiration rather than replacing it.
The Practical Takeaway
If you are studying commentary style or trying to understand what made this specific habit recognizable, the useful angle is not the phrase itself. It is the pacing around it. Watch how Myjer sets up the transition, how he uses silence, and how he recovers when the extra point lands awkwardly. Those details are where the actual craft lives. The catchphrase is just the surface signal that most viewers latch onto first. For anyone analyzing sports broadcasting habits more broadly, this case is useful because it shows how a personal tic can become a shared cultural shorthand without any formal intention behind it. No one sat down and decided to create a reference for extended punditry. It emerged from repeated exposure and a phrase simple enough to quote. That is how most lasting broadcasting references form.
