Jozy Altidore is still searching for consistent playing time at EPL strugglers Hull. Freddy Adu's status is again in limbo after being sent back to Benfica (who don't really want him) by Belenenses. Eddie Johnson is headed to Greek Superleague side Aris FC after failing to break into the rotation at Fulham. Three young "name" American players, each with their own problems succeeding in the tough environs of European soccer, and ripe for criticism because of it.
To hear some tell it, the issues each player is facing, often viewed as self-inflicted by (reported) lack of effort, ill-advised public outbursts, and general bad attitude, is indicative of a wider problem with young Americans employed abroad. Be it generational and cultural, there must be something intrinsically wrong with American footballers, because this evidence seems bears it out.
Except that the evidence, as one would expect with across a range of examples, is by no means uniform. In fact, the number of American players "failing" in Europe, an assessment that naturally depends on the how success is defined, is relatively small. For every Freddy Adu or Eddie Johnson, there's a Mike Grella, Marcus Tracy, or Alejandro Bedoya; players without the name recognition but who have worked hard and carved a niche for themselves in various leagues. To say that a singular "American attitude" pervades the player base plying their trade abroad outside of the United States, is disservice to those who are taking full advantage of their opportunities.
Our natural inclination as observers is to group like things, then draw conclusions using those shared elements. We want to lump Adu, Altidore, Johnson, and others together because they share a common nationality and upbringing; American soccer exports are few enough that each case is imbued with more significance than it probably deserves, making the disheartening cases all the more visible. It therefore seems logical that at least some of their failures (again, relatively speaking) is attributable to the the origin of their passport.
Each of the players in question, as well as Charlie Davies, Clint Dempsey, Michael Bradley, Benny Feilhaber, and a multitude of others, carries the burden of American soccer's emergence with them. As more and more players head overseas, the largest amount of individual scrutiny will be saved for the most-hyped among them. That is certainly the case for Altidore and Adu, two young players whose personal reputations have somehow become tied to a wider view of American talent. Because they get the headlines, have the largest transfer fees, or garner attention from quarters that generally ignore soccer, their cases take on added importance.
That flawed thinking not only goes for soccer minds in Europe and elsewhere, but for Americans analyzing and observing the game. The psychology involved is complicated, but two main factors seem to be at play; knowledgeable Americans, those who view themselves as authorities, respond to the overrating of some players with harsh assessments that often involve generalizations, while also exhibiting aspects of an inferiority-complex. They're American, and they're countrymen are stagnating in Europe, so their reaction is to downplay those players as "not good enough in the first place" in order to deflect any ridicule they might receive from their colleagues abroad or the better to reinforce their own expert credentials. Hard to blame them.
That's not to say the players should be beyond reproach or that every analyst is guilty of the above. But the unavoidable fact that not every hyped player can "make it" gets lost in all of the noise. Scouting in every sport is hit-and-miss, and even the most intelligent soccer minds tap up youngsters that never amount to anything more than reservists. We remember those that rise from starlets to stars and laud the ones that fulfill their potential, but what about the rest? How many Americans succeeding in Europe, as have more than a few, will it take before those that fail are no longer evidence of some American pandemic of bad attitudes?
Each player, regardless of his provenance, is deserving of critique if he fails to live up to his presumed talent. Clubs don't buy or take players on loan that they do not think can help them win or have sufficient ability to progress to that point, so when the player fails to make an impact it's difficult to find any explanation than that his mental strength and discipline are lacking. Still, so many factors go into a players development that it's difficult to pinpoint any one as the source of the issue; does Freddy Adu or Jozy Altidore's origin mean more than the coaching, environment and training techniques to which he's exposed?
There may not be a widespread bias against American players (and if there is, it's fading considerably), and there may be less generalization of their abilities than in the past; but there likely remains a sense, both in their own home country as well as abroad, that Americans are collectively guilty of certain things. Rarely are stereotypes fair to the entirety of a population, even if a portion of that population embody it. The labels of "lazy" and "entitled" are starting to stick to young American players because a few bad apples; that's not only unfair, it's the result of a flawed assessment.
There is no over-arching problem with American players, but there are a few giving their fellow countrymen a bad name.
