The Guardian's Jonathan Wilson posited something interesting a few weeks back when looking at Inter's stunning victory over Barcelona: How important is possession?
The tactical implications of the question, and the likely hyperbolic statements Jose Mourinho made on Inter's ridiculous 16% possession number (that the Italians gave away the ball on purpose) prompted me to conceive of a tangential question of my own, related directly to our own U.S. National Team.
What of intent?
It's no secret that the U.S. struggles to maintain possession when faced with technically superior opposition. It seems they're destined to defend, take their chances on the break, and hope the other team fails to make them pay for their negative tactics. On the surface, it seems defeatist, almost as if they're conceding before the game ever starts. Possession is the barometer: Good teams have it, lesser (or poor) teams don't.
Intent is key here. The relative quality of the U.S. leads to assumptions that losing the possession battle the way they so often do is a byproduct of their lack of quality. Where Mourinho and Inter are playing to their strengths, rejecting the notion that an edge in possession is crucial to victory, overwhelming Barcelona and Bayern Munich with their superior organization, the U.S. is simply getting beat.
Generally, the assessment isn't incorrect. The U.S., when playing Spain, Brazil, and soon England, does suffer from a lack of relative quality. This inevitably leads to a lack of possession. Whether it's inherently bad, however, is not as clear as it might seem. Wilson's question, and the performance by Inter that prompted it, muddies the waters.
Jose Mourinho gets the benefit of the doubt, Bob Bradley does not. Rightly so, but there is a commonality in their approaches: each is actively choosing to play in such a manner, even if their reasons for doing so might differ significantly.
If the U.S., meaning Bob Bradley specifically, recognizes that they'll see less of the ball than their opponents no matter how they attempt to play, common sense dictates that they sit back, break whenever possible, and use organization and defensive commitment to give themselves the best chance at victory. There's even an argument to be made that by choosing passes with high risk but high reward, they're working towards this same end. Keeping the ball just to keep the ball isn't in the Americans best interest because they're at their best attacking a stretched defense; if they overly commit to attempting to break down an opponent with a slower buildup, they may find themselves caught out and open to the counter, unable to support the back line by slowing up play with their midfield.
It's obviously much simpler to say the other team is just better, and that the U.S. can't hold possession because they're not good enough to. Again, this is ultimately true in many cases. The question, however, is if the Americans exasperate appearances by their own strategic decisions. It's almost inconceivable that they would intentionally give the ball away; but if movement forward is regularly highlighted by passes that are "dangerous" in the sense that they risk giving the ball away, it might be evidence of overarching direction from Bradley.
Back to the original issue, the one of intent. Intent, or rather the one we assume teams and coaches hold, colors our perceptions of performance as it relates to the issue of possession. Possession's place as the indicator of the superior side is sacrosanct, provided a team does something with it; as long as there are reasonable chances on goal, it seems clear that the team with the ball more of the time is better. It's there in front of us, clear and easily identified. A team that refuses the ball, or chooses to be more cavalier with it than their opposition (long balls being the most obvious example) is playing what is labeled "negative" or "anti-football".
Inter's performance in the Champions League flipped this perception on its ear, at least to some extent. Mourinho was generally lauded for doing what most thought was impossible - shutting down the Barcelona machine. Reduced to sideways passing, the Catalans were frustrated by an opponent dedicated to stopping Barcelona rather than emphasizing their own offensive efforts. Of course, without Inter capitalizing on a few of their own scant chances, the tactics employed by Mourinho would be worthless; scoring is necessary to win, after all.
To a lesser extent, this is what the U.S. sets out to do anytime they play a team superior to them. It's how they beat Spain, how they almost beat Brazil, and how they attempted to play Holland more recently. Bradley's appreciation for what his team can and cannot do forces his hand; but it's the extra steps he takes, doing his best to turn a distinct weakness into as much of a strength as is possible, that will ultimately give the U.S. its best chance to win.
So are we to suppose that Bradley, and the men who came before him, hold to the theory that possession isn't all that important? Probably not. It's almost certain that if he could have it, he would; while an advantage in possession doesn't guarantee victory, it does improve the chances considerably. Bradley knows this. Whereas Mourinho and Inter's decision to play "anti-football" is one made by a coaching genius with world class players at his disposal, the Americans do it out of necessity. This is an important distinction that overshadows smaller adjustments made by Bradley within the constraints of his team. Inter's choice is dramatic, an obvious movement visible to everyone, while the United States' attempts to spin their disadvantage is much harder to see and appreciate.
This difference in visible intent imposes on the U.S. the perception that they are a reactive team only in these underdog situations. The favorite dictates play and the Americans simply respond, doing their best to muddle through with counterattacks and sell-out defending. There's little room for gray in the world of black-and-white, so the viewpoint will naturally persist. Besides, it's impossible to know how much of each possibility is true; if we were assign a percentage to it, what would it be? Can we quantify how many of the decisions made by American players can be chalked up to simple failure and how much are part of a plan in which possession is lightly valued?
Perhaps there's a clue to Bradley's intent, be it forced upon him or not, in something Grant Wahl highlighted on his World Cup blog. As a student at Princeton thirty years ago, Bradley extolled the brilliance of Tigers basketball coach Pete Carril in his senior thesis:
"Carril is not able to recruit the top-notch city talent. In fact, many of his players are barely recruited by other schools. But Carril is able to take these players and teach them his patient, intelligent style. Carril’s teams are noted for their tough defense, patient, often deliberate offense, taking only the good shot, and team play. To me, there is nothing better than to watch a Princeton basketball team frustrate and beat a ‘bigger and better’ team. Yes, the coaching staff is definitely very important." (emphasis mine)
Before he ever had reason or need to conceive of a philosophy like the one he currently employs, Bradley was already lauding something eerily similar. Yes, he doesn't have the players to stand toe-to-toe with the likes of Spain, England, and Brazil; nevertheless, his intent is clear.
It's how we appreciate that intent that makes Bob Bradley the oft-criticized coach of a weak team doing what he has to rather than the tactical adept navigating his side into the best position to win.
