- Jason Davis
The theme most prevalent thus far in Jurgen Klinsmann's tenure as USMNT head coach - all month and change of it - is the movement towards integrating America's abundant Latin soccer influence into the team. In part because Klinsmann has made it his cause cause célèbre (in concert with imbuing in the team a more attacking, fluid style - more on that in a minute), we can't go more than a few hours without a new piece waxing on about it, without the Paul Gardners of the world bellowing "FINALLY!" at people on the street, or without the overarching generalizations that are part and parcel of sweeping soccer-style speak.
There are only so many ways to describe the possession-based, pass heavy, high pressure, attack-minded style of play that Klismann is intent on imposing on his new team. Barcelona and Spain play the celebrated "tiki-taka", and are the undisputed champions of the modern standard. On this side of the world, it's called the "Latin style" due to the regional influence of Mexico, where possession is valued from the youngest levels of the game all the way through to the national team. Forgiving a nuance here or there lost on 95% of the soccer-viewing public, they're essentially the same thing, an idealized way of playing that embodies more of the "beautiful" in "the beautiful game" than any other style. Hence the appeal, and why Klinsmann's experiment has bought him patience on the part of the USMNT fan base. It a seismic shift. Those only happen slowly, with plenty of upheaval.
Showing posts with label Style. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Style. Show all posts
"Styles make fights."
-Boxing axiom
If you've ever paid attention to boxing, you've probably heard the above cliche; the implication contained in it is that the outcome of boxing matches can be heavily dependent on the styles of the fighters involved. Sure, skill and ability matter, but it's not always about who is the better boxer that determines a winner.
The U.S. match against Slovenia tomorrow carries an element of this idea; the Americans like to sit back and counterattack, using their defense to set up their offense. The Slovenes like to do that same, and beat teams with superior organization and defensive commitment. It's a clash of styles because the two sides are of the same style. If the Americans can't adjust and take the game to their disciplined opponents, they'll find themselves in serious danger of losing. Essentially, Bob Bradley needs to adjust the U.S. style just enough to leverage the better overall talent his team possesses.
Beyond the effect stylistic match ups can have on the outcome of a match is something much more important to the neutral; the effect on entertainment value. No one expects Slovenia and the U.S. to play an engaging ninety minutes tomorrow, and likely the only ones enraptured by it will be the partisans on each side. Too much alike, the teams will grab and paw, looking for an advantage while always being conscious not to let themselves be surprised by a sneaky punch.
Styles have made for some of the better matches in a so far disappointing World Cup, like Argentina and South Korea combining for a five goals just today. Argentina, obviously the better attacking side, battered the Koreans; sitting behind the ball and hoping to stifle Argentina, South Korea instead found themselves on the business end of an onslaught. Here, the contrasting styles, and Argentina's follow through, provided an exciting game.
Though the boring soccer played first round of group matches is blamed just as much on "caution" as it is on style, it's clear that there is a trend towards negative tactics. Styles then, are having an adverse effect on the overall quality of the tournament, dictating that we get ugly, boring games lacking in initiative and drive on either side. Everyone is afraid to get caught out.
Well, not everyone. There are a few teams with the wherewithal to go for it regardless of who their facing, or who the idea of tactically shifting their style is anathema. There is, too, the possibility that teams change their approach mid-game; not every team in this World Cup is capable of such a thing to the same degree, but they all have at least some ability to do so.
It's takes a Herculean effort for a team intent on defending to stare down a truly superior attacking team for ninety minutes. Switzerland pulled it off against Spain, but it's far from usual, and is actually more about quality coaching and players rising to the moment than a stylistic stalemate. Generally, the hammer flattens the nail because the nail wasn't good enough to start.
If there's any truth to the idea that styles make matches the way styles make fights, the Americans are really in for it tomorrow. Shift that style, Bob, and get after it. A stalemate won't do.
- Jason Davis
Soccer isn't just a game, this much we know. It's life and death, birth and rebirth, the athletic embodiment grit and bravery, and expressions of supreme skill and beauty all perfectly contained in ninety minute windows of time that have on their own shaped cultures, raised men to god-like stature, and spawned the flowery prose of many a wistful scribe whose milieu is sport and whose frustrations at his own athletic failings manifest in the appreciation of grown men playing a game.
The American analogue is baseball, a sport with a ponderous rhythmic cadence and reliance on blind luck that has given us David Halberstam, George Will, and films about the game that rely as much on magical notions and homey nostalgia as they do the play on the field. Romance is a part of the fabric of each sport, particularly in those cultures that birthed them; do the Japanese conjure ancient greats materializing from cornfields with anachronistic tools in hand, representing idealized imaginings of men who have long since turned to dust, but who we are certain ache in their eternal souls to recapture the past glory of their earthly athletic exploits?
The English staked their founders' claim to the pining for simpler days, the lamenting of passe strategies, and the debate over how best to play the game of football long ago. Even while giving lip service to the aesthetic pleasures of the swashbuckling Spanish and the flowing niceties of those foreign intruders whistling the ball along the ground at the Emirates, they struggle with the evolution of a sport that once represented the earthy doggedness of the blue collar Englishman. To let go of Route One is to let go of a part of what makes them English; just as the loss of the Dodgers forever scarred Brooklyn and the advent of million dollar contracts irrevocably changed the sport of baseball and spawned the laments of an aging generation, the smaller, connected world has created a existential crisis for those who feel hereditary ownership over soccer.
Is it improvement? Is baseball "better" now than it was in 1955? Has the shift in football culture in England, one which rewards big spending teams that often go abroad for talent, stolen something from the sport, or more pointedly, what it means to be a football lover and English?
The only certain thing we can say is that time has changed our world, and sport is no exception. Though different is not always better, elements of that change are almost impossible to color as negative. No writer, no matter how much he pines for the days of DiMaggio and Williams, would claim that baseball did not benefit from racial integration; still, while today's players expand in physical ways inconceivable in the 1950's, those fonts of wisdom might bemoan the loss of "small ball" or pine pathetically for shortstops whose brilliance laid in their defense and speed and not their ability to blast prodigious numbers of four-baggers. The same goes for the denizens of the direct English version of what the world calls football, men who recognize progress yet cannot rid their minds of the nagging sense that they betray themselves with every piece of Barcelona-directed praise.
Brian Phillips explores this dual-mindedness at The Run of Play, specifically the notion that beautiful football and the point of the game, to win, are indirectly painted as mutually exclusive by English writers who are hedging their bets with “the rhetoric of approving by disapproving” when addressing an issue Brian calls the "tension between utility and aesthetics."
Unlike baseball, a professional sport which exists in a North American cocoon still unchallenged from leagues abroad, American soccer is left to deal with the repercussions of this lingering debate. Even while MLS exhibits a style somewhat similar to the bygone days of First Division football, it suffers from a deficit of respect when compared to the modern game in England, Spain, and Italy. Nostalgia, and specifically the idea that there is still room in the game for utility to win out over aesthetics, does not travel; what is fondly remembered by the curators of football's ethic in England is not appreciated by the knowledgeable fans that inhabit America.
There are likely many reasons for this, many of them directly related to technology and the inundation of high-level soccer American fanatics experience on a weekly basis. It's all there for the asking, and much, if not all, of it is better than what we can see by driving down to our local MLS stadium. Lacking the resources to populate the league with players capable of the feats we see on satellite television and computer screens at the push of a button, American soccer is forced to soldier along, often at odds with itself and striving to be something it can't possibly be. At least not yet.
In a sense, the timing could not be worse for MLS. It exists in the expansive quilt of football cultures spread across continents and connected by the threads of instant communication. Nothing it can do, with its minimal budgets juxtaposed against a sports-obsessed society conditioned to seeing the best play their games for the most money, will make it relevant in short order.
The English proponents of utility aren't the only ones fighting against a ground-in ethos; American soccer does the same, enacting one-off rules to encourage splashy signings and attract high-quality talent, all the while rooting itself in financial restraint that guarantees direct and physical will almost always prevail over artful and sublime.
By the time, or if, professional soccer in America becomes the highly-refined and skillful game being played in the top leagues of Europe and South America, the days of romanticizing a simpler game will likely be long in the past. Technology will bury that notion, just as it has buried the idea that MLS can just be, without having to live up to an impossible standard set by leagues with a century of history behind them. We'll just have to leave that to the baseball writers.
Soccer isn't just a game, this much we know. It's life and death, birth and rebirth, the athletic embodiment grit and bravery, and expressions of supreme skill and beauty all perfectly contained in ninety minute windows of time that have on their own shaped cultures, raised men to god-like stature, and spawned the flowery prose of many a wistful scribe whose milieu is sport and whose frustrations at his own athletic failings manifest in the appreciation of grown men playing a game.
The American analogue is baseball, a sport with a ponderous rhythmic cadence and reliance on blind luck that has given us David Halberstam, George Will, and films about the game that rely as much on magical notions and homey nostalgia as they do the play on the field. Romance is a part of the fabric of each sport, particularly in those cultures that birthed them; do the Japanese conjure ancient greats materializing from cornfields with anachronistic tools in hand, representing idealized imaginings of men who have long since turned to dust, but who we are certain ache in their eternal souls to recapture the past glory of their earthly athletic exploits?
The English staked their founders' claim to the pining for simpler days, the lamenting of passe strategies, and the debate over how best to play the game of football long ago. Even while giving lip service to the aesthetic pleasures of the swashbuckling Spanish and the flowing niceties of those foreign intruders whistling the ball along the ground at the Emirates, they struggle with the evolution of a sport that once represented the earthy doggedness of the blue collar Englishman. To let go of Route One is to let go of a part of what makes them English; just as the loss of the Dodgers forever scarred Brooklyn and the advent of million dollar contracts irrevocably changed the sport of baseball and spawned the laments of an aging generation, the smaller, connected world has created a existential crisis for those who feel hereditary ownership over soccer.
Is it improvement? Is baseball "better" now than it was in 1955? Has the shift in football culture in England, one which rewards big spending teams that often go abroad for talent, stolen something from the sport, or more pointedly, what it means to be a football lover and English?
The only certain thing we can say is that time has changed our world, and sport is no exception. Though different is not always better, elements of that change are almost impossible to color as negative. No writer, no matter how much he pines for the days of DiMaggio and Williams, would claim that baseball did not benefit from racial integration; still, while today's players expand in physical ways inconceivable in the 1950's, those fonts of wisdom might bemoan the loss of "small ball" or pine pathetically for shortstops whose brilliance laid in their defense and speed and not their ability to blast prodigious numbers of four-baggers. The same goes for the denizens of the direct English version of what the world calls football, men who recognize progress yet cannot rid their minds of the nagging sense that they betray themselves with every piece of Barcelona-directed praise.
Brian Phillips explores this dual-mindedness at The Run of Play, specifically the notion that beautiful football and the point of the game, to win, are indirectly painted as mutually exclusive by English writers who are hedging their bets with “the rhetoric of approving by disapproving” when addressing an issue Brian calls the "tension between utility and aesthetics."
Unlike baseball, a professional sport which exists in a North American cocoon still unchallenged from leagues abroad, American soccer is left to deal with the repercussions of this lingering debate. Even while MLS exhibits a style somewhat similar to the bygone days of First Division football, it suffers from a deficit of respect when compared to the modern game in England, Spain, and Italy. Nostalgia, and specifically the idea that there is still room in the game for utility to win out over aesthetics, does not travel; what is fondly remembered by the curators of football's ethic in England is not appreciated by the knowledgeable fans that inhabit America.
There are likely many reasons for this, many of them directly related to technology and the inundation of high-level soccer American fanatics experience on a weekly basis. It's all there for the asking, and much, if not all, of it is better than what we can see by driving down to our local MLS stadium. Lacking the resources to populate the league with players capable of the feats we see on satellite television and computer screens at the push of a button, American soccer is forced to soldier along, often at odds with itself and striving to be something it can't possibly be. At least not yet.
In a sense, the timing could not be worse for MLS. It exists in the expansive quilt of football cultures spread across continents and connected by the threads of instant communication. Nothing it can do, with its minimal budgets juxtaposed against a sports-obsessed society conditioned to seeing the best play their games for the most money, will make it relevant in short order.
The English proponents of utility aren't the only ones fighting against a ground-in ethos; American soccer does the same, enacting one-off rules to encourage splashy signings and attract high-quality talent, all the while rooting itself in financial restraint that guarantees direct and physical will almost always prevail over artful and sublime.
By the time, or if, professional soccer in America becomes the highly-refined and skillful game being played in the top leagues of Europe and South America, the days of romanticizing a simpler game will likely be long in the past. Technology will bury that notion, just as it has buried the idea that MLS can just be, without having to live up to an impossible standard set by leagues with a century of history behind them. We'll just have to leave that to the baseball writers.
J Hutcherson over at the US Soccer Players site posited something interesting today (even if I had a bit of trouble navigating a meandering post to the point); it's nearly impossible to create a club-defining system that will ensure long term success in MLS, and teams are best served to take a "win now" approach each season without any concern for distinctive style.
I think. I may be pulling more out of it than was intended, but this closing parry is the thrust of the piece:
"Like it or not, MLS is trending towards a short-run league. Maybe not to the extent of Mexico or South America, but enough to suggest that system building is no longer the smart move."
I think the question is worthy of some examination. Because MLS is a league of parity (not "parody"), it's difficult for any team to establish themselves as a consistent powerhouse; while clubs like the Revs and Earthquakes/Dynamo have put together solid runs of playoff appearances in one case and playoff appearances and championships in the other in recent years, their type of success is extremely difficult to capture and is actually the result of great coaching rather than any broader philosophy that will carry them through across regimes.
The one club that has managed to create an institutional personality, and the impetus for Hutcherson's post is DC United, who may actually be living off of a faded past. The club's reputation for a more attractive (for MLS anyway) short passing game and clever attacking soccer was built in the early years of the league, when the ability of United's leadership to find talent others couldn't led to multiple championships and the "Tradition" label they use today.
Curt Onalfo addressed that supposed stylistic tradition when discussing his role as United's new head coach:
Onalfo's aim is to play "beautiful, attacking, quick soccer," he said. "We want to play with style and send players forward -- that is what D.C. United has always been known for." (Washington Post)
But should that really be Onalfo's concern? For a club used to winning that has failed to make the playoffs each of the last two seasons, shouldn't Onalfo just concentrate on winning, tradition be damned? As Hutcherson suggests, attempting to create a grand plan that will enable to club to sustain success over a long period is a gargantuan task; wouldn't it better to simply focus on the here and now, ignore the pull of the United style, and build a winner no matter how the play looks?
My guess is that Onalfo is giving lip service to style. He knows his job is to win, he knows the fan base is desperate to see the team back in the playoffs, and he knows (I hope) that it doesn't really matter how that happens as long as it does. But as much as the pragmatic approach makes sense in a quick turnaround league like MLS (see: Galaxy, LA) something will be lost if United no longer at least tries to play the game the way for which they're known.
MLS needs clubs that posses a traditional style, an overriding character, or something they're "known for", no matter the players who line up for them year after year. A club's "style" builds a connection with fans and supporters who come to feel pride because of it that players often can't because of the transient nature of the game. MLS lacks those connections in many cases, both because the league is built to ensure every club is essentially the same, and because long term success (which I'm defining as "multiple championships") is so difficult to achieve. What good is style if it doesn't win you anything?
United fans must now hope that if Onalfo is serious about keeping up the club's tradition of pleasing-to-the-eye soccer, that doing so doesn't preclude them from winning. If Hutcherson is right, and short-runs are the way of MLS, than every club that hope to win a title is best served to put their rosters together with little to no regard for any kind of long-reaching system. Without those grand plans for consistent success, no club will be creating any type of transcendent identity.
For me, that's a little depressing, even if it is the reality of Major League Soccer.
Let me know what you make of all of this.
On this week's Match Fit USA Soccer Show, Jason and Zach talk about the MLS playoffs, cover the USL-TOA saga with David Fellerath of Triangle Offense, and debate the fine handed down to DC United's Kevin Payne.
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The always excellent L.E. Eisenmenger of the Boston Pro Soccer Examiner has a nice little interview with Costa Rican international and Revolution defender Garbriel Badilla up at her blog. Included in Badilla's comments is a common refrain from Latin American players; that the style of play in MLS is too physical, and that the technical aspects of the game (and the players here that are adept at it) suffer as a consequence.
Specifically, Badilla talks about the officiating here; it's his contention that the referees let entirely too much go, and the results are a less aesthetic brand of soccer.
Although this is nothing new, it's got me thinking more about the issue than I really have before. While the style of play that permeates MLS is very "American" (i.e., physical and athletic) in character, the league continues to go to Central and South America for talent, and the two clearly don't mesh. A rash of early-season cards might just be an aberration, or it could actually represent a sea change in the way the game will be officiated here. Perhaps the powers that be recognize that MLS needs to more to a more open and free flowing style.
Or not. Either way, the question is there, and it's not a simple one to answer. Does it benefit MLS to become more stylish and technical, which would hurt American players in the short term, because of the influx of Latin American talent (or simply because it's a more pleasing-to-the-eye product)? That type of transformation could lead to a period of foreign dominance in the league, with few Americans able to reach high-levels of play simply because their strengths would no longer come to bear as much as before.
On the other hand, it would clearly benefit the American player on the whole in the long term. A more technical league to grow up in would help raise the base level of skill across the board (or at least, that's the theory), benefiting players who already have strength and athleticism. As a bonus, those players who are not big enough or strong enough to be effective in the current MLS environment (think Freddy Adu) might then have a chance to play and develop.
I'm solidly on the side of that second thought. While I appreciate the abilities that make MLS players effective now, I lament the lack of creativity, flair, and out and out skill across the league. Few players possess the combination of abilities to be effective on both fronts; too often, we see skilled Latin American players come to MLS only to be rendered impotent by the prevailing style of play.
A football observer I respect has called MLS "English" in style. That may be true, or it may not, and I have no feelings either way on the use of the term. But English players aren't ever going to come to MLS in large numbers, while the number of Latin Americans should continue to grow. If this is the path that the league and its front offices have chooses (and we can debate if it's the right path on another occasion), doesn't it makes sense to adjust the officiating in a way that will create a league that matches that "futbol" influence?
Share your thoughts, I'd love to hear them.
Oh, and I'm writing this at work between tasks, so if it seems a little incomplete or not quite thought out enough, I apologize; I may need to explain myself a little more in the comments if you guys have thoughts on the matter.
Tell me if you heard this one before: "Yes, the Americans won, but they didn't deserve to" Or this one: "The Americans win with ugly football."
These oft repeated criticisms are the bane of the U.S. fan's existence; clear suggestions that despite a good amount of on-field success (especially against Mexico), the United States simply doesn't know how to play the game "properly".
These oft repeated criticisms are the bane of the U.S. fan's existence; clear suggestions that despite a good amount of on-field success (especially against Mexico), the United States simply doesn't know how to play the game "properly".
“They were a little opportunistic and stayed in their own end for the majority of the match, but they did beat us. Considering the tactics that they utilized, I think that is the credit I would give them considering the fact that on the field, they were not superior to us.”
— Rafael Marquez, after the 2002 World Cup match
The excuse has been used so often that the needle has worn through the record; Mexico's players and fans, the most common abusers of the "ugly football" diatribe, feel the need to justify every loss to their northern rivals with a scathing indictment of American soccer abilities. "Style" is the most frequently mentioned problem with the way the game is played by the U.S. Men's National Team; a subjective measure of soccer aesthetics that seems to be the exclusive province of the Latin footballing nations.
As a nation still developing a soccer identity, the United States finds itself stuck between the rock of needing to win and the hard place of wanting to play beautiful soccer. Without a significant history of producing world class players, American soccer has been forced to rely on tactics and athleticism rather than panache and flair. Athleticism is the one area of the game that requires no innate soccer ability or skills developed through successful youth training; it's no surprise then, that the Americans most often rely on their athleticism to produce results. Counterattacking and set-pieces, two aspects of the game in which a team can use strong athletes to their advantage, have been crucial to success for the entire period of America's soccer revival.
"There's too much noise for a team that's not true. They might be favorites in the game due to playing at home, but for me, Mexico is better as a team."
— Antonio "Sinha" Naelson on the United States
Results seem to go out of the window when the "style" question rears its ugly head; for Americans, it's a matter of much consternation. Should they admit to the deficiencies of their team, somewhat invalidating their victories over "true" footballing nations? Or should they defend their team to the hilt, pointing out (to quote Herm Edwards*) "You play to win the game"?
The American brand of soccer is certainly not the prettiest girl in the room. Call it the diamond-in-the-rough, the uptight nerdy chick in the corner, desperate to break out of her shell. The tactics used by American managers are often an nod to the superior skill of their opponents, and games won with goals scored though deadball situations and counterattacking breakaways may frustrate soccer purists; but the with a burgeoning interest in the sport, and more resources being poured into player development every year, perhaps American soccer is on its way to a glorious makeover.
This ended up shorter than I intended, but it sort of just ended itself before I quite knew what was happening. I desperately wanted to work a movie quote into the last paragraph, but that would only serve to a) highlight my status as a child of the '80's and b) make some of you question my manhood.
There's a lot of potential in the subject for a snippy fan-boy response to the haters, so if any of you feel like tackling it, be my guest. I might (I stress MIGHT) get to something like that at some point, especially if the Mexicans start making excuses again if they lose on Wednesday (don't want to jinx it).
*For all of the non-Americans who might stop by and wonder who the hell Herm Edwards might be, here is your primer.
— Rafael Marquez, after the 2002 World Cup match
The excuse has been used so often that the needle has worn through the record; Mexico's players and fans, the most common abusers of the "ugly football" diatribe, feel the need to justify every loss to their northern rivals with a scathing indictment of American soccer abilities. "Style" is the most frequently mentioned problem with the way the game is played by the U.S. Men's National Team; a subjective measure of soccer aesthetics that seems to be the exclusive province of the Latin footballing nations.
As a nation still developing a soccer identity, the United States finds itself stuck between the rock of needing to win and the hard place of wanting to play beautiful soccer. Without a significant history of producing world class players, American soccer has been forced to rely on tactics and athleticism rather than panache and flair. Athleticism is the one area of the game that requires no innate soccer ability or skills developed through successful youth training; it's no surprise then, that the Americans most often rely on their athleticism to produce results. Counterattacking and set-pieces, two aspects of the game in which a team can use strong athletes to their advantage, have been crucial to success for the entire period of America's soccer revival.
"There's too much noise for a team that's not true. They might be favorites in the game due to playing at home, but for me, Mexico is better as a team."
— Antonio "Sinha" Naelson on the United States
Results seem to go out of the window when the "style" question rears its ugly head; for Americans, it's a matter of much consternation. Should they admit to the deficiencies of their team, somewhat invalidating their victories over "true" footballing nations? Or should they defend their team to the hilt, pointing out (to quote Herm Edwards*) "You play to win the game"?
The American brand of soccer is certainly not the prettiest girl in the room. Call it the diamond-in-the-rough, the uptight nerdy chick in the corner, desperate to break out of her shell. The tactics used by American managers are often an nod to the superior skill of their opponents, and games won with goals scored though deadball situations and counterattacking breakaways may frustrate soccer purists; but the with a burgeoning interest in the sport, and more resources being poured into player development every year, perhaps American soccer is on its way to a glorious makeover.
This ended up shorter than I intended, but it sort of just ended itself before I quite knew what was happening. I desperately wanted to work a movie quote into the last paragraph, but that would only serve to a) highlight my status as a child of the '80's and b) make some of you question my manhood.
There's a lot of potential in the subject for a snippy fan-boy response to the haters, so if any of you feel like tackling it, be my guest. I might (I stress MIGHT) get to something like that at some point, especially if the Mexicans start making excuses again if they lose on Wednesday (don't want to jinx it).
*For all of the non-Americans who might stop by and wonder who the hell Herm Edwards might be, here is your primer.
