Well, the 2004 Minnesota Thunder Player Combine is history. It will be a while (at least a season) before anyone will really know how successful it was in enhancing the team. But, from a personal standpoint, there is no question that it enhanced this fan’s appreciation and understanding of the game we all love.
During the week of February 24th, I had the good fortune to be allowed to attend all five days of the combine. I have watched sixty-some players from this country and around the world lay themselves bare mentally, athletically and emotionally, in an effort to continue their dream; to play the beautiful game at the highest level their talent can take them. I have overheard coaches along the sideline commenting to each other on the players performing before them, dissecting their game with the concise skills of a team of top-flight surgeons. I have developed a greater appreciation for members of the front-office staff, who were able to smoothly co-ordinate a set of logistics that would have induced bi-polar disorder in a corpse.
Attending this combine has enabled me to gain fascinating insights into what it takes to be a good soccer player. To your average person on the street, soccer seems to be, at base, a simple game. And I suppose it is, to a point. You get the ball. You pass or dribble it to a teammate who passes or dribbles to other teammates until someone shoots the ball, preferably past the goalkeeper and into the net. Then, when your opponent gets the ball, you try to take it from him, or failing that to block his pass or shot until your side gains control of the ball, and so on. Given that, what would you look for in a soccer player? Obviously, big, fast guys with quick feet that can kick a ball hard, right?
Not even close. Not even.
This was highlighted to me during the combine by a player, who for anonymity’s sake, I’ll call, uh…Clem. He caught my eye on the first day of the combine, which mainly consisted of drills with the ball. You know, passing drills, crossing drills, one-on-ones, two-on-twos, etcetera.
He was 5 feet 10 inches, 170 pounds worth of incredible. On the one-on-ones, he beat his man every time with beautifully quick and subtle moves. He maintained excellent contact on every man he marked during the two-on-twos. And during the crossing drills, Clem blazed down the sidelines with a kind of speed which left me swearing I could actually see the trail of Cerenkov radiation he had to have left behind him. When I left at the end of the first day, I was convinced we had found an All-League first teamer.
The second day of the combine was devoted to 10v10 matches. It was with great anticipation I watched Clem stroll out to the defensive wing position the coaches had assigned him to. And it was with great disillusionment I left the combine on that second day. Nearly every time he gained possession of the ball in his end, he would start to bring it up his sideline until someone would close on him at midfield. At that point, he would then either attempt a long pass down the sideline into the corner, or pull up with a sweet little move and then pass it back to his central defender. That was it. After ten minutes, everyone in the facility knew what he was going to do. The opposing team’s defenders began to anticipate his passes into the corner and were beating the forwards to the ball. Their forwards started to recognize his sweet little move and block the passing lane to his central defender. And they started to pressure him at midfield with double-teams. And his reaction to this? He froze. He would try to shield the ball along the sidelines until he could split the double-team, which he was rarely able to do. His teammates would show for him, but it seemed as if he rarely saw them. He had a couple of good moments. A nifty move here, a long run down the sideline there. But they were outnumbered by his mistakes. And with every mistake he made, his head would hang just a bit lower and the rest of his game would deteriorate just a bit more.
His confidence appeared to pick up a bit during the third day, which consisted of speed, endurance and agility tests. His natural physical gifts served him well in this milieu. But during the full-side scrimmages of the fourth and fifth days, it was more of the same, with the only difference being the addition of the short, sharp, inarticulate screams of frustration that exploded from him with increasing frequency.
The Thunder haven’t announced any signings from the combine yet, but I would be surprised if he was among them. Perhaps he will catch on with a PDL team, where he can learn to harness and effectively use the physical gifts he undeniably has. I hope so.
But he wasn’t alone. I saw many players with fearsome speed and remarkable dribbling skills who won’t make this team because they couldn’t mentally let go of the errant passes and missed tackles that any player makes in the course of a game. I saw players who were so enamored with their own performance that they forgot to add to their team’s performance. I saw players who were so focused on their teammates’ lapses in performance that they lost focus on their own.
But, I also saw players who could make this club over people who are bigger, faster and more talented then they were. Players who couldn’t run a 4.4” forty, but who always managed to block that cross or time that tackle just right. Players who fell for a fancy move once, but never again. Players who would go shoulder to ribcage with guys a foot taller and 60 pounds heavier and win that 50-50 ball. Players who would dive for that seemingly unreachable cross to head it into the net. Players who understood how to use every drop of talent they do have to enable their teammates to utilize their abilities to the maximum. Because they get the game.
Heck, I even saw a couple who appear to have the complete package.
By attending the combine, I was able to truly see the game at it’s most basic. Removed from a Coach’s tactics. Removed from the considerations and concerns of a season’s championship drive. Just eleven guys filling a multitude of interchanging and complementary roles over 90+ minutes in an effort to wind up with more goals than the other eleven guys.
Twenty-two guys. Playin’em one game at a time.
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There are a few people I’d like to thank in connection with this article and my continuing education as a soccer fan. Thanks…
To Minnesota Thunder President and General Manager Jim Froslid, who graciously granted me the backstage pass, so to speak.
To Kristin Lettiere, Director of Team Operations, who was in charge of the combine’s off-the-field elements, for her courteous demeanor in fielding my various questions and requests, despite having more on her plate than Takeru Kobayashi at Nathan’s.
To all the players, coaches and staff, for their efforts on the pitch and their cordiality off of it.
And finally, a special thanks to Thor, who took the time and made the effort to treat me like a part of the organization. You’d never know it from seeing him at the games but, for a mascot, he’s quite a conversationalist.
See you in the stands.
S.A.K.
