2nd session abroad - how things can change quickly

As I touched upon in the previous piece, complacency is one of the most dangerous traps in football (and indeed in life in general). It can arise from the formation of an oversimplified view that you’re of an adequate standard for a particular level because your first training session with the team went well. This wasn’t the first time I’d been struck down with this, nor will it be the last. The most costly case of it was back some five or six years ago when I was on an extended trial for the youth team of a Ryman Premier side. In my first session I’d had a stormer – it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that with the exception of one lad (who oozed quality and was a pleasure to watch and play with), I had been the best player on the pitch. I justifiably went home that night with a great sense of pride, but the barrier between that and complacency is so blurry, so much so that many have trouble locating it and resultantly are insufficiently equipped to prevent part of the pride manifesting itself. I strolled into the next session so sure that the events of a few days back would repeat themselves and that, even if things didn’t quite go to plan, I had surely impressed the coaches enough to win enough favourability points. Of course, it wasn’t quite as simple as that, and the reality was harshly different. I didn’t play well at all in the next session and struggled to regain the standard I had set myself initially – needless to say I wasn’t accepted into the team at the end and had to continue my search for a club elsewhere. Somewhat disappointingly, I failed to learn my lesson even half a decade later, when it should have been clear that a positive start by no means balances the magnitude of settling into a team in a strange country where you don’t speak a word of the language (and hardly anyone speaks yours). The easiest way to identify the oversimplification here is to remember that all training sessions are different – in particular two in the same week are unlikely to contain the same content. In a weekly schedule, different days of training will of course be assigned to working on different aspects of the game, with no two situations identical. Just because the previous day I’d shone at running and in a 6-a-side possession game, no manager worth his salt would assume I’d be equally as adept at practising certain tactical manoeuvres involving team play, for example.

After the standard running in the warm-up, the tactical exercises were something new to me. The instructed player movements and fluid interchanges and passages of play required certainly gave the brain a lot of work. What made things immeasurably more confusing was the manager shouting orders in a language of which I barely knew a word. This made me appreciate the difficulties of being a complete stranger or outsider somewhere and the hard-work and savvy required to acclimatise before you get ostracised. The saying that in football everyone speaks one common language isn’t strictly true – you are still free to express yourself on the pitch, yes, but the surroundings can easily deprive you of that ability, especially when you need to listen to instructions and prompts – these things have to be grasped quickly if you’re to swim rather than sink. The first drill involved shooting with a couple of parts of interplay preceding it – with players in a line and then taking up different positions after one another, it’s something that’s difficult to follow if you’re out of practice with it, even in your own language. Two cones were stationed about 5 yards from each other and the drill ran such that the player standing on the first cone ended up being the one taking the shot. So the player at the front of the ‘queue’ would pass to the man on the first cone who would turn and play a one-two with the man on the second cone before taking a shot – the player in the queue would become the player on the second cone, he on the second cone would move to the first and he on the first cone (the shooter) would move to the back of the queue. The first one wasn’t too difficult but required concentration to not make a mistake – it certainly didn’t get easier.

I think the shooting drills became more complicated by varying the sequences of passes and accordingly the distances and directions the players had to move to get to their next station. The introduction of a tactical wingplay drill was the real killer, though. It involved players running in pairs through the centre (one initially playing the ball and the other in a starting position on a cone a number of yards in front) with somebody on each wing, with the concentrated wing changing back and forth after each drill run. The good thing about these drills is that there are many variations, and the manager made sure we went through a few possible sequences of passing. The kindest way to describe it would be that it keeps you on your toes – if you’re having to overcome a language barrier also, it confuses the hell out of you. An example of one cycle of play would be that the starting player passes it to the player on the cone, who receives the ball and plays it out wide (according to which wing’s turn it is). The two central players then progress forward and must make a ‘crossover’ run, so one of them receives the ball from the player on the wing to play a one-two with him. After the one-two, the two central players cross over once again and the winger plays across in where one of the two central players tries to make contact and beat the ‘keeper. Some attempts to execute a flowing move were amusing to say the least, and it proved that understanding what the manager says still doesn’t necessarily guarantee a problem-free run, but it must help. Whilst not enjoyable at the time if it’s not going well for you, I do enjoy in hindsight how such practices make you think as a player with regards to your next move and the positions of your team-mates on the field, something I wasn’t too used to back home.

On to playing a 7-or-8-a-side match, I made the mistake of using my performance the day before as a basis for the belief that this would be a doddle. Contrarily, I found myself off the pace and somewhat disgraced myself a little, faced with the additional weight of not being able to use a language fluency to save face. The style in which the players played reminded me somewhat of home also, with rushed, fast-paced attacking play producing some incisive moves on the one hand and frequent turnovers of possession on the other hand due to interceptions or the ball being passed out of play. I suppose my expectations that a more patient game would be played led to me being taken aback also, as not being ready for the pace of the game always catches you badly off guard. 

First taste of football abroad - first post in a while!

Continuing with my own footballing story, what has changed and how has it been going? Well, as I said I accepted a job offer somewhere on the continent and after a training period scheduled such that it made it impossible for me to train in the week due to the remarkably early start time over here and some struggles with shifts and constant needs to swap with others I managed to get cracking with playing again round about the first week in September. My keenness to get going in a foreign country was somewhat countered by the trepidation of trying to work out how I would be able to introduce myself to and communicate with these players – I did have a strong feeling that there would be a considerable language barrier to overcome, and I was proved correct. As I entered the gates to the ground which seems to be at the back of some sort of disused factory or massive industrial estate, I could see at the opposite end the players all gathered round the tables outside the steps to the changing room, presumably waiting for the groundskeeper to hand them the keys. In this situation there is no escape and the walk feels a lonely and long one – they have just seen somebody enter just coming from work carrying a satchel rather than a full-sized sports bag and dressed in jeans and a scruffy hoodie. Regardless of my nationality, I’m a foreign sight to them and there is nowhere I can hide and no tactic to appear subtly, presenting myself unexpectedly. As I edged ever closer it was clear I had become the centre of attention in their temporary pre-training boredom, I could feel their watchful eyes on me. As I reached the tables they seemed to sit forward in anticipation, expecting something interesting to come out of my mouth. Unfortunately my inability to speak their language would cause me to disappoint them, as I addressed who was clearly the manager in my own version of very broken, simplified English which should somehow be easier for foreigners to understand. The only foreigner present, however, was clearly me. I tried to repeat to the manager about 3 or 4 times the question of whether I could train that evening and the plea for reassurance that I had reached the club I had been looking for. He stared at me blankly, none the wiser, as if I had just landed from a spaceship and was exploring their planet for the first time – it certainly did feel that way. All of a sudden I was put at ease as one of the players sitting by him to my surprise blurted out “can I help you?” in very clear English.

The relief was overwhelming, and he translated my questions into his native language for the manager to understand. The stony-faced man in a tracksuit seemed unmoved, the answer being that I was permitted to play but I’d have to prove how good I was. In the changing room I could sense a lot of inside laughter and giggling, and sentences containing what was the country’s word for “English.” The most intense part was when a cluster of loose change fell out of my pocket which was met with a sort of "whoooooaaaaa-oooooooh!" from the lads. There is something incredibly vulnerable about being in a room with a team of players talking about you whilst you have no possibility of knowing what they might be saying. Most sports or even team activities have special initiations for newcomers, who knows what they could have been planning for the next couple of hours? As it was, it turned out OK. We were sent out on the pitch to warm up and the players were knocking balls around among each other and joking about, with me sheepishly jogging around the pitch with the faint hope that somebody might pass the ball in my direction. One lad eventually offered to have a knockabout with me. It felt like he was sizing me up as he drilled some hard and high passes in my direction, but I was surprised at how I managed to cope with them and soon I was feeling OK, striking the ball accurately and cleanly at others. Obviously looking at how well a player may control or strike a ball when warming up isn’t the best way of judging him, but when you feel like you’re being watched, this feels like a challenge to you and coming through it gives you a big confidence boost.

So training commenced with some standard warm-up drills involving cones and ladders where I made sure not to slip up. After that, having had a pre-season of intense running, I was pleased to find more intense running waiting ahead of me. We were divided into 3 groups of about 5 or 6 to complete a running challenge over the length of the pitch. The pitch was also divided about equally with cones into 3 sections – the first part you had to run at 50-75%, sprint the middle section and for the third section ease up again to 50-75% speed. One group would run, meet the next group at the opposite end of the pitch and then that group would run, and so on. All pretty simple and despite not having trained much for 3 weeks I found myself to be among the fittest players, which was pleasing to discover. Either I was extremely fit or the other players are just incredibly lazy in running drills, which I know can be the case. We had to do 10 lengths of the pitch in total and about halfway through, one of the other players there, who spoke English even more fluently than the bloke who had addressed me at first, asked me for confirmation that I was from England. I confirmed this, and his reply was “you must be used to this, then?” I was unsure how to take that – either training on the continent is not testing enough and he admires the comparative intensity of English training or he perceives a more physical approach on the Isles and is perhaps more used to ball work. I’m edging towards the latter or some version of this.

The running was all well and good then, and by this time I was looking forward to testing myself against the other players football-wise. We were split into three groups, with two teams playing against each other on a small pitch and the other working out with the manager. First up for my team was working out, meaning the football had to wait a little longer. I was a bit surprised when we were made to do all sorts of press-ups and sit-ups in unconventional positions using balls, and over training sessions since I’ve been getting pretty annoyed and fed up with it but overtime I’ve realised this is due to my relative lack of upper body strength and recognised the benefits of these – particularly as they are good exercises for the core of the body, which I’ve always needed to work on. Anyway, this didn’t last for long and soon it was time to play some football.

From a couple of glances while attempting to get a size 5 ball in my grasp to move in sync with my body during sit-ups the confidence grew inside me that I would be able to hold my own. In such a situation where you’re not sure what to expect, every misplaced pass and slip-up from a player reminds you that they’re human too and, specific to this level, not top international footballers who will leave you sprawled chewing the wet muddy turf while watching them glide towards the distant goal. Important to recognise, however, is that the mindset of a player can easily unwittingly transcend the boundary separating confidence and complacency. My experience of suffering this fate on repeated occasions helped me recognise that it had happened again to me when I was caught in possession a couple of times or misjudged an opportunity where I thought I could nick the ball off an opponent. I bucked up my ideas, wary of what the lads would be giggling about behind my back in an alien language, and showed I was able to hold my own. It wasn’t in fact too challenging, and it certainly wasn’t a game being played at full intensity, but my needy and insecure mind was satisfied that it had made a positive impression on a bunch of peers, not to mention my satisfaction that my ability with the ball hadn’t become too rusty.