章 137: Tactical philosophy and technical philosophy.
Nagy's concept of dribbling skills isn't just about a player's ability to carry the ball and break through defenders; it's a broader notion that encompasses a player's feel for the ball, their skills, and their ability to control it. This is easy to understand. Players with excellent dribbling skills can use their technique to escape from a tight spot, control the ball in small areas, and expand their options. They don't always have to go directly past defenders in front of them. With such skills, players can be more cunning on the field, demonstrating strong deception and unpredictability, which gives them an upper hand in one-on-one situations.
However, clubs generally do not provide specific training on dribbling. In practice sessions, players might attempt dribbling as part of free play; if they succeed, great, but if they fail, it's often deemed a lack of talent. Teams typically won't systematically teach dribbling techniques, as this is seen as a waste of time for most. Firstly, not many players are allowed free rein to dribble, and secondly, coaches usually won't invest time assessing whether players possess this talent.
Traditionally, dribbling skills aren't thought of as a result of systematic training; talent is often seen as a significant determinant, including physical attributes. For instance, players like Garrincha, with his crooked legs, and the short-statured Maradona showcase how taller players often lack the same agility as shorter ones—this is a matter of innate conditions.
However, when Nagy emphasizes the importance of dribbling techniques, it's not just about dribbling for the sake of it, but rather about serving the players' unique characteristics.
Take "Little Flying Man" Overmars, for example. He loves to get to the byline and cross the ball. Once he dribbles past defenders, he can draw the entire backline back, disrupting the opponents' defensive rhythm.
Aldrich begins to examine his youth training policy. Reflecting on when he first took over the team, he realized that his focus was on building a cohesive group, emphasizing team unity. If he had prioritized individual foot skills and let players express their talents freely, the team would have fallen apart and become a disorganized bunch.
Last season, Millwall hardly had a youth squad. The youth team merely served as a training ground to practice first-team tactics, aiming to help players develop their ability to play team football through cooperation.
This season, Millwall officially has a youth squad, but Aldrich quickly noticed deficiencies in this new setup.
There are two types of excellent coaches: one who maximizes the potential of 11 talents and another who helps 11 ordinary players perform above their perceived capabilities.
From the very beginning, Aldrich never believed the players he had brought into the team were already mature stars; otherwise, he wouldn't have recruited them in the first place. His goal was to achieve the latter—making the players perform above what would be expected by relying on teamwork, which is foundational for long-term team building.
However, in his excessive focus on the team, Aldrich somewhat overlooked the individual growth of his players.
What's the reason for this?
Upon self-reflection, Aldrich realized it was because he placed so much emphasis on team dynamics that he subconsciously lacked the expectation for players to showcase individual heroism.
As a result, when players made the right passes and moved into position, he felt satisfied.
Is that enough?
Not at all.
Far from it.
Aldrich's realization hit him hard; no team can remain tactically ahead forever. Tactics are a game of cat and mouse. When your tactics are ahead, countless others will begin to devise countermeasures, eventually bringing things back to balance, waiting for the next tactical overhaul.
While an excellent tactical philosophy can elevate a team, the execution fundamentally relies on the players.
Aldrich felt a pang of regret. He had boasted to Ferguson that there were no secrets in tactics, and the key was the players' compatibility with those tactics, yet he had overlooked this crucial point.
Are tactics that mysterious?
Not really. Countless teams want to emulate the tactics of the strongest teams, yet many aspiring coaches end up failing miserably. Trying to mimic successful teams often leads to disastrous results, primarily because the player composition is variable and fails to achieve perfect execution.
Didn't other teams try to emulate AC Milan? But do they have Nesta, Maldini, or Costacurta in defense? Do they have Seedorf or Pirlo in midfield? Or Shevchenko and Inzaghi in attack?
Barcelona is the same; players like Xavi, Iniesta, Messi, and Puyol are all unique talents—it's one thing to mimic tactics but quite another to replicate their prowess exactly.
Successful teams should be a product of a perfect synergy between tactics and team; both are essential.
Aldrich had been too focused on tactics, neglecting the team itself.
His self-reproach was evident in his expression. Nagy reassured him, saying, "Aldrich, you don't need to be this hard on yourself. Millwall has performed well this season. It's tough to identify issues in a flourishing situation. You shouldn't be critical of yourself for not being perfect, right?"
Having composed himself, Aldrich took a moment of silence before responding, "I think I made this mistake six years ago."
"Six years ago?"
Nagy was confused.
Aldrich asked, "Have you ever heard of Guifren?"
Nagy shook his head.
Thinking back, Aldrich said, "Six years ago, when I studied in the Netherlands, the Dutch Football Association focused on youth training based on Michels and Cruyff's football philosophy—the concept of total football was simple and straightforward. I greatly admired this philosophy because I believe that football's future requires a cohesive offense and defense. People often see defenders pushing forward and forwards dropping back to defend. The mainstream Dutch football style really resonated with me. Yet, in the Netherlands, there was a lesser-known school of football that I only learned about by chance while chatting with peers, and the founder of that school was Guifren."
Nagy asked with curiosity, "Is there really such a person?"
"Yes, but he is not well-accepted within mainstream circles. Dutch football is dominated by Michels and Cruyff's tactical philosophies, which prioritize tactics above all else. Players are trained to keep it simple. Deep down, I resonate with this because the trend in football is that players are getting faster, both offensively and defensively; swift and straightforward play is the norm. Slow buildup and excessive individual dribbling will ultimately be eliminated. Guifren introduced a training method called CM, advocating for a technique-focused approach. The core idea was that controlling the ball means controlling the opponent, thus dominating the match. He required players to practice only technical skills rather than tactics, seemingly aiming to prove that genius could be cultivated, rather than being solely down to talent."
"Genius can be cultivated... Genius can be cultivated..."
Aldrich murmured to himself, repeating the phrase as if puzzled.
In a century of football, how many football players have there been? It's hard to count, but assuming it's over a billion isn't an exaggeration, given that player turnover generally occurs within 15 to 20 years.
Yet among all those players over the last century, how many have been geniuses? Judging by the proportion of players, it's an infinitesimally small fraction—essentially, an infinitude of zeros before the decimal point.
If genius could indeed be cultivated through effort, would that mean every hard-working player would turn into a Maradona, Pele, or Beckenbauer?
"When I first heard one of Guifren's statements, I felt repulsed by his football philosophy. He refuted Michels's tactical school by pointing out that the latter's success relied on having rare talents like Cruyff and Van Basten. With such geniuses, the formation becomes irrelevant. I found this rather ludicrous, as the talent-rich Brazil has repeatedly demonstrated that guiding 11 geniuses to success isn't significantly easier than directing 11 fools. This preconceived notion led me to dismiss the training model that promotes technical skill over tactical mastery. But looking back now, I realize I committed the same error as the Dutch Football Association. There's not a life-and-death relationship between the tactical and technical schools, akin to how the barrier between physical and technical players becomes increasingly flimsy."
Nagy blinked and remarked, "I feel it shouldn't be a strict dichotomy; tactics and techniques can coexist, but there should still be a distinction between what's more important and what's less."
Aldrich nodded in agreement, saying, "Exactly. What I want to convey is that tactics are the soul, while technical skill is the body. Only through their perfect combination can you achieve the best results. Historically notable super teams have at least had their tactics up to par, and they also possessed genius players to execute them. I indeed underestimated the balance between the two."
Nagy seemed puzzled, asking, "Why didn't anyone point that out to you? There are so many coaches here."
Aldrich smiled wryly, "Jansen and the others come from Ajax, where they prioritize tactical training. In the Netherlands, they're indoctrinated with tactical philosophies where players' skills manifest according to their innate gifts, not through deliberate training. They focus more on developing players' positional awareness rather than specifically training them on how to dribble. You can't blame them for that; had you not raised these questions, I might not have noticed anything wrong."
Nagy nodded to show his understanding and then asked, "So how do we resolve this issue?"
Aldrich thought for a moment and replied, "Football schools sometimes have excessively idealistic thinking, which isn't good, and ideas often become disconnected from reality. For instance, while a technical approach can indeed help players improve their skills, it doesn't necessarily create geniuses. Maybe out of a hundred thousand players uniformly training their skills, no more than ten could become geniuses, and of those, how many could effectively integrate into a team? We need players to enhance their skills, but that should be built upon their innate talent—they need to turn potential into ability. We can't rely on this training model as mainstream, hoping that through daily practice, average players can morph into the next Maradona; that's unrealistic. Our youth training must still prioritize tactical philosophies, complemented by targeted technical training that helps players grow and develop distinct characteristics within the team, maximizing their strengths while contributing to the overall strategy."
"But where can we find such coaches?"
"I can think of two people."
"Who are they?"
"I doubt you would know, but I hope to attract their involvement."
Aldrich rhythmically drummed his fingers on the table, as the images of two individuals emerged in his mind. One was Murensding, who later turned Cristiano Ronaldo from a showy young player into a Ballon d'Or winner. The other was Ricardo Moniz, who had retired three years prior.
The former had not yet been recruited by Ferguson to Manchester United, and Aldrich had no idea where he was.
The latter would be found in the Netherlands, as history showed he once greatly developed Van Persie. Even after Van Persie transferred to Arsenal, he routinely returned to train with Moniz, indicating that Van Persie's technical abilities were honed through specialized training.
What connected both men was that they were ardent admirers of Guifren. Murensding delved deeply into CM, while Aldrich had only learned about CM six years ago, finally realizing how Murensding elevated Ronaldo's game. Moniz had also learned directly from Guifren, absorbing invaluable insights.
Most importantly, Aldrich hoped to recruit both to train not only players but also coaches.
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