How to understand Izazola's decision within Liga Mx?

   Czech writer Milan Kundera has some pages of his first novel, The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, explaining why he fled his own country. Himself a member of the Czechoslovakian Communist Party, Kundera did not depart on occasion of the Soviet invasion in 1968, but did so only until 1975 when he went into exile in France, where he settled for good. Why did he take so long to run away from oppression?

The announcement, doubly surprising, made by Pumas UNAM's graduate, David Izazola, about ending his professional career at just 24 years old was hotly debated in social media with some commending and others turning against. It was doubly surprising since the winger (who received some caps for national underage sides in the past) had already been forgotten by almost everyone and because, with that age, it is still very possible to have decent contracts in the lower tiers of the domestic league.

In his tweeted announcement, Izazola referred to a "system made for foreigners in which decisions are taken on grounds of profits and business and not on skills and talent". These lines would represent volcanic critiques to decision-makers of Liga Mx after the approval of laws allowing top-flight clubs to field squads packed with foreign resources. Although lately the discussion about the scarcity of Mexican youngsters making a lasting impact had narrowed to "Mexicans vs Foreigners and Naturalizados", this time Izazola's decision moved the conversation onto another shocking direction.

"Please don't dramatize: had he been a good player, he surely would have made it big. Talent shows itself"-, "It's very coward to blame others for your own failures "-, "Giving up your dreams? If these are indeed your dreams you will do whatever it takes to fulfill them"-. The "not-too-good" rant at Izazola, nevertheless, strengthens the cause of those who made the new rules in Liga Mx. Should this be the case (that every Izazola in Mexico is deserving of his gloomy fate), then the only legitimate criticism to the new rulings must be about their very late arrival. Here, Izazola's experience is a confirmation of the urgent need of more and more signings from abroad.

The real question, however, is not whether Izazola had a poor level or not, the real question is: why did he take so long to escape from a system that, has he claims, is merciless with Mexican youngsters?

Explaining his exit from his fatherland, Kundera uses one expression, "circle dancing", to make allusion to the Czechoslovakian class of privileged intellectuals united around Communist Party membership. Kundera was aware of the atrocities of 1968 onwards, and was also aware of the persecution suffered by some of his friends who were reluctant to "circle dancing". He remained a party member almost until his exile, though, since the dance allowed him and others to keep together as a closed group and to look the other way at Communist abuses. "Circle dancing", furthermore, meant fun and play:

Then I became conscious of the circle's magical meaning. If we get out from the line, we can get back in. The line is an open formation. But the circle is closed and there's no possible return.

More than putting an end to his career, Izazola has taken the uncertain choice of getting out from the circle (what's next for him now?). The circle of Mexican youngsters and former youngsters is nowadays comprised by champions and runners-up of junior FIFA tournaments who enjoy first-world salaries while being benched game after game. Some of them watch Liga Mx in box seats, behind acrylic glass, eating popcorn as their teammates play. "Circle dancing" might mean money and joy but no play. And soccer players are so called because they play soccer, just like intellectuals are so called because they use their intellect.

Kundera perhaps took so long to flee as he realized that "circle dancing" meant everything except thinking. Izazola perhaps took so long to retire as he realized "circle dancing" means anything except playing soccer. The real drama is not his particular case. The real drama is the one of those who are already retired and don't even know it.

Chicharito: Mexico's newest idea of violence

Argentine storyteller Jorge Luis Borges used to contend that authentic metaphors have already been invented. Regarding new ones, either they are weak or are little more than remakes of the classics. "True [metaphors], those which formulate intimate connections between one image and another, have always existed", he wrote. Cooling down a hot potato ("Sacar las papas del fuego", a common expression in Spanish which smoothly translates to English), for instance, is just as useful as timeless: it works due to the linkage between the image of the difficulty which is solved at any time in any place with that of the burning potato.

If we are to explain the commonly held belief amongst Mexicans that Mexico barely stands out in good things (without using that many words), then we should ask the safe help from the ubiquitous metaphor of The Crab Bucket. They will get it: seeing the lone crustacean at its useless struggle against its peers in order to connect this scene with whatever political, economic or cultural traits are considered characteristic of Mexican society. The Mexican man never excels, because the Mexican men are going to take him down.

Although it might well apply to fellow countrymen of success like filmmaker Alejandro González Iñárritu, the social critique suggested by the Crab Mentality does it better to the soccer star Javier Hernández's career. The more popular and more familiar, the more useful. Those good and bad seasons through which the tireless young man from Jalisco has remained in Europe without falling prey of surrender have taken him beyond the place of mere sporting figure: he now personifies the idea, powerful and appealing, according to which his fatherland can no longer be compared to a bucket full of hideous crabs. Some of them could still survive, far too many perhaps. But in the times of  Negro Iñárritu and Chichadiós, the metaphor shall be absolutely obsolete.

Metaphors do much more than simplifying the complex. They function as this simplification is done by means of a contrast, imagination and reality. Mexico is not The Crab Bucket given that neither all vices can be imputed onto all of a country's inhabitants nor those vices can be exclusive national property: metaphors like these simultaneously portray all of the world's societies and none of them. By becoming the archetype of the success of Mexico, the Javier Hernández idea moreover blurs our metaphor's contrast and leaves it as another cliché. Another unworthy commonplace that revolves in half truths and fallacies... The archetype gives Mexicans the strongest of cases for finally saying, "Yes, we can".

In terms of winning hearts rather than winning minds, archetypes crush metaphors. The contrast between imagination and reality gets replaced by a contradiction, a clash of opposites with no room to nuances: just as the accepted archetype of beauty defines ugliness by opposition. Values against anti-values; good Mexicans against bad Mexicans. One necessary analysis of the Chicharito idea in the country where crabs keep moving sideways must ask for who these are (the bunch of those envious, resentful, mediocre, jobless and idle that wander in the streets and proliferate within social media), and, what is more, must ask too for what banners are lifted by the newest national archetype itself: the cult of success, the self-indulgence, the work made in order to shut mouths, the unfettered vanity. The belligerent side of strong hearts must subdue the side of lazy hearts.

Metaphors, however, can reach further than archetypes when it comes to winning minds and hearts. The Crab Bucket is as much a critique to every social vice as the concept of Chauvinism encloses an ever-pertinent critique to archetypes which suspiciously wrap reasons into flags. A word of French origin, Chauvinist copes with one bizarre offshoot of nationalism which, besides, translates to other languages, though its arrival South of the Rio Grande seems forever delayed.

Questioning whether the twice Oscar-winning director makes films that are rich in photography but poor in narrative; or questioning the fair merit of netting handfuls of goals in contrast to assistances to other teammates which can be counted with less than five fingers, is more often than not understood as the crab treason toward the archetype of Mexican excellence. It is so understood in the place where there is no self/social critique, Chauvinism, Jingoism.

As Borges rightly contended, the power of metaphorical language brings us to look into the intimacy of two juxtaposed images: The Crab Bucket is one for reflection on whole societies and not on random groups of individuals. This Chicharito idea, turned into archetype of social rhetoric, more than to describe is dedicated to judge people on arbitrary criteria. Good and bad countrymen we are, no matter how many first-touch goals inside the penalty area of a soccer field are needed to make us submissive and silent.

@Cesarkickoff

Mexican soccer journos didn't free Pulido

It is in the occasions in which Mexico's reality overtly hits the bubble of Mexican soccer that Mexican soccer journos prove more and more unprepared to deal with Mexico's reality. The spontaneous rise of the hashtag #LosTwitterosLiberamosaPulido (#WeTwitterUsersFreedPulido) alludes to average Mexicans reacting to the saturday midnight abduction of Mexican striker Alan Pulido in the outskirts of Ciudad Victoria, Tamaulipas. When the bulk of domestic soccer punditry was getting ready for yet another unchallenging Sunday of Liga Mx finals, social media users took Pulido's drama to reflect on this country's violence which overlaps the blurred lines between authorities and organized crime.

Although there was the pathetic instance of a sports webpage grasping the social hype to advertise content featuring the bio and Instagram pictures of Pulido's photogenic girlfriend -or even some other well-renowned print news outlet tweeting they had the 'full chronicle' just to turn out it was only a brief account by some 'unidentified security official'-, perhaps the gravest omissions belonged to those who labeled the situation as plain 'kidnapping' when no further information was confirmed or researched.

Until very recently, it was more or less easy stuff to present to Mexicans any case of abduction as "kidnapping" (where "kidnappers kidnap as a quick way of getting large sums of money"). In consequence, many politicians and political parties did run campaigns promising 'iron fist policies' like the death penalty or life imprisonment or more army battling druglords. The lines between the bad fellows and the good ones - says this rhetoric- can't be clearer: eradicating kidnappers is only about getting tough. That, to an extent, has changed as result of the documentation of several cases over the last decade of forced disappearances in which individuals in Mexico get abducted without price tag and without return.

Are Mexican soccer journalists required to know that the difference between kidnapping and forced disappearance consists in this latter's being a violation to human rights, international law and -more importantly- implying a tacit collusion between law-enforcers and law-breakers? The answer is absolutely yes insofar as they report on Mexico, they work for the news media and they are, or introduce themselves as, journalists.

Celebrating euphorically a new Liga Mx title for his club inside the dressing room along his employees on Sunday night, Pachuca's owner, Jesús Martínez, was pretty fast to acknowledge three soccer journalists out of a list of names which also included high-profile businessmen and politicians. Why would a multiple club owner be grateful to some journos/pundits? For favorable punditry? If the answer is yes, we would be forced to admit that Mexican soccer journalists are not prepared to deal with Mexico's reality by minimun standards whenever it hits the bubble of Mexican soccer because they are not journalists in the first place. They can be relatives of someone, the lucky or the well-connected. But not journalists.

One thing we do know for sure: they didn't free Pulido. Mexican twitter users did.

Boca 0-0 Racing: What will Barros-Schelotto do?

   

   One training session since taking over Boca Juniors was all Guillermo Barros Schelotto had in order to face the Copa Libertadores group stage clash against Racing Club. On the field it clearly appeared so as his side used carbon-copy tactics from last year's Libertadores: a 4-3-3 with Lodeiro tucking in from the right channel and Andrés Chávez staying wide on the left. Carlos Tévez attempted interesting movements around the false nine spot, but Racing stayed compact with two standard banks of four, playing reactive, overall producing a really regrettable football match.

What lessons if any can we take from a goalless draw within an empty stadium? The absence of chanting crowds at least enabled viewers to hear actual tactical instructions (although it was the opposition boss, Facundo Sava, who yelled the most at Rodrigo de Paul to stay permanently ahead of Iván Pillud and keep things cohesive). Barros Schelotto's insistence was on a possession-based style with special attention paid on working out the ball from deep. The midfield trio of Gago-Meli-Pérez caused some problems for rival holding duo of Luciano Aued and Acuña by simply outnumbering them. But it seemed that Racing's simultaneous early double substitution (forced on injuries to Grimmi and Lollo) broke Boca's rythm for the rest of the contest.

In those first brief lapses of acceptable football, the Boca Juniors man who caught the eye was Fernando Gago. As César Meli (he goes by the nickname Cabezón, judging by Orión's yells) and Pablo Pérez shut down the passing lanes of Aued and Acuña (effectively pressing Racing's build-up), Gago had space and time to spray passes sideways judiciously. That's why Sava permanently instructed De Paul to stay ahead of Pillud: because Boca's left full-back Silva motored forward to receive high up the line, thus attempting to stretch the Racing four-man defensive line. De Paul always abided by the instructions, Racing never got that much overstretched and the Boca wide players showed little to none dribbling skills.

What went almost unnoticed, however, was how unsuccessful Racing's high pressing was at preventing Boca from working the ball out of deep positions. Early on Lisandro López and Óscar Romero focused on harrying the Boca centre-backs -Cata Díaz and Chaco Insaurralde- so by the time both Grimmi and Lollo left the field, the Paraguayan playmaker seemed to give up on pressing high and instead went on to cover Gago. In this way, La Academia reverted from a more or less pragmatic 4-4-2 to a very reactive but cohesive 4-4-1-1 that was an absolute success at nullifying the home side.

If Romero gave up his first intentions, much of it can be explained by the quality with the ball of Insaurralde. One of football's greatest truisms is the scarcity of natural, left-footed, centre-backs able to distribute play straight away from the left with speed and accuracy. Which is, that using an inverted right-footed centre-back (as many squads do) risks either losing the ball or losing precious time in the build-up. When regretting his departure, Insaurralde's former boss in Mexican club Jaguares Chiapas, Ricardo La Volpe, remarked that "for him, being left-footed gives a natural technical and tactical advantage. In my opinion he could well be considered material for national team ". In this way much of Boca's most promising passing came from Insaurralde who began to perform the Gago role when Gago himself got taken by Romero.

For such a terrible match, almost a training session itself, the lessons are scarce but clear. Barros Schelotto will implement a possession style based on deep build-up play, high pressure and midfield dominance through outnumbering the rival. His team, however, didn't seem eager to raise the stakes when Racing got compact and this may be a signal of a boss who knows how to play cup competitions. Boca, truth be told, seems an unbalanced squad since some spots are plenty of individual quality while others are simply filled with supporting roles.

What if Mexican players are overvalued instead of lacking ambition?

The leaking of what presumably is Héctor Herrera's contract with FC Porto by FootballLeaks may show us a different perspective in the discussion about foreign talent in Mexican soccer. Although the most volcanic argument is that which says Mexican youngsters lack in ambition and indulge themselves once they reach early success, it would only be half the story.

Herrera's unofficial contract tells us that Mexican players particularly are now as much a footballing asset as a financial asset; both sides being related to each other to a extent which would open the possibility of overvaluation (like happens with currencies, commodities or stocks). The footballing side would be the "face value" while the financial side would be the "market value". The difference between them is, according to the first result given by Google:

A: Face value, or par value, is equal to a bond's price when it is first issued, but thereafter, the price of the bond fluctuates in the market in accordance with changes in interest rates, while the face value remains fixed.

The abovementioned document says Herrera moved from the Mexican league to the Portuguese league in 2013 through the acquisition of 80% of his economic rights by FC Porto (8 million euros). Moreover, the side letter to the transfer agreement between the Portuguese and Pachuca states that the release clause for a potential move to another club (in case the remaining 20% stayed with Pachuca), amounted to 20 million euros to be distributed proportionally amongst the two parties. Within the pages of FC Porto's public financial statement for the 2013-14 season, however, the release fee appears as 40 million and not 20 as it appears in the side letter leaked.

                           

The moneyball strategy that Porto employs with the Mexican midfielder is the same employed with other players in the past: to try to cash the highest profit possible by betting (speculating, bluffing, if you like) on the perceptions of the market value. Once Porto manages to sell, say, Jackson Martínez, for three or four times the money they paid to Jaguares de Chiapas, a new contract is signed and Jackson's face value (along with his release clause) increases boosted in part by his footballing performance.

Although Héctor Herrera landed on Portugal a summer after conquering the Olympic gold medal with the u23 Mexican team, he experienced a dip in form during that Olympic tournament making his final appearances only as a substitute. As we saw in the last World Cup (where Herrera was arguably Mexico's best man), he's relentless, disciplined and able to dribble past everyone in central zones. When fully fit, he can be top class. But when not fully fit or focused, he wanders and disappears: it was the case in the last Concacaf Gold Cup, where he was relegated to the bench, and it was also the case during the first months of the current club season.

Herrera is a player of ups and downs and it's likely that Porto won't sell his rights for more than his real face value (less than 20 million euros). A potential move for him probably will resemble that of countryman Javier Hernández last summer. Although back in 2010 this latter's transaction fee remained undisclosed, the money Manchester United paid Chivas is said to be in the region of 6 million pounds; the money Bayer Leverkusen paid United, five seasons later, was just 7.3 million. Chicharito's face value, in other words, remained almost equal in plain footballing terms.

Mexican talented footballers are indisputably a financial asset whose profit ratio is way bigger than that of players from smaller countries with a similar tradition like Chile, Uruguay or even Argentina. For instance, social media accounts of European clubs which target Spanish-speaking audiences can easily double or triple their traffic from Mexico or from the United States by signing a decent prospect. That's where the market value of a Mexican player can pull up his face value, along with his salary, although then such a gap between the footballing side and the financial side is of course an overvaluation.

The gap between face and market values for Mexican players, namely, the existence of a general overvaluation, is no theoretical abstraction because it explains the increasing need of imported talent in Liga Mx in spite of the too increasing presence of Mexicans in European Leagues. Time has come for fans to assign the proper value to a beautiful volleyed goal against Paços de Ferreira in a 4-0 thrashing and to any junior title the national side can win, bearing in mind the fair location of Mexican soccer within the beautiful game's international marketplace.

Blatter’s FIFA ban comes as vindication for Luis Suárez’s mistreatment

   Back in the years of the trials against World War II criminals, the German-born Jewish thinker Hannah Arendt used to point out that due punishment was central to satisfying the victims’ claims for justice. Not only was it essential in terms of reparation and rule of law, due punishment also gave the punishing authority legitimacy in the eyes of those concerned: it’s as much an act against impunity as it’s a defense of the rights of the victims. She wrote:

[I]n view of the current confusion in legal circles about the meaning and usefulness of punishment, I was glad that the judgment quoted Grotius, who, for his part, citing an older author, explained that punishment is necessary "to defend the honor or the authority of him who was hurt by the offence so that the failure to punish may not cause his degradation."

Up until his arrival to FC Barcelona, Luis Suárez had been a test to rivals, referees, pundits, officials and pretty much all of us when it came to our notions of how much punishment is due and fair for a constant and seemingly unrepentant offender. The English FA had the Uruguayan striker banned for months of competition after finding he had used the Spanish word “negro” against Patrice Evra. A season or so later, the same body banned him again for biting Branislav Ivanovic during a set-piece in which the Chelsea man had been holding and pulling Suárez. Despite the fact that both verbal abuse and violent conduct are offenses which should be prosecuted by the referee as they occur (by booking or sending off), in neither episode was Suárez shown a red card. Instead, he was retrospectively prosecuted and punished.

Suárez’s misdeeds would have remained in the Premier League annals had it not been for another episode of biting in the vital match between Italy and Uruguay in the 2014 World Cup. The Ivanovic pattern was repeated now with Giorgio Chiellini: a set piece to be kicked, a defender holding a forward in the box, the forward gets alienated and finally bites his rival’s shoulder. The offense, again, went unnoticed by the referee despite the Italian desperately showing him the teeth-marks over his skin. Uruguay thus could kick Italy out of the competition with eleven men when the interests of justice were to have the South Americans trailing with just ten players. As the images went viral immediately, and pundits and fans were inflamed and bloodthirsty for “an exemplary punishment”, FIFA applied law retrospectively and handed out Suárez a lengthy ban that is going to be completed only in next February when Uruguay resumes World Cup qualifiers.

“An exemplary punishment” devised to learn Suárez a lesson he won’t forget, that FIFA ominous ban did little and nothing to prevent terrible aggressions from happening again. Due punishment must also be an instrument to inhibit misconducts on the field. And the case of Suárez sadly was and will be just one of witch-hunting when far worse infractions (like Arda Turan throwing his boot against a linesman, or Felipe Melo trying to behead Lucas Biglia with a karate kick) are prosecuted as “average” or aren’t prosecuted at all. Witch-hunting, the exact opposite of due punishment, undermines the legitimacy of the punishing authority and neglects calls for justice from those offended on a pitch. The many retrospective bans the Suárez disciplinary file may still accumulate over the years will not preclude the Turans or the Melos from offending again in the future.

Sepp Blatter, the acting president of FIFA when Suárez was punished, has now received an eight-year ban from soccer-related activities.  Ruling out the charge of corruption (to wit: that Blatter enriched himself using his post at FIFA), the Ethics Committee found him guilty of offering gifts to Michel Platini and of conflict of interest as the Swiss was unable to demonstrate that the 2 million Swiss francs payment to the UEFA suspended president had some legal basis. Without a more detailed, well-sustained and far-reaching verdict from the Ethics Committee, however, the impression is that FIFA built its probe against Blatter merely on the criminal investigations of the Swiss authorities and therefore this body is one more time witch-hunting rather than executing due punishment.

Blatter’s ban of course comes as vindication for Luis Suárez’s mistreatment. It tells us unequivocally that whoever uses the FIFA infernal political machine to witch-hunt is prone to being witch-hunted himself. Perhaps Suárez’s wishes for a fair treatment are now satisfied (in a quite narrow sense) when he sees an otherwise fat cat being given a ban similar to that which he still has. But the worst practices presided over by Blatter during his long tenure, vote-buying, suspicions of electoral fraud and forgery, were neither investigated nor punished by the Ethics Committee. And that’s truly a source of concern since the witch is now gone but witchcraft still is here.

Timbers' glory proves what MLS dearly needs

Land in the massive names from the European game to enlarge the fan base, make the league more profitable. Feed back the virtuous cycle. The 20th season of Major League Soccer began some months ago with those words as the compelling mantra everywhere: Kaka, David Villa, Andrea Pirlo, Giovani Dos Santos and Sebastian Giovinco -amongst others- were destined to be the absolute stars of this watershed year.

Instead, the show was stolen by unsung heroes such as Nat Borchers, Kei Kamara, Mauro Díaz or Sacha Kljestan. Both conference finals were devoid of those flamboyant signings, and yet, they were -for the first time perhaps- plenty of tactical features and astute game management that allowed for some moments of exciting uncertainty. Unlike the preceding season's MLS Cup final between LA Galaxy and New England Revolution in which both squads played similarly and produced a midfield gridlock that was only broken in extra time, the road to Columbus Crew versus Portland Timbers allowed for last-minute goals, penalty shootouts definitions, record-breaking early goals and chalkboard lessons on how to manage a lead.

That Galaxy-Revolution final was a good illustration of what MLS matches still are to a extent: players get into the pitch primarily focused on producing a lead and on avoiding concessions. Being concerned on that, nevertheless, many teams often neglect flux-of-play management considerations which are those that precisely allow to control the tempo: speed-up and slow-down, the ability to change the script. Playing the standardized formation with a four-men defensive line plus a holding midfield duo (either in a 4-4-2 or a 4-2-3-1), the typical MLS side would seat deep and soak pressure up by means of two banks of four as the only way to conserve a lead. Thus, matches like that Galaxy-Revolution final would become about individual brilliance more than anything else, and MLS would want to sign stars rather than build proper teams.

The Columbus Crew-Portland Timbers final proved opposite to its predecessor. The home side was clearly playing a well-drilled standard formation in which Kei Kamara benefitted from Greg Berhalter's focus on play through the channels in order to feed him as classic target man, while the away side opted for an unorthodox 4-3-3, ruthless at high-pressing. Although it was Crew the side that consistently took early leads launching long balls and winning aerial duels (against both Montreal Impact and NY Red Bulls), here the Timbers broke all the records by pressurizing the opposition's build-up play straight away from the initial whistle. After that -and just like against Vancouver Whitecaps- Portland set the tempo of the match and their lead was hardly disputed throughout.

The Timbers could execute their strategy of high pressure since the key feature of a 4-3-3 is the lone holding midfielder flanked by two shuttlers at either side. Diego Valeri and Darlington Nagbe were freer to motor forward because Diego Chará did a brilliant job closing passing lanes with pure positional awareness. That is, the Colombian man had to "read" when to move up so gaps weren't opened between the lines as the shuttlers went up in the field: had those "readings" been inaccurate or slow, Chará would have risked a bigger influence from Federico Higuaín and a possible Columbus comeback. These heatmaps suggest the entirely different approaches between the Crew holding midfield duo -Will Trapp and Tony Tchani- and Timbers' three men midfield. Note as well the number of touches (more men in midfield, more space covered, more dynamism, more midfield domination):



Chará is probably the best lone holding midfielder in MLS since the good days of Kyle Beckerman with Real Salt Like. His solid performances gave Caleb Porter a good argument for high pressure, harnessing on the work-rates of Valeri and Nagbe. None of these three midfielders, moreover, were landed in MLS as the superstars the mantra says are prerequisite to enlarge the fan base. Big names of course attract attention for a while, but team-building ensures competitiveness and sustainability. These playoffs have proved that it's teams and not individuals who get past rounds and lift trophies. Timbers' glory proves what MLS, now, dearly needs.