#and knowing robin still has so much to learn as a goalkeeper

[kevinsdsy]

wait i’m just thinking but if we get another foxes vs USC match in tsc2 doesn’t that mean we finally get canon future foxes content??? ROBIN SHEENA AND JACK I CAN’T WAIT TO PERCEIVE Y’ALL IN CANON

[badacts]

keepers

one of the things i wanted to post for @twinyardsappreciationweek

Neil looks pretty frazzled, at this point. He’s pacing back and forth across the court lounge, to the point there’s probably going to be a rut in the carpet later.

“I’m sure I can play,” Robin says like she isn’t on crutches right now nursing a nasty sprained ankle and knee. She sounds like she’s trying to assuage Neil, but it doesn’t work.

“What are you going to do, hop across the goal?” Wymack asks. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed and doing a good job of pretending like he doesn’t care much about the fact that they’re days out from playing the Ravens without a single uninjured goalkeeper.

Neil comes to an abrupt halt and turns to face the rest of the team. “We managed to play every game through my freshman year when we were barely above the minimum player number. Are we seriously going to have to scratch from a game, from this game, because we somehow don’t have a goalie who can play?”

“You should have recruited more goalkeepers,” one of the freshmen mutters. They’re fucking weak, because it’s not clear who said it. Neil was the worst freshman in history, but at least he spoke up and owned it when he was talking shit.

“Shut up,” Nicky tells whoever it was indignantly. “Goalies don’t get injured. There’s no way we could have foreseen this. But Neil, I really don’t think there’s anything we can do. Unless we, like, recruit someone, or sabotage the Ravens so they scratch first.”

Clearly they can’t do either of those things, but Nicky really shouldn’t put ideas like that in Neil’s head. It won’t work out for any of them. Aaron can just about sense his brain turning that idea over.

“Aaron,” Andrew says, likely because he can recognise the same thought process.

“No,” Aaron replies, without looking away from his phone.

It’s very hard to concentrate on the article he’s reading when Andrew’s voice was loud enough to catch everyone’s attention. Aaron does it anyway. What can he say, he’s stubborn.

“What?” Kevin asks. He’s not talking to Aaron, so Aaron ignores him. Andrew does also. His gaze is drilling a hole in the side of Aaron’s head.

“No,” Aaron repeats, very clearly. 

“Aaron,” Nicky says. He’s probably already getting it. Aaron elbows him viciously in the ribs so he squeaks and shuts up.

“What do you want?” Andrew asks, in German this time.

“Nothing,” Aaron says. 

“Not true.”

Aaron looks up to glare at his brother, with his stupid face and his stupid arm in a stupid cast. “Did you forget the meaning of the word ‘no’ at some point?”

Andrew, of course, continues to stare at him like he’s waiting. After a moment Aaron drops his phone on the floor and demands, “What will you give me, then?”

“Mature,” Andrew comments, and Jesus fuck Aaron is going to have to kill him. Perhaps recognising this, Andrew continues, “You want to learn to drive.”

“You’re not the only person here who could teach me,” Aaron says. 

Unfortunately, Aaron would rather die than drive Matt’s colossal truck, and Andrew knows it. Also, Aaron would rather murder Neil and then let Andrew kill him than ask Neil for driving lessons. Andrew knows that too.

He raises an eyebrow very slightly and says, “One game.”

“I don’t have a car anyway,” Aaron replies. “What good will learning even do me?”

“You’re planning on applying to medical school soon. I’m assuming you aren’t planning on using public transport forever. Or being poor.”

So says the man who will almost certainly be signing a multi-million dollar contract on graduation. Aaron is planning on staying poor through grad school, actually. “Maybe I want a car, too.”

Andrew shrugs, just a bob of his shoulder. “Fine.”

“Maybe I want yours.” Aaron isn’t a car man, but the Maserati is the kind of vehicle you look twice at. 

“Fine,” Andrew repeats.

Aaron squints at him. He doesn’t want Andrew’s car. He does want to know exactly how far Andrew is prepared to go, but that extends far past this one deal.

He says, “There’s a new Lexus out next year.”

“Fine,” Andrew says for a third time. “Is it a deal?”

“Fine,” Aaron mimics. “Wait, do we need to seal it in blood?”

Not being an asshole wasn’t part of the deal. Aaron figures Andrew doesn’t expect any better anyway.

“What are you two talking about?” Neil demands at last.

Goalkeeping isn’t so much about cardio, not like the other positions. It’s purely in reflexes, and in reading the players around him. Andrew is very, very good at reading people, and his body was built for the task, all muscle and speed.

Aaron likes playing backliner, likes the movement and the aggression of working against the opposition. Even with a choice, he wouldn’t change.

The thing is, having a predisposition towards developing quick-twitch muscle fibres is genetic. Reading people might not be, but, well. They’re Foxes. When it’s a matter of survival, you learn.

Aaron smacks away his tenth shot on goal from ten. 

“Dude, what the fuck?” Matt demands from Aaron’s position on the left of the court, voice barely audible over the roaring home crowd. “What the fuck.”

“Do your job,” Aaron snaps back. Andrew may like bossing around the backliners from goal, but Aaron is busy with the steepest learning curve of them all. The Ravens aren’t as good as they used to be, but they’re still really fucking good, and Aaron won’t be able to keep up forever.

Every night this week Aaron has stood in the goal on the Foxhole Court and let Kevin and Neil do their worst while Andrew watched from the stands. It was worth it at the time to see those two idiots get frustrated trying to score on him, but it’s even more worthwhile watching the Raven offense do the same. 

When they break for halftime, the Foxes are up by four. Wymack pats Aaron briskly on the back and says, “If we win this, I will double whatever Andrew promised you.”

Aaron laughs. “Coach, you’re not that rich.”

Andrew announces the start of Aaron’s lesson by breaking into Aaron’s room and throwing the car keys at his head.

Aaron catches them, obviously, but that’s not the point. He would throw them back, but Andrew is already gone. The door is hanging open behind him.

He’s waiting in the passenger seat of the Maserati when Aaron makes it down to the parking lot. Aaron exhales quietly and then deposits himself into the driver’s seat, slamming the door behind himself.

The next set of keys Andrew throws at him are for a Lexus on the day of their graduation. 

It’s been years. Aaron isn’t surprised.

[jojen-hewitt]

Here's my @aftgexchange summer gift for @boydsten , who asked for Andreil with kids!

I hope you like it!

I've included some personal headcanons about this particular Minyard-Josten child under the cut, but I will also recommend these two amazing kidfics; A Legacy of Two by ninaalegre and Noah Minyard-Josten by Aleekae, if you haven't read them yet. Admittedly a few of my headcanons are borrowed or inspired by them so.. Yeah.

Happy Summer! :D

I have a lot of headcanons about Andreil and this kid, and sweet heavens this became really long and rambley, but I think I got the important stuff covered, so enjoy at your leisure. 

His name is was Kyle Wicker (now Minyard-Josten) and he was brought to them when he was seven after he was abandoned by his adoptive parents at Renee's church.

She lives a couple cities over and when she realizes her two former teammates actually live closer to Kyle's old school, she gets it cleared with all authorities to have him reside there until other arrangements can be made.

Andrew tells her not to get any clever ideas, it's just temporary (he gets one look at how scared, scarred, and young he is, Andrew and Neil's inner Wymacks kick in, and rather suddenly he turns back on his statement to Renee)

Kyle is freaked out by people bigger than him, (when he first meets Kevin he actually cries, but Matt went smoother just because Matt is ... Matt) so the rather short heights work in their favour; although it takes a while for him to open up or trust them.

He first does with Andrew after he has a nightmare a few days in and Andrew just makes him a hot chocolate and they don't really talk in detail about anything, but they kind of reach an understanding that Andrew gets him and he's safe here. He knows not to touch Andrew and Andrew returns that in kind until they just naturally accept casual contact from each other. He understands Andrews blank nature and doesn't take the apathy personally as he gets older.

With Neil, the bonding is a bit easier (despite Neil's discomfort with kids for the most part) since they automatically connect through the Exy thing ("Good Christ, not another one.") and their similar burn scars (not going into detail, but his old foster parents' extremely sick sense of humour and his last name Wicker lead to some pretty permanent reminders of those years with them). The two share stories and Neil feels like he's playing the Truth game all over again, but it fits nicely.

Once Kyle learns partially how Neil got his scars/his past, the kid just embraces Neil as his own personal Batman or James Bond, fighting the evil mob bosses and surviving to roast someone on tv the next day. Neil is a little proud of this (at least he doesn’t scare the kid).

Neil and Andrew have a rocky start taking him in and adjusting; something that would have been much worse if they didn't already have some experience babysitting the other Fox kids. They both are relatively new to the whole idea of "happy" or "safe" or "family" so providing that to another, smaller, more easily affected human being with his own personal baggage (that may or may not bring back up their personal baggage) is, to put it simply, tough. It's not the easiest ride for any of them, but they find a way to adjust and live together in relative peace and comfort.

Also Kyle loves the cats. Like LOVES them! He accepted himself as one of them the minute they first came into his new/then guest room to cuddle. When he's older he tells people that the cats raised him (to which Andrew says than the cats can buy him his new fucking racquet next time, but he only half means it).

He calls Neil Dad (and Neil at first and for a long time kinda freaks out inside and with Andrew about it, but he's fine now... seriously fine too, not Neil fine) and he calls Andrew Vati (because papa and the like just sounded off directed at Andrew, but so did just calling him Andrew, so when he learnt from Nicky that Vati or Vater is dad in German, they all collective decided that worked)

When they adopt him, and he opens up a bit more, they find he grows up to be like a scary combination of Neil's snark (Exy gods help the press that harass this boy; they already call him Josten 2.0), Andrew's immovable patience and blunt honesty, and Matt's carefree smiles and kindness - towards people he likes at least ("How did he come out so nice?" "I don't know, Aaron. Almost like he grew up in a decent place and has the genetic material of other people, huh?")

Speaking of, Aaron and Matt are tied for favourite uncle (Aaron sneaking by because he's most like Andrew, personality wise, and also he gets him cool books for Christmases and birthdays)

He likes Nicky too, since Nicky helped him learn some important facts and phrases about Germany for a school project and Kyle agrees to rat to him whenever he catches Vati smile, so fast friends 

(even though there was that brief stunt where Andrew and Aaron -with Neil's help, the traitor- had straight face convinced Kyle Nicky preferred to only be referred to as Uncle Pavo... which is rude, and Nicky rightfully would've bitched at his cousins if Kyle didn't look so happy and confidant saying it when they meet).

Obviously he loves the girls (and he would be pressed to argue who his favourite Aunt is, but it would probably be Renee because she gave him this life to begin with technically. Plus she died his hair orange and white when he was 16 for his school championships -and to help grease the wheels for Aunt Dan, but more on that later-)

(Also, as pictured above, Andrew knew and was chill with it till he saw the colour... Damn orange will haunt him for life. Neil didn't know, but loved the colours. They're a balanced family, you see.)

Grandpa Wymack and Grandma Abby take a while to earn those titles just because he's still rather nervous around older, taller, and in Wymack's case, tougher looking people when they meet the first few times (and they don't Skype like the rest of the Fox family, so it takes a while for him to accumulate to them), but they eventually become the go to confidants about anything he doesn't want to bother Andrew and Neil with (from secret gifts for the dads to "I'm scared I'm making the wrong choice in courses" to "oh my god I don't know how to ask this person out and Vati said just threaten to shove them off a roof, help!")

and they have the couch to crash on when he's in South Carolina

Jean and Jeremy are the cool family friends who send nice cards and sometimes French hot chocolate and strangely, but rather full heartedly, encourage the "cats raised you" mentality (Jeremy because he thinks it's adorable and Jean because he laughs at how indignant Neil gets when he hears it).

He's cool with Kevin (despite the crying and the vague starstruck attitude he first had with him), but - and maybe this is the Andrew influence talking - he sometimes finds the constant Exy talk to get too overwhelming. He's known to just call it Stickball around Kevin's family with all seriousness just to annoy them (Andrew sneaks him extra dessert when he does) He gets along with Kevin's offspring too, even if he has also adapted his dads' tolerance for being bossed around the Exy court (or backyard court) by a Day; see: none.

Speaking of Exy, Kyle loves it (in the 7 year old way of he loves the sport, likes his favourite team, but has no clue who any player is but Kevin and Kayleigh Day, so was shocked and kinda in love with the fact that Neil used to play for said favourite team), but he never played himself until he moved in with Andreil.

He started his first couple years of little league as a striker - he's great at it and this makes Neil smile more than he thought it would (damn Kevin for being right, it is kinda great watching a future champion grow up) - but switches to goalkeeper when he's 10/11.

(which Neil complains about only a couple of times ("But he was so good, Andrew." "Yeah, so? You were a backliner in little league. The kid changed his mind, accept it." "You're right you're right... Just he's so fast." "Ugh!") but he accepts that it's still Exy and at least Kyle and Andrew can bond more.)

Plus even if it wasn't Exy, they would've been cool with it.

Plus plus, he's an even better goalkeeper than striker, as a mix of Minyard tactics with Josten Exy enthusiasm. 

Foxes are Kyle's favourite animal aside from cats (even before he meet the team, but it definitely amplified once he did).

He stole his dads old fox merch (mainly Neil's) when they officially adopted him, even when it was too big for him.

He painted his room orange and white. He had a bunch of stuffed foxes (all unofficially named after former team members).

He watched almost every Fox game of his dads' years, especially the ones against the Trojans and the Ravens.

He almost chose to have Fox as a middle name when they gave him the option during the adoption (he went with Robin though; 1) Aunt Robin is awesome 2) He's kinda a not so secret Batman nerd and when asked what he wanted to be when he grew up the answer was "An Exy player or Nightwing" and 3) because like hell Andrew was allowing the obsession to go that far).

He wants to the join the Foxes when he's in college.

But, like the rest of the Foxes, and despite Neil's fears (and Andrew's hesitance in his capabilities as a caretaker), he's turned out to not qualify for a spot on the team.

So of course he tried other tactics like the hair and he once tried to plead to Aunt Dan that in fact the first five years of life that he can remember should be enough reason to allow him to join ("Sorry kiddo, no dice. You're too Kit now to be a Fox.")

Sorta side note, the children of the old Foxes are all called Kits and Allison sends them all handmade "Palmetto State Kits" jerseys with their parents numbers (Kyle got 13 because 10 and 3; a number he carries through all his Exy teams) When he's young, he wears his to school whenever he can and only stops when it needs a wash or he grows out of it.

He's very close with Matt and Dan's family. Their middle child is his age and they talk all the time. When their teams face each other in Exy matches, they always run and talk to each other in the middle of the court between goals and halves. Basically Boyd/Josten Brotp 2.0

Matt usually sits with Neil in the crowd during these games (when they can) and cries every time the game brings them close ("Oh my God!! Neil, did you see your baby block my baby's shot?!” “Yeah Matt! I saw! Beautiful.” “That was beautiful! Holy shit! It happened again! Are you seeing this?! They highfived!!" “KYLE! Hug the competition after the game not when they make a goal!” “That was a great goal though!” “Agreed, but still!”)

they still hug it out whenever one of them does a cool thing. Their teams hate when they play each other because of it.  Not like they don’t try to slaughter each other game wise, but again, they celebrate each other’s badass moments without pause. And when one wins, you would think the other was on their team too with the exuberance they congratulate the other.

He grows up to be about Kevin's height, much to the shock to some who were expecting another tiny Minyard-Josten.

He also inherits Andrew's sweet tooth to the point where Neil's kinda convinced he's never going to win the "should we get ice cream on the way home from practice" debate ever again.

I'll stop there. Again, there is a lot more, but I definitely have already rambled enough. Sorry.

[dancyon]

Puzzle Pieces (get under my skin and don’t let me go)

Would you look at that, I finally finished my pitch hit @aftgexchange gift for @bluetheking who asked for andreil? And outsider perspective on them? I did my best darling, but  I know I am terribly late and this is all my still jet-lagged mess of a brain managed to put together, I didn’t want to make you wait longer. 

-          The year Andrew goes pro, he feels Neil’s absence at his side like a gaping wound, wide open and raw. He’s used to seeing him in his peripheral vision, a heartbeat away from his fingertips.

-          He won’t say it, words stuck somewhere in his throat, choking him, but he thinks Neil can see it in his tense shoulders, in the frowning corner of his downturned mouth every time they Skype.

o   He wonders, sometimes, how they reached this point. How he let someone learn the crooks and corners of his soul.

o   But then again, this is Neil. Neil could see through him like an arrow.

-          Which is why he tries to convince himself that he should not be surprised when the striker shows up during practice after a day where he could feel his nostalgia on his skin.

o   His orange Foxes jersey a blinding point in the stands as he watches Andrew guard the goal against people they don’t know but who give their backs to their goalkeeper on the Court.

o   Whatever uncertainties they might have regarding Andrew off the Court are another thing. They know better than to bring that in the game.

-          So Andrew knows not to be surprised when Neil shows up, a four hour drive away from Palmetto, eyes cool and smile sharp like a knife.

o   Andrew doesn’t have his knifes anymore, he gave them to Robin, but sometimes he thinks he might not need them when he has Neil’s razor sharp tongue and his cold as steel fingers pressing against his pulse point on his wrist where his blades used to be.

-          His team is surprised though.

-          They know next to nothing real about the former Nathaniel Wesninski. They know speculations, they know what the media says, they know what other NCAA teams have said.

o   And that’s really nothing considering the fact that some of the stories are so farfetched that no one would believe them, not even the dumbest player in the game.

o   Or the fact that people have said completely contrasting and contradictory stories.

-          So yes, they don’t know much about Neil except that he’s small, sharp as a whip and antagonistic. All dangerous traits to have for someone who quite obviously wants to make Court someday.

-          Seeing him in the stands troubles them because “What is he doing her? “Doesn’t he have his own game to prepare for? Doesn’t he have practice? Isn’t Palmetto in another State altogether?”

-          But Neil Josten is there, and it does something to the team. Even their immovable wall of a goalkeeper seems different and isn’t he pushing himself just a little bit more? Isn’t he playing just a little bit harder? Do his eyes stray to the stands, his head titled slightly and only visible to the practicing strikers who are trying to take his defense apart while they try to ignore the azure gaze following their movements.

-          Point is, they notice. The thing about Andrew Minyard is that his unpredictability is predictable now that he’s sober. You stay out of his way, you don’t bother him, you most DEFINETELY don’t ask about his past. And he’ll let you be. He will guard the Goal and glare at the press without a word and eat amounts of sugar that make their Coach and their Nutritionist tear their hair out, but his eyes will remain blank, is head will look forward and nothing they do will ever catch his attention.

-          And now Josten, with his mere presence, demands Minyard’s attention like a light in the dark.

-          They wonder, like people often do, but they don’t say anything. They don’t have a death wish.

-          After that first time, things go back to normal. They go change after practice, and Minyard disappears while the rest of the team is showering.

-          After they change, they look up at the stalls and no one’s there anymore.

o   Somehow, they’re not surprised.

-          They don’t mention it. To Andrew at least. But they do talk with each other and “Did you see that? Do you think they’re friends? Or is Minyard trying to kill him right now? Should we try to stop him?”

-          They think that things will go back to normal now but before the gossip can die down, Josten shows up again, watching from the stalls. And again. And again. And again.

-          After a while, they stop talking about it simply because it’s become so common in the last few months that there’s nothing new to pick and analyze anymore. Minyard looks less tense after Josten visits, and only in those moments they realize how rigidly he always holds himself, how he is always on guard and waiting for an attack.

-          Josten seems to smooth his jaggier edges and isn’t that strange to think about? This is Minyard. But then again, that’s Josten. They seem to fit together like broken puzzle pieces sometimes, stuck with each other but there’s always something missing.

-          They will never know them enough to realize that they’re missing pieces of themselves. Andrew inserted himself in all the pieces of Neil that his past ripped away, and Neil did the same with all the pices of Andrew that were torn apart, and they made each other as full as they knew how.

-          But Andrew’s team doesn’t know that. They see flashes of the truth, sometimes, there and gone in an instant.

-          For example when they leave the changing rooms before Minyard and Josten have left, and they see Minyard on the stalls with the other striker, limbs looser than ever, one foot on the seat next to Neil as he leans his back on the seats behind him.

-          They see it in the way Josten’s scary smile is not there anymore. He’s not smiling, but his full mouth is curved in something that could be considered soft, the edges of his scars pulling on the corners and making him look like a destroyed work of art.

-          But the way Andrew looks at him, he seems to agree with their silent judgement, a light in his eyes that makes him almost approachable if it weren’t Andrew Minyard they were talking about.

-          They have their suspicions, and they have their gossip, but they don’t say anything. It’s none of their business, really, and it puts him on what could be even considered a good mood for the better part of the week that Neil visits.

-          And sometimes Andrew accepts their invites to go out for drinks now and he still doesn’t talk much, but sometimes he brings Neil, who doesn’t really drink much and he hovers mostly around Minyard but he’s as full of attitude and cutting remarks in person as he is behind a camera, and that’s so refreshingly genuine that they are all left speechless for a while.

-          They stop talking about Minyard and Josten after that. It feels like they are intruding into something sacred when they witness a soft look or a feather light touch between two people who are supposed to be as hard as nails but they’re not, they’re just as human as the rest of them.

[thefinishedarticle]

The Cult of Youth

“You can’t win anything with kids” was Alan Hansen’s Michael Fish moment, a failure to predict the hurricane that was Manchester United’s Class of ‘92: not only did Beckham, Butt, Scholes, Neville, Neville and co. win the double that year with an average age of 24, but they proved they were no fluke by retaining their league title in the next season.

Hansen was not alone in his scepticism, however. The statistics show that winning teams, whether in the Premier League or the World Cup, have an average age of 27-28, and it is commonly agreed that footballers tend to reach their peak upwards of 27. Goalkeepers and defenders seem to play until retirement age, but even strikers are seen as enjoying their best years between 27 and 31, particularly if they favour a poacher’s style of play.

Managers would also seem to prefer more experienced players: rounded to the nearest whole year, last season’s 20 Premier League squads included two with an average age of 30, two with an average age of 29, eight on an average of 28, six on 27, and two on 26, for a total average age of 28 years old for a top-flight footballer. Like a fine wine, players would seem to increase in quality with age.

The only area in which this isn’t reflected is in transfer fees. Older players, just like those with short contracts, are more cheaply parted from their clubs, despite this supposed increased ability; the reasoning is that the clubs may expect to see another two years out of a 30 year old, whereas a 20 year old signing may offer a dozen seasons for their one-off price, meaning that the youngster can be several times the price of their superior. 

There is also an idea that younger players have potential to improve. Much is made of a player who succeeds when only 22, as if that should normally hinder his ability; if he’s this good already, it’s then imagined how incredible he will be when fully grown. It is never considered that the player might have already reached his peak: he must have room to improve, because football players peak after the age of 27. 

United did not spend £70 million on Romelu Lukaku this summer because he’s the best striker in the world, but because he’s a perfectly competent one at the tender age of 23. They knew that they would get at least 7 years of performances out of him, which made him decent value at just £10 million a year: they would have paid much less for a 30-year-old with the same form, even though they boasted more experience.

They also expected him to develop in that time, potentially becoming a world-beater whilst in their possession: young players don’t have flaws, only opportunities to improve, and they are bought for their potential as much as their current ability. Paul Pogba, United’s world-record signing last year, was also 23. 

Gareth Bale and Cristiano Ronaldo, the previous record holders, were both 24. Neither were the finished article at the time, but it was expected that they would earn their fee in time. The record may soon be broken again, with a fee in excess of £140 million proposed for Kylian Mbappé, an 18-year-old with one good season under his belt. His suitors believe that he will only get better, or that he will at least give them about 14 years at the same level, working out at a similar cost per season as Lukaku or a £20 million 30-year-old.

A similar effect is seen down the food chain: younger players demand higher fees, even if they might not yet be as good as older players which can be bought for the same money, because it is believed that they will one day become better, or at least remain this good for longer. I am reminded of the Football Manager series of games, where a canny manager with limited resources can scout for potential ability in preference to current ability, and buy lesser-known players which will become stars in time.

Unfortunately, life is nowhere near as linear. There are no set-in-stone rules that a young player must improve, no intrinsic ‘potential’ figure for them to progress towards. Mbappé may become the best player in the world, or he might follow the path of Anthony Martial, who also had one good season at Monaco at an early age, was also hyped for his ability and compared to past greats like Thierry Henry, and was also sold for a record figure for a teenager, but now struggles to start for United after two mediocre years.

Young strikers can develop their game, improve their positioning, their team-work, their decision-making, and improve, but I believe that they can also stagnate or even wane after an exceptional start. Many young forwards hinge their game upon their speed and stamina, and these can be expected to decline with age. Others may only start so brightly because they are an unknown quantity, and then have opponents learn their tricks and preferences, as Dele Alli found during the slow start to his second season, or begin to be man-marked.

There may be a psychological element: young players lack experience, but they may play with less pressure and expectation, or they may have more hunger than an older forward who has scored the same goal one hundred times. Finally, outside circumstances can easily curtail their development: young stars are often poached, and many new signings fail to replicate their form in a new city or country, with a new manager, team-mates and system to acclimatise to. Moving from a small pond to a big one, they also have to adjust to no longer being the focus of attack, and perhaps not even making the first team.

Now at United, Lukaku may build on his tally of 25 goals from last season, but it is also possible that he’ll never reach those heights again; in fact, it’s entirely possible that he’ll score fewer than 20. To illustrate this point, and to demonstrate that our expectations for young strikers are misplaced, I have compiled a database of the 34 strikers to score over 15 Premier League goals in a single season since 2010. 

Of these, I have excluded 12 “one season wonders”, who dazzled for one glorius year but have since failed to come close to those standards, as these will be anomalies on any map of progression with age. Some of these players are still active, and so I am only writing them off for now: for all that I know, they may come back with a vengeance and earn themselves a place on the list proper.

For the remaining 22 players, I have recorded all of their league goals per season, and sorted the season by the age that the player was at its beginning. I have only included league records for consistency, as that gives each player an equal number of potential games to play (barring injury and deselection, which may both be age-related and are therefore worth including). 

It also prevents a bias within an individual player’s timeline, as they may have played more games at a certain age than later, or in different competitions: there is a trend for managers to play more young players in easier domestic cup ties, for example, but only sending the first team out for the bigger games. Players would therefore find it easier to score when they were younger, biasing the figures in favour of my conclusion, and so I have removed this aspect of the comparison.

I have, however, included all of the top three European leagues (Premier League, La Liga, Bundesliga) to enable me to continue the comparison where Premier League stars are poached by bigger teams abroad. If I only looked at domestic figures, I would conclude that Luis Suarez had his best goalscoring year aged 26 (31 goals for Liverpool, compared to the 40 he notched for Barcelona two years later), or that Ronaldo peaked age 22 (31 goals for United, a total he has beaten five times for Real Madrid).

As above, this prevents a bias towards my conclusion, allowing young players to grow too big for the Premier League and reach their peak abroad instead. Finally, I have limited my study to goals as the most easily comparable metric of a forward’s success; although I am aware that there are many other aspects of their ability levels, these vary between styles of forward and would prove impossible to compare in one table.

The players in my sample are as follows, in no particular order: Wayne Rooney, Sergio Aguero, Harry Kane, Lukaku, Darren Bent, Daniel Sturridge, Edin Dzeko, Diego Costa, Alexis Sanchez, Christian Benteke, Olivier Giroud, Dimitar Berbatov, Carlos Tevez, Robin van Persie, Yakubu, Emmanuel Adebayor, Gareth Bale, Suarez, Hazard, Llorente, Jamie Vardy, and Jermain Defoe. They represent a variety of clubs and time-periods, and vary in their own ability and preferred position across the forward line.

As it stands, the average player had their best goalscoring season between the ages of 24 and 25. This stands in contrast to the above idea that forwards tend to peak a few years later on: just 6 of my 22 forwards enjoyed their best year past the age of 27, and none reached new heights after 28. Rather than entering their prime past this age, it seems that these players only went downhill from there.

For fairness, I must concede that many of these players are still playing at this level, and so this average is likely to increase slightly, but even those who have moved on seem to confirm the trend. Bent registered his best tally at the age of 23 (with his second-best at 19), Dzeko’s best came at 22 (second-best at 23), Berbatov’s came at 23 (second-best at 22/28), Tevez’s came at 25 (26), and Adebayor’s came at 23 (27). 

The exceptions are van Persie, who seems to be a genuine case of a player who peaked at 27 (28), and Yakubu, who confuses things slightly: his best season came at 28, but his next best (by just one goal) came at 20, and he seems to have declined since then before going out with one last hurrah. Even van Persie’s story is caveated with the fact that he had previously been played out wide, and reached another level immediately once moved into the centre; if he had been played there from the start, he might easily have peaked earlier on.

Of those still playing in these leagues, it seems unlikely that Rooney (25), Llorente (25), and Defoe (26) are yet to reach their prime. Without a transfer or a perfect year, Sturridge (23), Costa (24), Benteke (21), Giroud (27), Bale (23) and Vardy (28) would be hard-pressed to beat their previous records, even though they still have some years in them: all seem to have declined from their high-points, instead of improving with age as we might expect.

The problem players are Kane (23), Lukaku (23), Sanchez (27), and Hazard (25), all of whom starred during the most recent season. Unlike those above, the momentum is behind them, and there is every chance that they will only continue to improve. The same applies for Suarez (28), although his 40 goals the season before will be extremely difficult to surpass, especially given that he fell short with ‘only’ 29 last term. 

However, excluding these players actually decreases the average, and even only removing Kane and Lukaku doesn’t change it (the decimal point wavers, but the year remains between 24 and 25). I would include them for completion, and each of them are unlikely to better their already impressive totals (29, 25, 24, and 16 from the wing respectively), especially considering that a majority of the other players peaked around or below their ages.

It is worth addressing that some of these players had special circumstances. It could be argued that Benteke’s development was disrupted by his move to Liverpool, but a transfer to a bigger club can also be an opportunity to reach new heights, and he has since had a full season at Crystal Palace to regain his form. 

Suarez provides a counter-point: his move to Barcelona, playing as part of a dominant attack with Lionel Messi and Neymar, has allowed to him to reach a peak he might have never found at Liverpool, and it seems likely that he would have reached it earlier if his transfer had been a year or two before.

It could be noted that Sturridge’s playing time has been limited since his breakthrough season, due to injuries and the appointment of a manager who prefers a different style, but these might also suggest that he is not the player that the heights of 2013/14, with attacking tactics and Suarez by his side, made him appear.

This also goes both ways, and there are more cases like van Persie’s where a player has been stifled early on his career: it is unusual for a top striker to be dropped or shunted to the wing if they have proved themselves in the centre, but common for a young player to have to put in time and wait for their chance to shine. 

Sanchez is another example of a player only just moved into the middle, and his recent goal-tally might have come earlier if he’d made this switch earlier in his career. I therefore feel these considerations balance out, and that I can be confident in my average across the large sample and variety of players. This net potential error is certainly unlikely to raise the average of 24/25 by the three years required to meet the earlier expectation of 27/28, and this difference does seem significant.

Finally, a look at the one-season-wonders. Wilfried Bony and Jay Rodriguez had their solitary peak aged 23, whilst Demba Ba, Michu and Charlie Austin enjoyed theirs aged 25. Danny Ings and Saido Berahino, the other English strikers who broke through in the same season as Austin, attracted more interest from bigger clubs due to their youth, even though they were shy of my 15-goal threshold. It is therefore worth noting (as an aside) that they have not improved on that season, when they were aged just 22 and 20 respectively, in the two years that have elapsed since.

It seems unfair to mark down Riyad Mahrez and Joshua King as one-season-wonders, as they have barely had a chance to prove they aren’t, but with only one year to go on I am forced to include them in this category until they remove themselves, as otherwise their peaks would be artificially low: both were aged 24 during their breakthrough seasons, which are their peaks so far but may or may not remain so.

All of these players have been removed to keep my comparison fair, but all would seem to fit the trend. The few older one-offs were Odion Ighalo, aged 26, Peter Odemwingie, aged 29, and Rickie Lambert and Grant Holt, both aged 30. At first glance, these four would seem to balance out the seven above, but it is crucial to note that these players all had their ‘one season’ in their first ever season in the Premier League, before declining as they grew older. It is therefore highly likely that, had they arrived earlier, they would have peaked earlier as well.

The conclusions from the main set are therefore supported by these one-offs, but I would prefer to focus my argument on the average above. Rather than supporting the idea that a player’s career rises to a peak just before the end, this average paints a picture of a more normal distribution: if an average top flight career runs from around 20 to around 30, this mean falls around the middle, with none below 22 and none above 28. The mode of 23 suggests that more players actually peak near the beginning.

I can now move on to a more interesting question. Having looked at the set of all strikers, and answered the question of when they tend to reach their peak, I can get more specific: looking only at those strikers which performed well at an early age, how many of them continued at that level? How many of them improve? That will suggest more about the futures of young prospects than the general average does.

From my sample, I can see that those players who start well don’t tend to last the pace. Most notably, those players who perform later in their lives generally started later. The only forwards who did have their best year age 27 or later were Giroud, van Persie, Yakubu, Suarez and Vardy, and all but Yakubu failed to make an impact on these top leagues until later in their career: none even managed a modest 12 goals in a season until ages 26, 26, 20, 25 and 28 respectively, and most only arrived in the leagues a season or two before. 

As above, Yakubu is an anomaly: his best period came between ages 20 and 24, with one exceptional final season following three with single-figure hauls and only exceeding his first by one goal. Across the whole sample, the average age of the first 12-goal season was 22, or 21 without these late bloomers, clearly showing that the only players to reach their peak later on were those who hadn’t neared it earlier.

Supplementary data supports this pattern. Much has been made of the fact that Lukaku is only the fifth player to score 50 Premier League goals before the age of 23, suggesting that he will now follow in the footsteps of those greats: Ronaldo, Rooney, Robbie Fowler and Michael Owen. However, this does not suggest as much potential as it might at first appear. Ronaldo’s most prolific season to date came aged 29, after he had moved to the dominant Madrid, but Rooney’s came at 25, Fowler’s at 20 and Owen had two equal seasons at age 21 and 22. 

Two of these four players had therefore already reached their peak before they reached the age of 23: being an excellent striker at a young age doesn’t promise anything for the future, and might even suggest an early decline. Owen last managed a 12-goal season aged 24 before his output markedly deteriorated, and even Rooney last scored (exactly) 12 at age 28, although a return to Everton may revive him after single-figures in the two years since. 

Whilst looking at iconic Liverpool strikers, I also remembered Fernando Torres starting young, and indeed he easily managed 50 before 23 for Atlético Madrid, and recorded eight successive 12-goal hauls in the seasons he started ages 18 through to 25. 

He did not manage to reach that mark in the following seven years from 26 onwards, however, famously declining after moving to Chelsea. At the time the move was blamed for the sharp downturn in his career, but in the context of these other examples it seems that he was just part of a wider trend: he performed well at a very young age, and had just burnt out by the time he grew older.

The conclusion I can see is that highly promising younger players are actually less likely to become successful older players than their mediocre peers, in direct contrast to everything I’ve heard about potential. These players are much in demand and draw colossal fees, with the likes of Rooney and Torres also setting records of their own, but they don’t seem to deliver many more years of high performance than those who peak later, and they certainly don’t seem to improve.

It seems that some players bloom early and some bloom late, but there is little difference between the two, with lateness compensated with longevity. The only exceptions are for the truly world-class players, like Ronaldo and Messi (current peak 24), who can continue at the highest level from their youth until their retirement. The likes of Lukaku and Kane may well come to join them on that tier, but if not the future looks less bright than their valuations would suggest: the figures propose that they may already have their best days behind them, and perhaps only four or five seasons ahead.

[quintetblog-blog]

Novels, Nowitzki, Songs and Scorpion Kicks: Transference of Creativity

This begins with a story of witnessing one of the best goals I’ve ever seen in my life, only to see it again, but better...

I’m watching Manchester United, my favorite team, winning, in the driver’s seat, and in the dying embers of the match, a ball flies into the box, as newcomer to the starting squad Henrikh Mkhitaryan rushes towards it....

Then he does this.

So, theres so much to say about it. First, I’d never seen one live. They call it a scorpion kick, and in my mind, its a little inconceivable. How does anybody rationally put their money where their mouth is and even TRY that? 

If you miss, everybody’s first comment is “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”. As a player you can be so embarrassed by any potential failure, purely because other options could have dispatched a score so effectively. 

But at the same time, Mkhitaryan places it perfectly, almost insuring this option as the BEST option, bizarre as it is. He puts the ball into the side netting, the keeper has no chance to save it. It caps the win, it insures Manchester United gain a full 3 points in the standings for that week.

Goal of the year? Goal of the week for sure. Goal of the month. Besides the fact that he’s CLEARLY OFFSIDES, AND IT SHOULDNT HAVE ACTUALLY COUNTED (alternative facts) its the best goal you’re going to see for ages.

And by ages, I mean maybe a week, which is when Olivier Giroud does this in Arsenal’s match again Crystal Palace:

Ok....so elements of this that I love. 1) Off the cross bar. That’s a goal scoring slam dunk, it should count as 1.5 goals. 2) Leaving the goalkeeper on his ass. 

3) AND ANOTHER SCORPION. Wtf. How have I watched soccer so long, never seen one of these, and then two happen in such close proximity. Also, 4) Giroud is OBVIOUSLY on side. So he wins the quality battle. If Mkhitaryan’s goal for United would have been officiated properly, I wouldn’t even be writing this blog. 

BUT I’m glad I am, it made me think of Creativity, bayyybeh.

I read this book over the summer while I was on tour called Big Magic, by Elizabeth Gilbert, who you probably recognize as the author of super earth-shaking gigantic novel Eat, Pray, Love. The whole book is focused on creative living beyond fear, and I specifically thought of an anecdote she shares within it about the idea that creativity can liken itself to a virus, passing through people who come in contact with one another, fully realizing itself in different stages and places. 

It seems like a crazy deal, that ideas can bounce of you and the folks around you like sonar or something, but she even takes this so far as to suggest that she passed a novel idea to a friend who ended up publishing what she herself had conceived. This is from an article published in The Independent:

“In Gilbert's world, ideas are "disembodied energetic life-forms" which choose you as surely as you choose them. "I believe that our planet is inhabited not only by animals and plants and bacteria, but also by ideas," she writes in Big Magic. "They are capable of interacting with us – albeit strangely.

"Ideas have no material body, but they do have consciousness, and they most certainly have will. Ideas are driven by a single impulse: to be made manifest. And the only way an idea can be made manifest in our world is through collaboration with a human partner."

If you don't believe her, ask Ann Patchett. As Gilbert explains in the new book, Patchett only got the idea for her 2011 novel State of Wonder, about an American drug company employee who ends up in the Amazon investigating murder and malaria, because Gilbert had "lost" it.”

I feel like the music industry has been in the spotlight frequently with law suit after law suit pertaining to people writing the same tune, or copyright battles over licks. “Ice Ice Baby” and “Under Pressure” essentially sharing a bass line, the family of Marvin Gaye suing Robin Thicke and Pharrell Williams for similarities identified in the hit single “Blurred Lines”, and I seem to remember tons of mouth-breathers on YouTube laying claim to Coldplays most recognizable contribution, “Clocks”.

I suppose after reading this book, this was the first time I considered, maybe all of the versions should exist? I could never trade “Ice Ice Baby” for “Under Pressure”, how could anyone do that? Hip hop has really become what it is because of collaborations between varying artists being so accessible  in this new millennium.  

Gilbert says ideas spend eternity “swirling around us”, and she says this applies to “all ideas...: artistic, scientific, industrial, commercial, ethical, religious, political”. I’m adding one more: SPORTS. MAAAAAN.

Dirk Norviktski is a beautiful example. This German giant started blowing up basketball in the United States in the early 2000′s, seen as one of the first 7-foot players who had a solid three-point shot (a player type still in its infancy in the NBA, but showing itself in players like Kevin Love, Kevin Durant, and Kristaps Porzingus among others.) 

But the really special thing Dirk figured out to do moving through his career was to develop a very specified fadeaway jumper. He scored non stop, and pretty much continues to do so today, with this turnaround jumper where he leeeeeans back, kicking a leg out to create space, eliminating any chance that a person could extend out to get near the ball, while he releases with a delicate touch to score. 

Its clockwork:

It was contagious though! It spread. And one has to wonder, sure, maybe it was Dirk’s idea, or, maybe thats where players arrived at this point in the evolution of the game. Maybe big men saw the light, and said “Why can’t I be a really legit shooter? I’m taller than everyone, in a game that focuses itself on height and strength. How far does that extend?” Basketball and sports of all kinds are a hive mind, coaches, trainers, agents, players. They are industries, and the industry of Dirk’s move spread to influence the careers of all sorts of players, like Kevin Durant (arguably the best player in the game next to Lebron James (who does the fade as well) and Steph Curry) Lamar Aldridge, Paul George, Tim Duncan, and probably a million other frickin guys in the years to come. Because that idea is totally airborne at this point, it’s anybody’s to use.

On discussing this idea after a gig last month, my friend Rob told me about two bluegrass writers, who after collaborating with each other for ages, each separately wrote songs at the same time called “Crooked Road”.

 Tim OBrien and Darrell Scott worked together on a record in 2000, and continued to play together, cutting a live record in 2006 cleverly titled We’re Usually A Lot Better Than This. Then some time after that, each one felt separately drawn to the same idea. 

OBriens version of “Crooked Road” appeared on his 2008 album Chameleon, as the second to last track. He picks vibrantly on a wide open 12 string guitar, talking about how every day he walks a crooked road, taking what he needs, listening to his heart. 

His buddy Darrell Scott took the theme and used it as a song title, and his whole record in 2010. A Crooked Road is the first thing we hear on his record of the same title. When Scott walks his crooked road, he moves at basically the same pace of beats per minute as his friend Tim O Brien, “to get where I’m goin’” and when he looks back, he sees the straight narrow. Hindsight’s 20/20 kinda deal. When all else is gone, he will always have his lonesome song.

Both tunes are rooted in finding resolve, they are self reflective, and really could be mashed together and work just fine in a narrative way. 

Would these guys have written these tunes without knowing each other? Did it stem from a jam that occurred one time late at night, had it been percolating in their friendship for years? Maybe the real shame of it is they didn’t write one “Crooked Road” song together...who knows...

Would the Giroud goal have happened without Mkhitaryan’s goal? If Mkhitaryan’s goal didn’t count, would Giroud’s goal be the only one anybody remembers? 

Who cares, really? Both goals happened, both songs were written, and all that stimuli gave me an appreciation for the game I already loved so so much, and my own life in music. 

And I learn this: Don’t be afraid of ideas drifting. Maybe you’re just the hotel the idea is staying in for awhile while it gets it’s shit together. And maybe Ed Sheeren is somewhere getting tired of one of his, and that’ll sneak up on me, or maybe Jeff Buckley left some ideas in his early pre-mortem days here in NYC that I can screw around with.