#football agency

[eadniagency]

Unearthing Underrated Players

by Tom Storvik

In football, as in so many other spheres, a players success is directly judged by the number of goals they score or by their number of assists. However, not every genius of the game is brought into the limelight due to restrictions on playing time. That's where the power of statistics comes into play.

Going deeper into players performance statistics, one might be able to identify some hidden talent that earlier could not be identified easily. EADNI is an agency that specializes in representing such underrated footballers with advanced statistics to give a chance to its clients to be noticed by the leading clubs.

The Problem: Playing Time is Finite

Many promising footballers end up on the bench, often more than they would like. This lack of playing time may come from team strategies, competition for places, and if managers prefer one player over another. Such players miss, by definition, the occasion for showcasing their qualities in the reflection of the statistics that traditionally catches the attention of staff, fans and the public in general—for example, goals and assists. And that's where it needs more nuanced approach to surface this potential.

The Fix: Advanced Focus on Performance Metrics

Football statistics mean more than just the simple metrics of goals and assists. Checking these advanced performance metrics better shows a players abilities. Below are the key statistics that display the skills of footballers with few playing minutes:

Pass Completion Rate: High pass completion rates are reflected in the accuracy and conciseness of any individual player.

Interceptions and Tackles: A look at core defensive metrics that show how successful a player is at stopping opposition plays and regaining possession.

Key Passes: Shows creativity and vision in the number of passes leading to a goal-scoring opportunity.

Dribbles and Take-ons: These are successful attempts to run past an opponent.

Pressures Applied: Other than the raw data, it measures how frequently a player applies pressure to the opponent, which is crucial in high-pressing modern football strategies.

Case Study: Unearthing a Midfield Maestro

Now, consider this hypothetical midfielder, Alex — a relatively young player who has not been given enough chances but has proven himself during training and in some games. These reduced minutes are shown in Alex's stats and data, where he only:

Pass Completion Rate: 92 %

Interceptions per 90 minutes: 4

Key passes per 90 minutes: 2.3

Successful Dribbles per 90 minutes: 6.2

Pressures Per 90 mins: 18

These are the statistics that illustrate Alex's ability to hold onto the ball, unsettle the other team and create goal-scoring opportunities - even created with a start set in a defensive perspective. By those measures, Alex no longer appears like an extra body on the bench, but rightfully will be viewed as a dynamo on the pitch.

EADNI's Strategy:

EADNI is skillful in identifying and promoting underexposed football talents. And here is where the stats would help nudge their clients:

Comprehensive Data Analysis: EADNI conducts a detailed analysis of available match data, focusing on advanced metrics to properly evaluate player performance.

Bespoke Player Profiles: They provide tailor-made, in-depth profiles that depict selected players strengths, supported by statistics. These are provided to the clubs to effectively mark off what the player could bring to the club, above and beyond the relevant statistics.

Highlight Reels: EADNI has gone a step further by showing some statistics on the in-game players; this, therefore, fills in the gap in which the stats translate to in the real world.

Networking and Advocacy: EADNI markets its clients to clubs and scouts, allowing them to get noticed, be offered trials and get a chance to live out their full potential as a player on a level their talent deserves to be showcased.

Continual Monitoring and Feedback: EADNI continually ensures that their clients are on top of their game with the necessary feedback and improvements to be ever ready to maximize their opportunities.

Conclusion:

For those in the football world, talent cannot only be counted by just the number of goals and assists. Advanced stats are the primary resource to reach new skills in their underplayed footballers. EADNI is at the forefront of using data-driven insights to unlock and transform careers towards the recognition its clients deserve. With an emphasis on worldwide, up-to-date performance statistics, EADNI ensures that no talent is left out, keeping deserving players in the limelight and on the lists of top football clubs.

With advanced football statistics going untapped, EADNI Agency is redefining perceptions around under-represented footballers, giving them the platform they require to stand out.

Are you a football/soccer player looking for unique, personal, digitally minded, forward thinking and FIFA Licenced representation to take the next step developing your career and signing for a club perfectly suited for your skills on and off the pitch? Reach out to EADNI through one of the links below and if we discover your personality suit our style of representing players and you discover that we are the right agency to make your dream career become a reality - let us begin the journey to the stars together, today!

| EADNI | WhatsApp | EADNI | WhatsApp | EADNI |

[free-gaza3]

Hello my friends, I am Muhammad from Gaza. I am addressing you from the hotbed of hell in which the occupation executed everything. It destroyed the dream and left us with nothing. Life is one thing. Before the genocide, I was a bodybuilder and enjoyed good fitness and strong health, but because of the heinous war in which we are living, I lost everything. I have nothing left to the point that I am I lost my health and lost weight because we do not find food easily. Can you imagine spending a day or two without food at all? Please save me and my family from starvation. Donate to me as much as you can. Save me from death. Pray for me and share my story. See the difference before the war and now.

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #402 )✅️

https://gofund.me/96678aac

@quasi-normalcy @free-gaza3 @wyldstallyn @wishurn @woofgang69 @wiremotherenergy @w1shb0ne @qtipq @quimerathetraveler @qcboeifzzz @elusiveink @everything-is-connected @everythingispoetry @emeraldphilo @enby-in-fandom @rubysevens @randommmmie @rileykeouhg @rickgausmann @rhinco @twyxted-mind @the-apogee @thanksveryga @gay-nidoking @gfriendunited @gfanz4ever @my-insanity-is-an-artform @bloodlaurels @ygblackpink @danburyshakes

[corpish]

.

[tinystepsforward]

ngl it makes me want to die a little bit that it's so often trans people who feel that sex is mutable but oppression is always-forever based on asab in ways that allow them to demand that information from other trans people. like it feels fucking bad. it feels bad when it's people holding up someone who posts a lot of selfies as transition goals to a degree they have to clarify what they have or haven't done or what "direction" they're going in, it feels worse when people are out there like "caster semenya is not tma" or whatever the fuck. i am, as always, not a trans woman, but here's a sentiment echoed by many of the trans women around me who log the fuck off, quoted directly from one: "people who draw a clear line where they say that semenya or khelif are tme and then call me tma are just calling me male at this point".

like i get it. i really do. we seek community and shared experiences, and we feel betrayed when people have less in common with us than we thought they did. [*more on this later.] but that's not those people's faults and my god in the case i'm seeing play out on twitter rn this poor person did absolutely nothing to intentionally mislead people, just posted pictures of their actual kid self. who looks a lot like i did, because shockingly enough "we can always tell" doesn't fucking work for trans people either!

on the one hand i move in intersex circles which are unapologetically welcoming in cis "dyadic" people with pcos, because it serves nobody to draw a clear line where mutilation or genetics or some ineffable childhood suffering are what make somebody intersex, especially when most of us (esp in places like nz) have never been karyotyped and are being treated for symptoms without a pinned-down cause anyway. the more of us there are the stronger we are, the more pressure we can exert on a medical profession which doesn't like to consider how common outliers are, how uneasy sex is at all. and then on the other hand there's dyadic trans people on the internet who've yelled me out of spaces because a couple of traumatised incarcerated trans women i worked with as a prison abolitionist assumed i was also a trans woman and i didn't immediately tell them my entire csa-involved history of being sexed in varying ways as an infant and child and/or exactly how big my phallus was at birth or where in my junk config my urethra lives so they could decide i was tme or whatever.

returning to the * for a related but not identical thought: i think presuming shared experiences leads to some fucked shit in general! "oh we all had a radfem phase" or "oh we all were channers" no we fucking weren't and it's particularly obnoxious when me & mine are trying to build trans community locally to organise and resist the growing wave of far-right backlash against our existence, and there's just white people in there on a spectrum from "straight up being antisemitic and trying to get the n-word pass" through "handwringing about how they need to make space for people who aren't politically correct" to "handwringing about how brown people are right to be mad at them but doing shit fuckall". and then the other fucking brown people in the space are on some identity politics shit where they're like "trans joy inherently excludes those of us who could get deported" or "big city white queers are killing us by being visible instead of going stealth bc it stirs up the discourse" or whatever the fuck i've heard pulled out this year. there's a bunch of reasons i primarily organise outside of trans spaces and that's one of them. i've never felt more alone in spaces where people claim we're all the same than being left as the brownest moderator or organiser in a space full of people to whom "this is a safe trans space" apparently means they get to abdicate all other responsibilities not to lapse into presumed shared patterns that are fucking racist or otherwise alienating. i've never felt more alone than surrounded by exclusively trans people who sort people into boxes and assume everyone in those boxes has the transition goals they have. like i was on cypro until it disagreed with me to the point of endocrine crisis and now i'm on t and at both those points people were so fucking presumptive or entitled to my reasons or journey or personal relationship w my body

literally just submitted on (and was invited to consult on) the nz law commission's review of the human rights act and like. it's straight up fucked how many nz trans people fully do not comprehend that any "sex assigned at birth" type definitions fundamentally exclude migrants who have no way of proving it and many intersex people who happen to have been reassigned later or many times or never assigned at all as a baby. we can't make law with this shit and that's why we have to have symmetrical protections for all genders/sexes/expressions/presentations, bc naming and defining a protected class here often leaves the people who already are left out from those shared experiences of marginalisation out in the cold when they face violence

[jrueships]

older white men who have to announce how much they prefer college sports over professional sports & obsess over it kinda creep me out idk

[kingmakersdff]

And there it is, the 2024 NFL Draft has concluded! We saw some great landing spots, and we saw some not so great landing spots! But now that we all know where these rookies have gone, it’s my favorite time of year, ROOKIE DRAFT SEASON!

Stay tuned and follow my blog for the most unbiased analysis on these rookies to help you dominate your rookie drafts.

Tell your friends, tell your league mates, and enjoy!

I always answer your sit/start & draft questions!

[omegasmileyface]

wuh oh. got too into flight rising dominance. this will be fine

[russianreader]

Best Russian Brand

Yevgeny Prigozhin. Photo: Yuri Martyanov/Kommersant Russian businessman, owner of the Concord Group of companies, “Putin’s chef” and confidant of the president, founder of a media empire and the Wagner Group, and one of the most famous people in Russia, Yevgeny Prigozhin now faces criminal charges of organizing an armed rebellion. Prigozhin was born in Leningrad on 1 June 1961. We know that his…

[arzeron]

The JUICE launch show starts in 7 minutes!

[gameo-archive]

"Hi George & Jayden! Two questions: first, can you talk a bit about what you think Charles and Edwin's respective day-to-day lives looked like? I (Veronica) have always wanted to know more about Charles' friends & school life. (Was he popular? Did he live on campus? How much do the boys know about each others' lives before death?) Second, Nika wants to know if there were any past disastrous/fiasco cases like the puppy debacle or chewing gum debacle. If so, what happened in those cases? Thank you so much for doing this, we both love and appreciate everything you've given our fandom and feel lucky to have you as our Charles & Edwin! <3"

I got my cameo with the amazing @alltimefail 💖 who I am forever grateful for.

George and Jayden talk about some of the boys' incidents before the famous chewing gum and puppy incidents and talk about what Charles was like when he was at St. Hilarion.

I am forever grateful for the opportunity to get this cameo and will never shut up about the fact that George and Jayden know our twitter. We are too popular sjsjjsjs

And I have to admit my favorite part of the cameo is when George tries to pronounce my user name and Jayden laughs. I love these guys so much. Thank you V @alltimefail for making dreams come true aaawww 💖

[ukdamo]

My Father’s Lover Was Never the Stepdad I Wanted Him to Be

Isabel Waidner

WHAT A GOAL! goal of the season, Justin Fashanu we want you, we love you, the way you volleyed it in with your left foot from well outside the box, the way you spun round and slipped it between the goalkeeper’s hand and the right post, the fans wanted you, Norwich City FC did, your teammates jumped you like only footballers playing on the exact same team jump each other when one of them scores. Justin Fashanu, we wanted you when you became the first black British player to sign for £1 million to Nottingham Forest in 1980, we wanted you then but we didn’t want you in the late 1990s when you hanged yourself in a garage in Shoreditch, Fairchild Place, after what would have been your final visit to Chariots Roman Spa, the local gay sauna across the road, which personally I never attended and it’s not like I didn’t try or didn’t collect Chachki from Chariots on many occasions. I remember a time round 01 or 02 when I literally lived outside Chariots, in the small, fenced-off carpark by the main entrance; the entrance was flanked by fake Roman columns and plastic statues of lions, its roof a triangular awning with Old English lettering, which all felt strangely reassuring given I owned nothing but the trackies I was wearing and a fanny pack containing my passport, a kitchen knife and a can of pepper spray I found on the floor. Justin Fashanu, I admit that I wanted you, to be my stepdad, that I, aged seventeen, had come to Chariots Roman Spa if not the UK in 01 looking for you, and that I waited outside with the lions expecting you to appear from under the awning, triangular, hair still wet, refreshed and affirmed in your gayness, at any moment, I’d worked hard to forget what you did in the garage on Fairchild four years prior but really I knew, I knew that you wouldn’t appear, and that although I was still underage in 01 I was already too late by far. Justin Fashanu, your parents didn’t want you, in the mid-1960s they gave you and your younger brother to Barnardo’s foster home for vulnerable children, the charity est. 1866, count yourself lucky you got there when you did and not earlier, like the end of the nineteenth century, when Barnardo’s sent British children abroad as slaves, a widely known fact.

Shortly after, a white Norfolk family adopted you and your brother, what a thing to take on, raising two black boys in an era when racism was rife in the English provinces, implying it’s less rife today which is a misconception, but it takes a strong woman, the people of Norfolk would say, expressing sympathy especially for the white mother as if it had been a tremendous burden to parent a future footballing legend like you, Justin, but Justin, know that I said what I said about your birth-parents deliberately, provocatively, knowing full well they probably did want you, didn’t want to send you Barnardo’s, your birth-father left and your birth-mother couldn’t afford you on her own, so she did what she had to and look how that turned out, for a while you did well, and I’m sorry the prejudice against birth-parents is probably mine. Life isn’t fair to parents, nor children for that matter. The one place where fairness is really writ large is in London nomenclature, take Fairfield House in NW1 or Fairchild Place in EC2A, the ‘fair’ in each case denoting a light complexion or whiteness, in other words an investment in racial privilege, in direct contravention of impartiality and equal treatment, as a matter of fact, you, Justin Fashanu, weren’t white, and you weren’t treated equally, you’d be the first to say that you were discriminated against, bullied and abused for being black your entire life, and even more so, in the context of professional football, for being gay.

Nottingham Forest wanted you to the tune of a million, but they didn’t want you whoring in gay, the penalty for frequenting – to quote manager Clough – ‘poof clubs’, and for adopting a lifestyle incompatible with FIFA’s entirely unwritten rules and regulations was a lengthy period of exclusion from training at Forest, which, on top of the bullying, led you to underperform on your return to the pitch, while crashing several cars off the pitch, sustaining a knee injury before leaving Nottingham Forest for a nomadic life, Brighton & Hove, America, until 1990, when nobody, nobody, wanted you to publicly come out in the tabloid press, becoming the only prominent male player in English football ever to do so, the record still stands. The backlash was ferocious, and apart from Torquay United who’d just been promoted to Division Three and who wanted a major player for a bargain basement price, no club offered you a full-time contract ever again, the FA didn’t want you and neither did your younger brother, who disowned you publicly on multiple occasions but who has since apologised. Fast forward a few years and Justin Fashanu, we didn’t want you in March 98, we never wanted you less than when a seventeen-year-old accused you of sexual assault in the US state of Maryland where homosexual acts were illegal at the time, yet the case hinged on lack of consent, the boy testified that you, Justin Fashanu, had been performing non-consensual sex acts on him when he’d woken up, so you fled to England, expecting you wouldn’t get a fair trial in the US because you were black, and gay, you knew that America didn’t want you, but, apart from Chariots Roman Spa, neither did England.

So you went Chariots in May 98, Roman sanctuary in the middle of Albion. If only you could’ve stayed in there forever, but you couldn’t, Chariots have limited opening times, linked to essential maintenance conducted during the hours of closing, rather than, say, staff availability, and that was a problem – once Chariots closed, you had nowhere to go but that Fairchild Place garage with the supporting beam and the rope. During the time I lived in the carpark I got friendly with several members of staff including one cleaner, or ‘spa assistant’ as the official job title would have it, who told me that first and foremost he was grateful for, not just wipeable floors and walls, but wipeable ceilings, and that whoever designed the interior of the spa must have anticipated the levels of disinhibition it would elicit, not just exceptionally but as a matter of course and in the majority of its punters, and that the kind of specialist cleaning involved was as life-affirming as it was stomach-turning. The job wasn’t for everyone, and certainly not, according to my friend the spa assistant, who tended to have a Tesco sandwich in his break, no fresh fruit in sight, for the faint-hearted like e.g. me, there was a tinge of transphobia in the suggestions that I, with no recourse to cis masculinity, wouldn’t be able to handle the man-blood, the man-semen and the man-faeces soiling the tiles in every direction, three-hundred-and-sixty degrees, not like he could, and I have to say he was probably right.

I resisted the urge to defend my masculinity by hitting my so-called friend in the mouth and asked him instead what else was going on behind that dirty, off-white and exclusionary tarp covering Chariots’s glass front entirely, I was interested specifically in whether, lately, he’d set eyes on eighties and nineties footballing legend Justin Fashanu who I explained was the closest thing to family I had left, but my friend, so-called, said that Justin Fashanu died years ago, and I had to admit that I already knew. Justin Fashanu, who knows whether it was a coincidence that Chariots’s management had me removed from their carpark later that day, they didn’t want me, they made that clear, and cleaned me away like spunk from a wipeable ceiling. Wonder of wonders, ‘Where you off to with your fanny-pack,’ young Chachki, who’d just come out of the spa, walking the length of the triangular awning, asked me. I’d spoken to them on a number of occasions. ‘Nowhere,’ I replied, in fact I’d been standing outside the gates to the carpark for several hours by this point. Chachki, as underage as myself, decided that I needed a job, ‘Are you good at cleaning?’ ‘It depends.’ Chachki said they knew of a vacancy cleaning a telemarketing office in their neighbourhood, interested? ‘Oh I am,’ I said, I came with, and the rest was as they say a mystery.

What a goal that was, metaphorically speaking, the goal of the season: I didn’t just take the job as a cleaner in the small 1960s office block corner Albert Street and Delancey, I also rented the shell of a top-floor flat that came with it, and started having a life, developing a big British heart and, soon, with Chachki, Cataclysmic Foibles. Everything meant something then. Take Cataclysmic Foibles, the name, which referred to a state of precarity in which any foible, character flaw, or momentary slip up can and will have cataclysmic personal consequences, imagine, e.g., that all you did was walk down Delancey Street, white football shirt wrapped round your waist like a skirt, red velvet bullfighter jacket on, and black montera, traditional bullfighter hat, that you had yellow football socks on, black leather loafers, and that’s all it took for everything to go wrong. That’s what years ago we somewhat childishly, imprecisely – liberally, even – called a cataclysmic foible, the fact that you wore that stuff, the skirt in particular, the fact that it was never actually about your clothes but always about you, and that if you hadn’t worn this or that skirt, or those socks, you would’ve had the exact same thing coming, the kind of thing, Justin Fashanu, that doesn’t happen to everybody, but that happened to us, Justin, and to you, a lot, that’s why we developed a language around it, we were kids, didn’t care for the precise or even correct use of words, we still don’t, we care for their capacity to give life, and to take it away.

As well as being integral to the Pastel Dragons design concept, the foam-rubber spikes on Chachki’s beige puffer vest in case you were wondering constitute an example of what years ago we described as a foible, something that catches, that you may get caught up in, the bent dragon’s tail with the feather as its tip doing similar symbolic work, see? Talking of symbolism, Justin Fashanu, Cataclysmic Foibles 18, was it, or 19, we’d just started to step up production values, introduced a large, cone-shaped spaceship made of papier-mâché hanging from the ceiling, slap-bang in the middle of my flat, and the idea was for the audience to smash it with badminton rackets and baseball bats like a Mexican piñata, and for special treats to rain down, and they did! they did! Who knows what treats they were anymore, fortune teller miracle fishes predicting the future, or Chariots Roman Spa branded matchbooks, a gift from our sponsors, the latter, it was, with Old English lettering, blue on white, and a tiny Roman chariot on each cover. In many ways, Cataclysmic Foibles equipped us for what was to come, and I don’t just mean the learnt suspicion towards cone-shaped objects, but the fact that the spaceship piñata in the otherwise forgettable narrative Chachki and I had constructed in No. 19 came to symbolise a moment that was so incongruous and out of context with whatever appeared to be going on superficially, it offered a glimpse of a hidden reality, was very instructive, it taught us to trust the feeling we had that we were non-consensual participants in a reality put together by politicians, despots, more or less openly authoritarian leaders. Imagine living in a novel by Saddam Hussein.

Did you know the former Iraqi president wrote, not just history, but at least four novels, including The Fortified Tower (2001), a 700+ page allegorical work about the delayed wedding of an Iraqi hero to a Kurdish girl, under the Arab name for Anonymous, ‘Written by He Who Wrote It’, and Begone, Demons (2006), describing an Arab army defeating a Zionist–Christian enemy by invading their territory and destroying a set of twin towers? Not being funny, Justin, but Picador never bid for any of Saddam Hussein’s novels, and neither did they offer to publish the United Kingdom TM. As inhabitants, not of The Fortified Tower or Begone, Demons, but of the United Kingdom, where political leaders mightn’t be quite as upfront about a) authorship, and b) the fact that capitalism is a system designed to benefit some at the expense of others, we depend on incongruities and irregularities in the official narrative, so-called ‘spaceship moments’, to confirm what we already know, namely that we’re alive in a substandard fiction that doesn’t add up. Justin Fashanu, you ever come across this expression, ‘a spaceship moment’? Didn’t think so, but know that, in Chachki’s and my Cataclysmic Foibles lexicon, a ‘spaceship’ is a moment in which discreet neo-authoritarian governance and deliberate governmental deceit become apparent, just momentarily, before vanishing again. What’s that have to do with your life, you might ask, Justin Fashanu, a gay, black footballer, but how the concerted bullying of an individual belonging to more than one oppressed demographic relates to the workings of state control is a pertinent question, and one I ask myself every day. You might be able to tell, Justin, that at this stage in my life, 06 or 07, my preoccupations were shifting away from you and towards stagecraft, if not spacecraft; I had friends, I had ambitions, my need for a stepdad diminished dramatically, but when in 08 or 09 the Justin Fashanu All-Stars football team was announced in the Camden New Journal as well as more prominent media outlets, along with a recruitment call, Justin Fashanu All-Stars Want You!, capital letters, it cut to the quick, it was the combination of Justin Fashanu and being wanted that did it, I, aah, cried like a baby, then walked out of Cataclysmic Foibles rehearsal, took the 214 bus from Pratt Street to Old Street, and sat outside Chariots Roman Spa for a day or two.

Eventually, I mustered the courage to walk up to the triangular awning, past the fake Roman pillars, the plastic lions, and ask security whether they had any vacancies for assistants right now, I had experience, the stomach for it, and finally, finally, I was well over eighteen, I didn’t say that I already had, not one, but two jobs, as a cleaner on minimum wage and an unpaid playwright, and neither did I reveal that I hoped that seeing you weren’t inside, Justin Fashanu, that you’d never come out, would help me put you to rest for good, but closure wasn’t achieved that way, because Chariots weren’t recruiting, not generally speaking, but also, I was told that I still wasn’t ‘right’. Later I learnt that the Justin Fashanu All-Stars were connected to the so-called Justin Campaign against homophobia and transphobia in football co-founded by Brighton Bandits FC players and Juliet Jacques, then emergent writer and filmmaker. The way the campaign combined queer culture, art activism and football spoke to me, at least initially, I thought about joining but remembered my interest in football was limited to Justin Fashanu, the beautiful player, arguably at the expense of the beautiful game. Still, I was impressed, I imagined these activists building alternative worlds of amateur football through their campaign, if not for me, then for their All Stars; worlds where the tails and spikes of pastel dragons didn’t catch at every goalpost and corner flag, and where new socialities and support systems had a chance to originate and come to fruition. I imagined that the Justin Campaign did for its players what Cataclysmic Foibles did, is still doing, for Chachki and myself and our extended community. Ever since Cataclysmic Foibles helped me build a little world for myself, in London, I’ve wondered whether I really needed or wanted you anymore, Justin, at all. With love, Sterling.

[joesatmosfere]

#NFL Pregame Party! Join @ronamusthewise, @Daswolfen, @Hylunder, myself and others right here on @X, @rumblevideo or @YouTube, for everything #College and Pro #Football! Every Sunday 11/10C https://www.youtube.com/live/hcJtyS63Q7g