Is a country good at soccer because it has a long history of playing the sport, or does it have a long history of playing soccer because it’s good?
Szymanski and Kuper sidestep this quandary in favor of a far more interesting discussion about what the experience factor means for the spread of information through interconnected knowledge networks. As they tell it, being isolated from the forefront of tactical innovation is one of the biggest handicaps a national soccer team can suffer. A lack of wealth and a small player pool matter, of course, but only to a point. For more developed countries — those that aren’t subject to malnutrition and extreme poverty — the things holding soccer back might be inadequate training and a sense of detachment from global soccer, whose networks allow innovation to spread.
The United States is a good example. Between 1950 and 1990, the U.S. didn’t qualify for a single World Cup, and played in fewer than half as many international matches as Brazil, Argentina, England, Italy, France or West Germany. Even Spain (held up by Kuper and Szymanski as an example of soccer isolationism under the dictatorship of Francisco Franco from 1939 to 1975), played nearly three times as many international games as the U.S. did during the 1940s, 1950s and 1960s. Cut off from the rest of the soccer world, the U.S. missed decades of innovation, and is still playing catch-up. For years, the men’s national team was defined as unsophisticated — a tough, hustling team that ran a lot and relied on counterattacks, while the rest of the world played tactically advanced, attacking soccer.
There’s nothing the U.S. can do about those lost decades. But as Kuper and Szymanski note, there is a “shortcut” for new-world teams that lack experience: They can import it, bringing in coaches who can teach players the art of soccer as found in continental Europe, the central node in Kuper and Szymanski’s global soccer knowledge network. That’s effectively what the U.S. did when it hired the former Germany and Bayern Munich manager Jürgen Klinsmann as head coach in 2011. Klinsmann’s plan has often been described as one of de-Americanizing the men’s national team, bringing a European sensibility to it. The U.S. is hoping his personal experience in soccer’s most important information network can make up for an entire country’s lack thereof.
Visions of such a utopian future have come in fits and starts. The best American players are still nowhere near the level of the best in the world, and the demand for their services in the club leagues of Western Europe remains limited. In the run-up to the World Cup, Klinsmann repeatedly warned the media that expecting the U.S. to win this year’s tournament was “unrealistic.” Thanks in large part to a brutal draw, American soccer will likely take a step backward before it can move forward.
At the same time, inroads are being made. Klinsmann has stressed the importance of American players securing loans in Europe, to place themselves in the center of the game’s most fiercely competitive, innovative battleground. And he’s also taken steps to rid the U.S. of its traditional playing style, adopting tactics more emulative of the possession-based scheme that correlates best with winning. The Klinsmann experiment is not a slight adjustment to American soccer — it’s a total overhaul.
Viewed this way, perhaps the United States isn’t underachieving at all, even after taking into account its economic resources. American soccer is making its way down an evolutionary path that other countries traversed decades earlier. The early growing pains of the U.S. men’s program under Klinsmann are part of a long process, one that someday may produce a team capable of legitimately competing for a World Cup.