The Thing About Me
Have you heard about the “Thing?” It’s that one negative behavior or habit that a person is completely blind to, but that’s keeping them from reaching their full potential. The New York Times wrote about it recently, and referenced this Hairpin essay, in which the author explains how focus (or the lack thereof) is her Thing. That and her bad hair.
The Thing is often thought of in the context of work or relationships, the self-destructive trait that’s keeping one from finding love or moving forward in their career. As part of the Second Half, I wanted to apply it to soccer, and uncover my game’s single greatest weakness. I figured there might be some larger life lessons in there as well.
Since we can’t see our own Thing, it’s necessary to turn to trusted, straight-talking friends for help. I’ve written elsewhere on the blog about how my playing career peaked early, sometime around my freshman year in high school. That made me wonder how my Thing from that time in life compares with my Thing today.
With that in mind, I triangulated the feedback, reaching out to people who could comment on my game at various times in my life. Jay, a close friend who I played with from age 7 to 17, as well as my high school coach, George, weighed in on my early Thing. Stephen, my private trainer from the Second Half, whom I’ve also played ball with over the years in Brooklyn, talked about my Thing today. Lastly, for a forward-looking, post-Second Half perspective, I turned to Chris, a new friend with whom I’ve been playing only for the last couple months.
The feedback wasn’t identical, but it lined up in some interesting ways.
I’ll start with Jay. “First and foremost, you weren’t fit,” he said. “Not soccer fit, at least. You didn’t put in the work, throughout the year, to be at your fittest come the fall season. Second, you didn’t play enough soccer. The game demands that your foot is constantly on the ball. Soccer is so much about rhythm and confidence and flow. It’s not about athleticism. I don’t think you played enough, from age 14 through 18, to have that feel and that confidence.”
The senior class of Westfield High School's '91 state championship team. The core group had been playing together since around the age of 7. There's Jay, bottom row, front and center. I'm up top, farthest to the right.
George, who took over the team our senior year, reflected on my conversion from striker to marking back that season. “My memory is that, although it took a while, you eventually dove in to the marking part of your job, but never with the zeal that you showed with the ball at your feet…You took to and performed well at what you loved, but spent less of yourself at that which you did not enjoy.” A little soft on defense, in other words.
Stephen, my current coach, offered insights into both my technical and tactical game. In terms of skills, he stressed the need to become proficient with both sides of the body. Tactically, he encouraged me to see and play more of the field, “pushing the game forward and pulling it back, changing fields, setting the tempo, improving that part of your game.”
Chris, my more recent teammate, talked about my need to play different positions within the game. “Total football is the key to development, regardless of outcome,” he said. “You like to be on the ball, which is great,” he said. “Other positions might not have as much influence on the match as you would like, but it’s the best way to learn about time and space.”
As I sorted through the feedback, synthesizing the various points of view, the Thing that emerged was a lack of completeness, or what Chris called “total football.” It started in my early teens, with my inability (unwillingness?) to get in shape and stay devoted to the game. Through the Second Half, I’ve been tackling the fitness and commitment head on. The work is ongoing, but I feel like I’m starting to attain some of the rhythm and flow Jay talked about.
Becoming a total player on the field is more of a work in progress. In processing that response, especially around my reluctance to play solid defense, I thought about my senior year, and the switch from striker to right back. Over the years, I’ve turned the move into the ultimate demotion, a culmination of my years-long slide into soccer oblivion. In my current effort to discover my best soccer self, I’ve been overcompensating, trying to prove that I belong up front.
In talking with George, however, I see how the move to marking back was more nuanced. “We were top heavy with strikers and offensive minded players, one of whom was Dan DiClerico,” he said. “We needed more solid play in both the midfield and the back line. I spoke with a number of players about filling other roles...some jumped at the opportunity, others not so much.”
Coach George Kapner (center), who turned over the boy's soccer program to Eric Shaw (far right) in 2013, delivering the sideline sermon at this year's alumni game at Kehler Stadium in Westfield.
I don’t know that I would have made the starting eleven had I insisted on staying upfront, given other deficiencies in my game. Nevertheless, the exchange with my coach helped me reframe the move from a straight-up demotion to an example of my willingness to do what was best for the good of a team in forging a winning formula.
That’s liberating. And it’s made me wonder if my Thing (on the field and in life) might be a tendency to see abject failure where it doesn’t exist, a destructive mindset that started to take shape in early adolescence. Which lines up with something else Jay said, about the player I was before then:
“Here’s the deal, Dan...at age 12...you were very skilled. You were smart about the game. You were an intelligent soccer player. You had an ease about you. An easy confidence. I, for one, trusted you completely on the field.”
I want to bring that kid back. To do so, I need to work hard and stay committed. But I also need to let go of the negative voice in my head, and just play the game—easily, confidently, and completely. If I can manage that, I’m sure every Thing will be just fine.