Our entire lives, be it on the field or off of it, we’ve been told to “trust our instincts”.
These words of (ostensible) encouragement are intended to take stressful situations out of the realm of fretful overthinking and into a more innocuous space. Hands off, don’t worry about it. By having faith in our gut, we can feel less pressured to make the right choice, less guilty if it’s ultimately wrong, and less debilitatingly stagnant in our decisions. Our reflexes rarely require much brainpower, they simply execute–and often, that’s what we need.
Sport, in particular, plies this type of message quite often. As we’ve chatted about before, there are so many floating objects in soccer, all eternally locked in motion, and giving rise to a completely uncontrollable freshet of information. It’s overwhelming and we’re lucky if we pick up on merely 1% of it.
Yet, despite the challenges of knowing what to do, we still try.
This task is often very difficult, to put it plainly, so, in many cases, we find solace in knowing that our muscle memory can take over.
The choice as to dribble rightward or leftward, make the penalty-risking tackle or hold off, or finish high vs. low–these are tiny decisions that, despite being small and plentiful, can change the course of a match. We both love and hate to admit that. This bizarre incongruity, the idea that we have so many chances to write our legacy, and yet we often never do, can augment the stage upon which we’re called upon to be decisive.
If we view our life through this lens, we’ll be paralyzed by loss aversion, and we’ll miss out on the many pleasures the world can offer if we can stomach the risk. Sometimes, kid, if you had tucked away that 1v1, you would’ve won the championship. But dear me, we can’t think like that.
So, in these moments, we close our eyes and do what first pops into our head. We don’t leave any room for reconsideration, let alone doubt, since we can’t afford any parasitic freeloaders on our galloping beast of an idea. As we’re often reminded, if you don’t believe in yourself, no one else will.
We must make our moves with conviction.
At other times, pressed with a decision, there simply isn’t a moment to spare. This football thing is fast. When we’re given no time to contemplate, what can we even do? At the highest level, that’s what we see. Players hunted down expeditiously, keepers off their lines in a heartbeat, wingers in on goal before we can even blink. Thinking demands processing time, and when we’ve got none of the latter, we simply press: go.
And so, whether it’s about comfort and fluidity, or simply grounded in the ephemeral nature of the sport, we find ourselves locked in what we all know and appreciate is a winsomely formidable thing. There are thousands of decisions to be made in a match, and when the pressure’s on, we often just do what feels most natural. It’s all so simple, yet so horrendously hard to consistently get right. That’s probably why soccer is so rewarding.
But to make things even more complicated, not only is this game tough to master–but it’s also competitive, and full of others who wish to master it, too. Unfortunately for us, this isn’t very convenient.
It just so happens that our opponents, just like us, will heed the same guidance their periphery has whispered throughout the corridors of their lives, as well: that recurrent, soothing notion that if we let our bodies take over, our minds will feel at ease.
Thus, everyone, whether by design or by pure serendipity, ends up using the same strategy to defeat everyone else. Act on inclinations, capitalize on the hunches, and move with the feelings.
But the fact of the matter is–when this happens, everyone leaps for the same things. We bite the anticipated bait. We shoot and it’s saved. We drive and it’s clogged. We pass and it’s plucked. Attack lunges the same direction the defense does, because we’re all making use of the same tools.
As it turns out–this whole impulses thing might not be the best way to go.
So what if I told you that there’s something better than trusting our instincts? What if, in a game of fine margins, and players desperate for the tiniest of advantages, we can make everything we do, unexpected?
And what if it involves .. not trusting our gut at all?
Enter, The Road Less Travelled
Today, I’ll be arguing why players should always look to pursue Plan B.
When we’re all weaponizing the same instinctual methods to make our moves in football–I’m of the opinion that the proposed ideas tend to be mirrored on the attacking and defensive sides. When a midfielder’s hunch is to beat their man to the left, most defenders already know it–and could guess why. It’s an observant, mimetic dance.
But hold on a second–that’s quite the assumption to make, isn’t it? Why do we think that we and our opponents both share the same gut feelings? Aren’t they different people .. with different brains .. and different ideas? Who says they’ll bump right into each other?
As much as we might think that these reactions are based on nothing but inner workings, they do require some contextualization; those idea-spawning catalysts come from the field we all simultaneously inhabit–a space in which nothing is intrinsically concealed from anyone else. The lad’s first idea to nudge it leftwards has likely been derived from some instantaneous image that’s urged him to do so. Fundamentally, players on both teams each enjoy permission to interpret that same, rich, photo album, and by extension, will find that their “naturally birthed” ideas begin to converge.
As we’ve discussed, before:
“Football data is conveniently democratized–which is to say that everyone down on the field has access to the same raw information. Everyone watches the same fleeting thing. Players react to stimuli, patterns emerge, tendencies are exposed–and yet, nearly all of it disappears into thin air. Countless details are left unobserved and uncaptured, many of which could possess the keys to breaking the deadlock. Our challenge is to snatch as many of these as possible, and hold on tight.”
Coaching “Vision”: How to Turn Scanning Research into Training, Deluxe Edition (As Seen on Soccer Detail)
We all witness the same deluge of pictures. The X and the O live the same reality. One’s instinctual Plan A, in the interest of defeating the other, and by virtue of being cut from the same informational cloth, will naturally be the same as the other’s Plan A to stop them.
If a keeper has come off their line too early and the chip appears to be on for a streaking striker, both probably know it. It’s the obvious thing one fella wants, and the other desperately doesn’t.
The attack sees the signals and hatches their subsequent move, while the goalie looks to course-correct upon recognizing their mistake. The 9 controls the bouncing ball and attempts to pop it over their soon-to-be humiliated opponent, but the GK has seen it coming from a mile away. With a feint towards the attacker to compel the shooter’s eyes towards the ball instead of the goal, at the critical moment of contact, the gloved protector leaps upwards and snatches the rock out of the sky. Sometimes the unmistakable choice seems like the ideal one–until we realize that it’s unmistakable to everyone.
Thus, my proposal is to never proceed with your first proclivity. Whatever thought rears its head earliest–great–discard it. Execute its successor. Never be cajoled by the impulses–because chances are, that’s what your enemy will just so happen to do, too.
When we look for competitive advantages in sports, we must sometimes go against the grain of what’s seemingly most intuitive. These instincts, while helping us do without thinking, can be pitfalls that leave us looking like suckers if we’ve succumbed to them. This game is about deception, about masking true intentions, and smirking as we leave our adversaries in the dust. To be the best on the field, we mustn’t acquiesce in the idea that doing what feels right–like passing into a gaping hole, or lunging to block a cross–is always the correct answer. We must also be willing, if not utterly ravenous, to do what feels wrong. Often times, the chances that look most glimmering are the ones that our combatants will leap hardest to protect. If we pause, and guilefully wait for their drastic overcompensations, the true road may make itself apparent.
As dribblers, if we select the most sensible route to beat our defender, based on, say, their body shape or the sideline’s foisted claustrophobia, a typical opponent–valuing the same territories as we do, just from the other side of the table–won’t require much wisdom to stymie our efforts. Robben and Messi are supernatural one-footers, but every time they took the line over the inwards incision, they bypassed their foes. Deliberately picking the seemingly backwards option can be a fantastic method for success.
Yet, the respective playmaking choices need not be dichotomized into sensible and illogical buckets, either. Often, these decisions are strongly neutral. A pass received in the center of the pitch, a defender on the receiver’s back–which way should they turn? The answer is likely inconsequential, so long as they do, in fact, emerge victorious. Sometimes, there’s virtually no opportunity cost at play with presenting Plan A, and actually traveling down Plan B.
Other times, there’s a scaling of value across opportunities. We might see a short pass, first, but another collinear one is just as viable. Target Two may be closer to goal, and worth more if we can find them–so it’s imperative that we forego our primitive hankerings to eventually seal the deal with our “second choice”.
Defenders react to what we put out into the ether. Very rarely can players ever execute an immaculately covered-up operation as they witness what they wish to grasp, seek to conceal their physiological excitement, and attempt to actually take it. It’s probably safe to say that in nearly all cases, Plan A is simply too conspicuous, and we’re rarely clever enough to hide it.
The antagonist of our story inherently devotes their energy towards the same interests that we do. Our zeal often serves as their first anchor point–what they base their subsequent, preventative actions upon–so by decoying as a fundamental principle, we trip them into showing their hand, instead. Plan A might seem solid, sure, but if our adversary is spending resources to clog it, why get stuck on our initial fantasies?
By entering each encounter, each ball carry, each individual duel, with the intention of disregarding our primal itches, we can let our opponent fall for the trap instead. They pounce to protect what makes sense, what our body gives away unintentionally, and we simper as they tumble to the floor.
It was all a ruse, poor rival–for we never trust our instincts.
Let Your Eyes Light Up
In order to execute Plan B, effectively, we must ensure that our pursuit for the rapidly tossed Plan A is genuine.
If we go about finding our first idea with the obvious subtext that we won’t use it, we won’t allow our bodies to telegraph the excitement that so often foils our plans, but here, is essential to making them work. We need them to bite, otherwise this foregoing of our instincts will be completely spurious.
When employing this method in finding our next move, we can’t sheepishly pick a stupid pass, for instance, as collectible #1. Our decoys must be credible, so much so, that we even convince ourselves to let our eyes light up at the sight of them. When this happens, the opponent jumps, and we find our true pursuit–but these steps operate in order.
Below, we can enjoy Fulham and one-time Barca target Jean Michel Seri threading a ball into a teammate. His disguised pass is something may have come to fawn over, and we’ll discuss in greater detail soon, but it’s the realism of his feigned target that sells the other team. Plan B works because Plan A made sense.
Our final product, as a result of the Plan B approach, will only be as good as the Plan A pass threat was authentic. It’s in our best interest, if not imperative, that we pick something compelling and plausible.
Force Their Hand
The reasoning behind instinct distrust comes from the conventionally proactive nature of attack, compared to the subsequent, reactive task of preventing it. Creatively speaking, it might sound like an awesome thing to have full control over what happens next, but being the protagonist can be tough if we’re always up against a defense in their most favored, non-committal stance. A keeper with their feet set forces us to actually produce a spectacular shot, since they have their full GK ability to fight back. Nothing’s been compromised, so it’s a battle of their skill against ours.
.. and even if we believe that our quality is superior to theirs, this game is won when we find little edges. Why confront anyone, on a level playing field, at all, if we can tip the scales even more in our favor?
When we indulge in the possibility of Plan A–despite knowing, deep down, that it’s all subterfuge–we play our first card and look innocently up at the enemy to play theirs. Under siege, vigilant defenses behave like rabid dogs lurching from a tied leash. Even the most composed protectors will nibble at the treat you’ve dangled. We don’t necessarily need a whole slide tackle in the wrong direction to earn our advantage. A mere step may suffice. At minimum, in every pass, shot, dribble, turn, cross, or what have you, we’d love to always wrong-foot our opponents.
When this happens, it’s simply a game of momentum. It’s much easier to defend a counterattack when we’re in full directional control, backpedaling and delaying the onslaught, but not diving in or giving anything away. These circumstances optically favor the attack, so the psychological pressure is forced onto them. If they mess up, it’s a genuine shame. If the defense falls short, well, they were blitzed.
So, in the heat of the moment, even as tricky players, we’re always hoping that the defenders will accidentally expose a weakness for us to pounce on–but sometimes, it never does. When Pickford saved Jorginho’s penalty in the Euro Final, that’s what happened. It’s actually the ideal kryptonite for this new (and what some might find distasteful) wave of hop-step PKs. The kicker waited for the slightest of GK leans or flinches, but they never came. Instead, the Englishman stared him down, motionless.
When the decisive moment arrived to strike the ball, the Italian faltered. Despite his best efforts, it had remained his move until the very end. He possessed all the agency, and yet, wanted nothing to do with it. Kinda weird, isn’t it?
Even when you’re the best, as Jorginho may have been considered when it came to penalties, you might still prefer to relinquish that first move. Stutter steps, feints, upper body jolts, these are all executed in the run-ups to penalties to make the pressure of our leading role in the duel weigh just a little bit less. It may appear cowardly to attack but never truly be “on the offensive”, but this is how sports are played. A mistake of the opponent can be much more valuable than a genius of our own. In spite of their eventual loss to the Azzurri, Pickford certainly emerged the winner in this one.
We can dive even deeper on this idea of compromised momentum–of waiting until the enemy errs.
If we return to the case of the counterattack, from earlier, once you occupy a retreating CB’s attention with the overlapping fullback on the right, and they begin accelerating to cover the opportunity, it becomes much harder for them to lunge to the left. Colloquially, Newton’s 1st Law of Motion reminds us that when an object is moving, it requires a force to stop it from doing so. Changing directions, therefore, puts stresses on our joints, our ligaments, our muscles, and other fatigue-eroded physiological structures. We’ve broken the neutrality of our opponent’s original body position and forced them to commit, making it much harder to return back–and even more difficult to potentially return once again.
Let’s examine Belgium’s 2018 World Cup side in their Quarterfinal match against Japan. Sometimes, a concept is best explained when observing how the very best make use of it.
The clip below shows plenty of pub cheers as it unfolds. Courtois’ quick throw to start the counter, Meurnier’s first time cross, Lukaku’s dummy, and Chadli’s attentive finish. There are even a few nuanced things we might enjoy too–like Lukaku’s genius idea to position himself wide, to start, run from the outside in, drag the defender with him, and make his end destination precisely where he would’ve liked to be to receive the final ball. There’s something for everyone, here.
But my favorite part of this sequence isn’t any of those things, though they certainly are fluid and delightful in and of themselves–it’s how Kevin De Bruyne, the catalyst and chief architect of this counter, doesn’t succumb to the appeals of his Plan A. He opts for Plan B. And it makes all the difference.
As the play begins, and as KDB does, his spectacular field awareness enables him to pursue our methodology with aplomb. We’ve chatted about De Bruyne’s elite scan frequency before, but here’s a specific example that shows just how how vital the groundwork his visual exploration builds, truly is.
If we look closer at the moments immediately following the corner kick, we can tell that he takes stock of his eventual Plan B–before he even finds Plan A! He may not know that it’s Plan B just yet, but his glances around the field at least contextualize the upcoming raid. In the span of a few seconds, and twice even prior to receiving the roll from Thibaut, he executes three scans that indicate where Meunier is, and whether he’s saved enough gas in the tank to join the stoppage time sally.
As the rock is rolled and he anticipates his protagonism, he takes a quick peek with perfect timing. Look when the ball is far from your feet, watch the ball when you touch it. His cadence is something we’ve admired in the past, but it’s worth noting how fine-tuned his data-gathering is. Here, he observes that Meunier is neck and neck, but the look over might hint to Thomas that he ought to light up the afterburners. Something might come his way, but he’ll need to spring ahead of his marker.
Luckily, the Japanese player nearest Meunier is drawn inwards, to suffocate KDB’s space, making things easier for the threat he departs on the flank. Admittedly, the fullback seems like less of a concern given Lukaku’s movement up top that drives centrally / left of Kevin, plus Chadli and Hazard’s double and far more technically gifted (from a chance-creation standpoint) presence on the opposite flank. He probably won’t play it to this side. Probably.
De Bruyne picks his head up one last time to inspect the sitch. Tommy’s got it. Ok.
As he dribbles towards the upcoming Japanese defender–who’s poised neutrally, hoping to delay the Belgian’s upcoming action–Kevin observes his magnetizing power forward zipping behind this first obstacle. This is, naturally, an exceedingly favorable choice to play into, especially since the gaps are so big. Big Rom is a fantastic choice, so he waits until his periphery bites the bait.
One by one, the Japanese defenders become occupied with his bombarding threat. Lukaku is such an imposing, athletic guy that not only is his direct marker worried, but the defender monitoring two other players charging in becomes sucked into his magnetic field, too. They’re not exactly wrong, per se, seeing as you would probably fancy Romelu to finish the game-winner if he received the ball in this type of space. Not that many DFs around the world would be able to stop him from the angles at which these Japan internationals are darting, plus even a desperate shirt pull or heel clip might result in a red card and man down going into extra time, or perhaps a 90’+ penalty.
De Bruyne watches this all unfold. He begins to position his hips as though he’s preparing to drive the through ball that everyones expecting–with the outside of his right foot, shown in yellow. Curling around the defender, it would settle right in the path of his striker friend. This slightest of body gestures cements the authenticity of Plan A. The run is promising, the recipient is excellent, and he’s even in the right shape to play it.
All he needs is for his immediate impediment to commit.
Sure enough, he does.
It’s the slightest of steps, in the interest of covering the passing lane everyone suspects KDB will play, and just enough to seal the deal. With his momentum carrying him towards the right, from our viewpoint, KDB comfortably pokes a pass towards the neglected, low-density flank.
Though made purely by hand, here’s a rough idea of how Meunier’s pitch control looks in that moment. There are more, and better attacking players in much higher concentration on the right hand side of our image, but the former PSG man is enjoying his acres. A ball out here gives him plenty of time and space to redirect one centrally, too, with loads of targets now in pole position to leap onto the cross.
By finding Plan B, KDB has completely collapsed the tired Japan defense, forcing 3 defenders’ hands without barely juking or eluding anyone. He’s simply driven forward, allowed something promising to unfold before him, believed–for a second–that he might play it, before calmly popping it to his second choice.
It’s a thing of fucking beauty. Plan B, baby!
One last time, since the simplicity of it all is so elegantly sensual, just enjoy his patience as the defender takes that microscopic jab in the wrong direction. Kevin waits, waits, waits, and slits the jugular.
What a player, and what a massive play.
So, what we learn from all of this is that even the top creative forces in the world will often hold off until their defenders have made a mistake, before delivering the killer blow.
De Bruyne may have been enticed to play Lukaku, as many would have, and his first blue barrier might’ve intercepted it. Rom may have faced two Japanese players clawing at his back as he sought to finish under pressure. Maybe the card pulled wouldn’t have been a red, and only a yellow. Maybe the ensuing freekick would’ve been too far from goal and sailed into the stands. He could have scored, with Plan A–but critically, this ostensibly obvious choice may have failed just as much as it may have succeeded.
Instead of selecting the clear-cut route, the ginger maestro paused and allowed his opponent to expose themselves before he decided anything. The first Japanese player in his way does well to control his neutral, outward expression for as long as he can, but the raging inquietude of being a deer in crunch-time-Kevin’s headlights soon bubbles over. He plays his card, it’s, of course, the wrong one, and he gets beat.
The rest is history.
Skip Passes
An alternative lens through which we can appreciate the value of playing Plan B is that of skip passes.
Our vision, as humans, tends to absorb important visual stimuli in order of proximity. When we look up, if something’s closer to our face, we’ll fixate on that before we pivot to a character far behind it. It’s natural, perhaps driven by evolution and our need to be aware of immediate threats that pose danger to our physical safety, and it’s pretty consistent. On the pitch, we tend to note the nearby things first, too.
Thus, a secondary application of Plan B selection can come in the form of forcing ourselves to observe options beyond our immediate field of view. Years ago, as a player and CB, I had a coach indicate to me that every time I found a passing option as we built out of the back, I should check “one further” before playing it. He noted that if a longer ball was on, in the same general direction, that I should choose that one, instead. This shouldn’t be empirically followed, of course, but looking back on his words, the logic is pretty sound. If we can progress more, then we probably should. After all, that’s our ultimate goal, isn’t it?
And so, inspired by this retrospective memory, I’d argue that a “skip pass”, one in which we bypass a closer target for a collinear one in the distance, can be the direct byproduct of Plan B methods. Entering our passing challenge with the intent of finding one thing, but playing another, we can sidestep the temptation of playing more conservatively, to become more direct and incisive by peering a little further.
Example 1: Building out of a goalkick. The 6 comes short as a primary target, but attracts a fair amount of pressure. The free men are directly behind the CDM, so once Plan A has been found, we discard it for the more progressive, and actually safer, option instead.
Example 2: Building in the middle third. Switches often represent ideal Plan A for Plan B trades. An option within reach may not be nearly as favorable as one further on–given that defenses tend to collapse around local threats. This act of pivoting the attack with gusto can enable more trenchant charges into enemy territory.
Example 3: Crossing far post. A run goes nearpost, drags everyone’s attention, including ours, before we relinquish the thought for a farpost option, outside of most DFs field of view. Below, arguably my favorite Suarez goal ever: he sends Munir to dart in as a decoy before running in behind. Neymar collects the pass, pauses, allows the opponent to react to Plan A, and eventually nails the skip pass over to Luisito.
Here’s how things look on paper. The red zone is where the grey defenders are drawn into, the green is the ulterior motive.
Bang. It’s a quintessential cross-run move, but orchestrated to perfection. The deliberateness in Suarez’ gesture makes it all the more enjoyable, showcasing his appreciation for the space a transfixing red herring can carve out. Neymar’s patience is key, as he stops and smiles before thrusting the dagger.
We can enjoy it once more, from a slightly more intimate angle, too.
As might be most apparent from that replay angle, one of the primary conveniences of the skip pass is that the decoy tends to be in the same line of sight as the true pursuit.
This means that all we need to do is “look harder”, rather than scan our surroundings for additional options. This tends to be just a tad bit faster–and makes for a very authentic Plan A in nearly all cases. Even as we set up to pass to Plan B, the defense may still assume that our recipient is the closer option, jumping to secure that lane and unintentionally making our actual goal even more open. Their momentum swings to the nearby target, making it tougher to switch directions and cover the far one, and it barely even required much disguise at all.
The Dulling of Impulsivity
Yet another way we can appreciate the Plan B method is that always seeking two reasonable options can lessen the rashness of our decisions. Some young players receive the ball and almost seem desperate to get rid of it. Others will mistake the idea of one-touch passing to be “playing the first thing you see”. As a kid, I know I used to. Defenders hasten to poke the ball loose from a slaloming winger, instead of composing themselves for the inevitable mistouch. Keepers sprint out for a lobbed corner, only to find that the outswinger has curled too far from their forlorn, outstretched gloves.
Players lacking calmness, generally speaking, will benefit tremendously from this heightened requirement: before you do anything, find a second alternative, first.
On the inside, they might still be anxious–compelled to shoot a 1v1 too early as they fear the keeper barraging into them, or crossing a ball into a box with no runners yet–but the extra second it takes to collect not one, but two feasible choices, in the speed of this game no less, may now help give the impression that they’re unfazed.
An extra checkbox means they can’t simply leap at the nervy impulse. They can note it, hold back, encounter a partner in the wild, and opt for them, instead. Effectively speaking, this is composure in its finest form: the ability to suppress urges and behave logically, even in the heat of the moment.
We find comfort passing up “good” options since we know that, in doing so, great ones will soon come.
Widen The Optical Fishnet!
Beyond practically forcing squad members to be less impetuous, the need to find both Plan A and Plan B also means that we amplify our team’s need to be aware of their surroundings. A player that tries to find two next-moves after they’ve already received the ball, and the timer is up, may suffer. After enough repetitions, they’ll learn that their data collection must start sooner, encouraging observant looks more and more seconds before they get the pelota. This conveniently drives up their field awareness by nudging scan frequencies towards increasingly elite levels.
If we only need to capture one idea, we might only look once. If we need two, the minimum is double.
Thus, the Plan B approach somewhat implicitly coaches the need for diligent “mirror-checking”. Meeting the quota is too hard to do in one split second, so our group must begin their searches earlier. When this happens, not only does the individual vision refine, but the collective fluidity and expressiveness blossoms. Suddenly, with a baseline duo of things to pick from in every sub-moment, we’re making better decisions, faster, and everyone’s in on it together. The ball pings around like a pinball, exchanges are made in a flash, and we leave our enemy wondering why they’re failing to guess our every move. They’re reacting on what we give them, but what we provide is seldom what we ever take.
See ya!
Now, there’s also an additional comfort Plan B discovery lends us. In the case that we’re genuinely unable to find two valid possibilities, our “failure” scenario results in us simply landing on just one. While this might feel disappointing–it’s a far better safety net than drawing a total blank.
For those that rely on gut feelings, there is a high likelihood that when this primal mechanism falters, they’re left with nothing to work with. In these instances, many players will fall into fight or flight mode, frenetically gulping as their eyes gloss over and their systems shut down. I’m sure there was a lump in Jorginho’s throat when Pickford’s unwavering stoicism emerged.
Plan B allows even those cases in which we “fail” to come up with the demanded list of options–to still result in a reasonable chance.
With just Plan A, yes, we’re combatting on a level playing field in which the enemy may instinctually lunge for the same treat we do, but the intended decoy is authentic for a a reason. A “good” recourse is good, after all, and it’s certainly superior to a discomfiting error signal.
Xavi’s Catch, Release–and Catch Again
The final implementation method allows us to flip all of this on its head. We can also find success the two-pronged search if we actually go with Plan A–even after we’ve found Plan B.
This method might arise in the case that our second discovery is simply inferior to the one we noticed first. That’s fine, and if we’re being realistic, will probably happen a good amount.
But more deliberately, this can also be the way we outline our procedure. Xavi used to remark something along the lines of: the difficult thing isn’t finding the pass, it’s finding the decoy to make the one you want even better. In other words, we see Plan A, love it to death, and choose a Plan B that will enable us to gain even more of an advantage. Our selection criteria narrows our search, which can be both positive and negative, in that it gives us fewer things to choose from.
I’m calling this Plan B application the Catch, Release, and Catch Again. Our first procurement must be done with total nonchalance, disinterest even, before conveying excitement towards an option that pries open our seam that extra smidge. It’s backwards, with respect to our original plan, but ultimately the same concept. We manipulate them into believing total fiction.
Example 1: Traditional, disguised passing. The most common example of this occurs when a central midfielder locks eyes with a wide player, the defender steps to cover the lane, the MF’s shoulders still suggest to the DF that the upcoming play will involve an interception, before a cunning ball in behind is delivered.
Paredes, my Argentine compatriot, is a master at this. Here, interestingly enough, Plan A is to find the player in on goal–but that opportunity can’t happen unless the defense is drawn out. Plan B is less of a different target, in this case, and more of what will be a past-tense existence of the same player. Paredes prefers to thread this puppy through the lines, but he feigns as if he’ll find the wide player at their feet, causing the opponent to jump, and make Plan A viable. Here, he catches an idea, pretends to release it when he sets up to play in-front of the Strasbourg line, and then catches it again–last second–when he slices through.
Example 2: Discrete options, subtle fakery. Here, Busquets knows he’d like to find the striker centrally, but due to the defender on their back, there’s a potential obstacle in the way, once the pass is received. Here, it’s not necessarily that the lane itself would be eliminated, but the recipient’s life would be complicated, and the overall chance inconveniently occluded.
To do him a favor and shake the DF, Busi notices the superiority on this side of the field, in which two Barca players are covered by just this one Atleti guy. He proceeds to set his body to suggest that the wide player is the intended target, causing the defender to dart over, and promptly slip onto their backside when they realize they’ve been played. The space generated by Busquets’ clever CRCA enables a quick shot to be let off by the attacking team.
In another instance, Busquets applies the same principle. He knows Pedro will be making the run in behind a fairly high defensive line, so after receiving negatively, he touches the ball as if he’ll play short and flat to Fabregas or Xavi (I think? grainy gif). This prompts the Espanyol centerback to motion the line up, in an attempt to pack in the pressure, but it’s uncoordinated. The shoddy effort to cramp Barca’s space results in a larger offside margin for Pedro to run into; his nearest CB is higher than the rest of his teammates, as a result of Busi’s Plan B fake.
And so, here, we depart a bit from our typical pattern of ordered steps, and even the notion of squashing urges–but show how mindful implementation of Plan A & Plan B can unveil additional, fully intentional methods of legerdemain. It goes without saying that there is, surely, much more we could expand upon, too.
Final Thoughts
In a nervy sport full of people shying away from taking the first move, having faith in our gut has become a founding principle for decision making. Nearly all of those choices are grounded in some field truth, an image or understanding we all have collective access to, meaning that when we all apply the same approach, we butt heads, and fail to make legitimate progress. Today’s argumentation has supported the notion that we should never do what our heart desires, but instead, to let our opponents fall for those traps instead. We bite our tongue, smile smugly as they trip over their laces, and enjoy the merits of a far less difficult, new problem to solve. This game is played fast, but with the right dose of composure, we can frustrate our enemies into making mistakes before we do.
The idea blossoms into what I call the Plan B method, in which we deliberately suppress our instincts and select a second option instead. This can be used when we play passes, elude an adversary on the dribble, finish a shot, and more. We want to sell something totally viable before securing what was once a backup option, but is now free for the taking.
The curler below depicts precisely that, a belted hit that ends up just off-center (a large and safe target that was once blocked by the gloved guy in yellow), but whose initial trajectory made the keeper essentially fool himself. Imagine if instead of trying to locate the postage stamp with every shot, we sought to actually hit the area with the most generous tolerances–and simply looked to trick the GK into buying our “Plan A”.
This approach to practically every decision on the field takes some re-wiring, but can be applied with great versatility. To make it work, we first need to really play the part, letting our bodies and eyes freely titillate at the sight of our first decoy. When this happens, we cause the opponent to step first, revealing their true intentions, as we move to capitalize on our newly exposed endeavor.
Plan B works in the context of skip passes to progress and switch with greater intensity, it mutes our anxious tendencies by forcing us to think for an extra second, generates a superior fallback if we end up with only one fish, and can even be inverted to imitate a certain Spaniard’s old routine.
Yet, despite all of these benefits, I’d be an idiot to ignore the one glaring concern you might have about this whole thing: does Plan B thinking make us more .. hesitant? Because we certainly wouldn’t want that.
If we never truly seize our impulses, will we forego opportunity? Will this make us seem less confident? Might this slow down the play? Will it begin to convince us that our ideas are just .. bad?
All of these questions are completely appropriate. The challenge here, once you’ve been convinced (or not) by the theory, is to implement effectively. If you crease the values of picking the second pass, or the second direction to turn, or the second area to shoot towards, and suddenly everyone dawdles on the ball, fumbles their receptions, or stumbles into the GKs without making a decision–then, yes, we’ve got a problem.
The critical thing to hammer home, along with what I’ve discussed above, is that we must reach a point where Plan A & Plan B are conceived in the same timeframe as a sole Plan A once would have been.
To win these battles, we need to accelerate our cognitive processing, data collection, and simply get good enough at it, that we aren’t just frolicking about looking for option two. Though this might come across as harsh, if we struggle to even find one convincing route, then perhaps that ought to be the focus before we evolve to capturing multiple. There’s a technical baseline needed to introduce things, here–as there is with most of the things I explore on Touchline Theory.
We can’t Stop Romanticizing Rectangles if we don’t appreciate their implications to begin with. We can’t Uncover the Covershadow without understanding how they work. We can’t Make Our Strikers Play Like Erling Haaland if they refuse to recognize how impactful the little things can be. Even the merits of Scanning will be dulled if we can’t play a straightforward pass.
And so, yes, these ideas may be best suited for higher-level performance environments, ones in which we aren’t stuck on the fundamentals of a ball roll or directional header, but rather, interested in advancing our technical proficiencies from a mental perspective. Plan B works if we are quick at finding Plan A–and can get even faster. It’s true.
With the required speed, and in the case that we can procure the duo without discernible delay, now the challenge comes in being confident that our ideas are simply strong. Plan A does not need to be the best one, every time–the one we tearfully lament as we acquiesce and secure Plan B. It’s just a thought, and our first one, but it rarely, if ever, is the best. The second we come to terms with that, and begin to love Plan B as much as we once did Plan A, our bodies will exude the confidence necessary to push back on any outward expressions of vacillation. Take pleasure when the opponent bites, let that mischievous grin burgeon across your face, because you’ve earned it! The more we delight ourselves, the less we’ll concern others that we’re purportedly indecisive. In making it a habit to tangle the enemy before we do anything, soon enough, everyone will wonder what kind of magic it is that we’re spinning.
Then, I doubt the murmurs with be from skeptics–they’ll be from admirers.
As I reflect on the title of this piece, I must admit that there are even times when our Plan A, standing all alone by itself, may have to be the move we take. You may have reason to be upset if I suggest that “never” may not actually be true, but I’d be a fool if I didn’t recognize it. A barbaric toe-poke to get a ball over the goal line, pulling out of a 50/50 last second to avoid a broken leg, or an absolute reaction save to stop a point-flank redirection are all necessary elements of this game. Sometimes, when its life or death, we don’t have the ability to pick and choose–we just pull the trigger, and that’s okay. This piece isn’t intended to encourage deer in the headlights.
But in every other instance, when we can afford to actually make a decision, Plan B can go a long way in befuddling our adversaries. It’s a backwards way of thinking, sure, but what’d you expect coming here to TT? This is where the upstream-swimming salmon come to reflect.
As I depart, I’ll leave you with one final thing: Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken. It’s been a significant influence on this piece.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
‘Till next time.
