To Peter and Benny, Eddie was more of a big brother than a coach. Just eight years older and about the same size, Eddie looked after them with the same tough love that would push them to their limits but then defended them to the end. After accepting dual roles as a science teacher and head coach of St. Cloud North shortly after his playing career ended, Eddie inherited Batman and Robin, as their teammates called them, as sophomores. Gifted as athletes, both Peter and Benny had grown up playing hockey with soccer being just a pre-season conditioning drill until the puck dropped in late Fall. With Benny's uncanny quickness and Peter's all-around athleticism, Eddie saw potential, doing his best to force a year of soccer knowledge into the short three months he had with them each season.
By their senior season, as the hockey talent funnel squeezed out the above-average players to make room for the truly elite, soccer became their adopted year-round sport. While the hockey coach was fond of telling them what they didn't have, Eddie taught them to believe in what was already inside them, confident that he could help add whatever was missing.
As the other parents headed out to the parking lot, two men were on their way in, loaded down with equipment, including a professional video camera on a tripod, lighting stands with reflective screens, and a large reel of cable leading back to their truck. As they went about setting up, Eddie spied one of his least favorite people, Jack Issac.
"Jack, they already set up a signing table in the cafeteria," said Eddie as he watched the crew go to work in the school's two-story front atrium.
"Hey, big guy! Yeah, that's for the amateurs, not prime time like us. Besides, the light's better out here, and we need to stay close to the truck for the live feed," said Jack, his Ray Bans perched on top of his shaved head.
"Seriously, is all of this really necessary?" said Eddie.
"Absolutely, my man, compliments of Mr. Niemi!" said Jack.
Eddie rolled his eyes, not only from the circus that was getting set-up in front of him but also from Jack's inability to say or even remember his name. Throughout his professional playing days, Eddie had met plenty of Jack Issac characters, the hyper-friendly, high-fiving type who could sell you a convertible in January… in Minnesota. It was his brand of persuasion, not to be confused with charm, that had sold Peter and Benny and their parents on this next great leap of faith.
"Do you have the final contracts to sign?" said Eddie.
"Got 'em right here! They emailed them to me this morning," said Jack waving two blue folders.
"Did you read them? Did they change anything?" said Eddie.
"Oh, ya' know, it's just legal stuff. Relax, my man, everything's cool," said Jack, putting a hand on Eddie's shoulder and handing him two new, blue hoodies. “Do me a favor and get these on our boys.”
Eddie recoiled that it was more of a command than a request. He shrugged Jack’s hand off his shoulder turning with a fistful of wicking performance wear.
"Karen, check this out! Sure beats a photographer from the Times," said Sam, nudging his wife while pointing to the camera, lights and mobile satellite rising on the truck parked outside.
Karen Borg felt a tinge of anxiety, hoping she wouldn't have to be on TV. Like Eddie, she was a little embarrassed by all the fuss, especially since Jack had promised that this would be just an initial tryout period and that Peter could come home if he ever sensed it wasn't working.
"Sam! Karen! How are my two favorite soccer parents?" said Jack smiling as they walked up.
"Hey, Jack, great to see you. Man, this is really something. And this will be live?" said Sam, stepping over the tangled cables.
"You bet, Mr. B! We're streaming it on our website and through our social media channels. And the national networks will show highlights later today. Our fans can't wait to see the future stars of our club!" said Jack.
"We don't need to be in this, right?" asked Karen.
"Nope, we're all good with just the boys. I'll interview them for a few minutes, they'll make their official signing of the player contracts. Then we'll be done," said Jack, while simultaneously typing on his phone.
Eddie handed Peter and Benny the new team warm-ups.
"Well, here you go, guys, fresh out of the trunk of Jack's Mercedes," said Eddie.
"Sweet swag! I'm already liking this," said Benny, quickly donning his sweatshirt.
"Is your mom going to make it in time?" said Peter, looking at Benny.
"Nah, just got a text from her. She can't get off work today. No biggie," said Benny.
"C'mon, we better go before Jack loses what's left of his mind," said Eddie.
As usual, Jack chest-bumped Benny, but Peter held up his hand in time for a high-five instead. They lined up in front of the camera with Jack in the middle. From the side, Sam snapped a few photos with his phone while Karen stood behind the camera next to Eddie.
"You sure about this?" said Karen, looking straight ahead.
"It's a great opportunity for them, Karen, especially for two kids from Minnesota. I'm going to miss these knuckleheads, but you really can't pass up something like this," said Eddie, trying to convince both of them that a sleaze-ball like Jack had only the best intentions.
"We're live in 3… 2… 1," said the producer pointing his finger at Jack.
"Hyvää huomenta! Welcome to FC Kotka live! This is Jack Issac, your Director of Player Personnel, coming to you from beautiful St. Cloud, Minnesota. Standing next to me are two young faces that you will get to know very well! On my right is Peter Borg, and over here is Benny Gilbert. They are two of the best 18-year-old prospects in the United States, having won quite a few youth tournaments here. And now, on behalf of our team owner, Mr. Victor Niemi, I am thrilled to announce that they both will come to Finland to join our world-renowned youth academy. Trust me, fans, it won't be long before you see these two on the pitch with our senior team competing for trophies in Veikkausliiga and in Europe! What do you think, guys?"
"Yes, um, that's right, Mr. Issac," said Peter with a modest smile. "Benny and I are really excited to play for the blue and white."
"Yeah, totally!" said Benny beaming. "I'm so stoked… or however you say it in Finland."
"Ha! Yeah, stoked works! I love these guys!" said Jack, patting them both on the back.
The three of them sat down at a table decorated in the FC Kotka colors to sign the contracts that locked them into a three-year agreement with the club, after the initial tryout period. Peter tried to avoid looking directly at the camera, glancing past it to give his mom a smile. He inherited her classic Scandinavian features, including a square jaw, blond hair cut short on the sides, but with a swirl on top to complete the boy-band good looks. Benny, on the other hand, would not be mistaken for a Finn, let alone a Minnesotan, with brown Rastafarian dreads that were a bit longer and shaggier than those of his coach, a wisp of a teen mustache and a full, flat nose. After shaking hands with both of them, Jack looked back into the camera.
"So, fans, get your tickets for the season kickoff where we will formally introduce Peter and Benny at Haukka Stadium. Hyvästi for now!"
"And we're clear," announced the producer.
Sam was floating on air giving two thumbs up to Jack and the boys.
"Did you hear that? Two of the best in the entire US!" said Sam, making sure that his wife was listening.
"Honey, I think he was exaggerating a little… you know to sell it to the fans?" said Karen with a glance towards Eddie.
"True, but only a little, these guys are good, and I believe in them," said Eddie.
But Eddie didn't just think Jack was exaggerating, he knew it. And that's what made him suspicious. Peter was a physical specimen dripping with raw athleticism, and Benny was the fastest kid he had ever coached. But their soccer skills were a work in progress, and far from two of the best in the country. From the moment Jack showed up at one of their practices to recruit them, Eddie's bullshit radar went off. He struggled to distinguish between genuine concern for his players' well-being and latent
jealousy of their opportunity.
Ten years ago, he had been the chosen one, just starting out on his journey to the big time. His ascent from an All-American at Wisconsin to the first round draft choice of his hometown Stars to the transfer target of storied European clubs accelerated faster than expected. That dream was taken from him with no warning and no reason. Now, he needed to avoid being the envious has-been coach. For now, he kept his concerns to himself. But he kept his eye on Jack Issac.
3
Pacing in the hall between his office and the team room, Stuart Pennington checked his phone every thirty seconds. As FC Kotka's new academy manager, his pre-match routine was a synchronized action plan that demanded his attention to tedious details more than when he was simply a world-class captain of a storied soccer franchise. Every minute leading up to kickoff had a purpose, whether it was making last-second roster changes, monitoring the opponent's warm-ups, or extinguishing a fire set by a meddling but influential booster.
Now, before the last game of the season, he was losing valuable time waiting for Mr. Victor Niemi, the team owner and the one person who he allowed to interrupt his pattern. Helen Lavola, Niemi's assistant, had texted Stuart an hour earlier with the news that their mutual boss would be "stopping in" to see him before heading to his office. Wanting to be prepared, Stuart asked what this was all about, but Helen had heard him mumble only two words; next season's objectives. An hour before the last game and he wants to talk about next year? Just last month, Stuart and his coaching staff had made a detailed presentation to Niemi and his board covering personnel, scouting, and training plans for his young stars. What new information could he possibly need now?
At that meeting, Stuart had not painted a rosy picture for the club brass. Despite the senior team finishing ninth out of twelve teams this season in the Veikkausliiga, the top-level Finnish league, the club had not improved their situation with personnel moves during the most recent transfer window. Without an influx of new talent from the academy, Stuart informed the grim-faced directors that they were in danger of landing at the bottom and being relegated to Ykkönen, the next league down. That drop would cost the club hundreds of thousands of euros from lost television revenue and a corresponding dip in ticket and merchandise sales. He had always appreciated managers who were straight with their players, and as a captain, he never sugar-coated game situations to his teammates. But his "tell it like it is" honesty didn't sit well with Niemi, who preferred his underlings to oversell but then over-deliver. Niemi's marketing department was working overtime selling next year's season tickets on unbridled hope, which Stuart defined as advertising unrealistic expectations. He knew his job was the only one at stake if he under-delivered, and those promises went unmet.
Another check of the phone, thirty minutes until kickoff, but still no word from the private gate entry supervisor who Stuart asked to text him when Niemi arrived. Texting last-minute instructions to his coaching staff, Stuart paced back and forth in the tunnel leading to the field. On the walls hung grandiose mosaics of past Kotka teams lit by track LED lighting casting a blue and white glow on the faces of club heroes. The glory seasons, just like the timeline mural, ended over a decade earlier with nothing higher than a fourth-place league finish since and no European tournament appearances.
Stuart stopped in front of the photo collage of that magical year when Kotka last won Veikkausliiga. There he was, standing in the back. He ignored his smiling mug but focused on the faces of his teammates as they hoisted the cup for the first and, so far, the only time in team history. That was twelve years ago before he left Kotka to sign for millions with Liverpool, before he won the English Premier League five times and the Champions League twice, before they retired his number at Anfield and before Niemi bought Kotka.
During those years in England, he always kept an eye on Kotka's box scores and their place in the standings, wondering if his career would ever take him back home. At Liverpool, he was expected, and paid handsomely, to bring home trophies with whatever manager and roster of teammates were assembled for that season. Win nothing, and the names on the lockers changed quickly. There was no patience for player development in the EPL, just a business mentality to buy the cogs of the wheel that would produce the best results right now. In the academies, the working theory that world-class skill required 10,000 hours of deliberate practice, at sport or any endeavor, did not mesh with the urgency of petulant owners to enjoy almost immediate payback from their substantial investments. However, at Kotka, there had been a sense of unity and longevity. Not like a family per se, but a brotherhood that each player could trust, both on and off the pitch. You cared about each other because you knew each other, possibly all the way back to grade school. In fact, seven of the starting eleven in that cup year had played together since their teens. When Niemi arrived, he made it clear that his top priority was trophies, both in Finland and in Europe. When Stuart showed up, he vowed to build Kotka with this tradition of camaraderie and esprit de corps. Niemi would get his trophies, but Stuart made sure that the club would continue its legacy, with more smiling photos soon adorning the wall.
Stuart's phone finally buzzed with a text from the garage, "The Roadster has landed!" Everyone in the building knew that meant only one person had arrived at Haukka Stadium. In a country with no speed limit over 75 miles per hour, the tech billionaire had felt a need to spend a quarter of a million euros on a car that can reach that velocity in less than three seconds.
"What's the mood today, Sean?" Stuart asked the parking attendant as he passed the gate.
"He waved but didn't smile. Good luck."
"I don't need luck, but I need the twenty minutes back that I just lost waiting for him," said Stuart with a wink.
Even though he was born in London, Stuart and his family moved to Finland when he was three years old. Growing up in a clan of seven in a house made for four, Stuart would sleep many summer nights in a small tent in the backyard, close enough to hear the waves of the Gulf of Finland.
All around Kotka, ice rinks outnumbered soccer fields. As a boy, Stuart excelled at hockey, advancing through the local youth leagues so quickly that coaches from the Helsinki clubs began attending his games. His development was well-orchestrated, as were his daily practices. To young Stuart, hockey felt more like school; learn a new skill for homework at practice then take the test during a game. His future in the sport seemed inevitable. He would advance to the exclusive academies run by professional teams, then on to the Finnish Elite League, with a future path to either the KHL, the well-respected Russian league, or the NHL, every young player's dream.
Yet, for all his success on the ice, his heritage was on grass. Stories from his father and grandfather about English soccer lore, vastly more prosperous and more successful than his adopted home country, created a world just beyond his view. These days he could stream any game in the world live on his phone, but back then, it was just a weekly highlight show that his parents allowed him to stay up late to watch. Liverpool was the family's favorite team, and they taught young Stuart to sing their anthem, "You'll Never Walk Alone," along with the fans at Anfield.
Near their adopted home in Finland, his grandfather would take him to FC Kotka games. They were nothing like standing in the Liverpool Kop but still entertaining that occasionally attracted some giants nearby, including their closest rival, HJK Helsinki. Once every few seasons, Zenit Saint Petersburg, the mysterious Russian club with a history that bridged the Soviet and Russian eras, would make the two-hour drive west, crossing geographical and cultural borders. For the stone-faced Zenit players, the match against Kotka was never more than a scrimmage exercise, dominating the play with a sophistication that the Finnish players feared but respected.
Niemi climbed out of his turquoise spaceship, throwing his sunglasses on the seat. At six foot four, he would fit better in a large pick-up than a cramped sports car. As a rule, Niemi expected his head coach and his management lieutenants to wear suits on game day. Stil
l, his own attire was always more casual with an open-neck shirt and jeans, perhaps to signal to the world that he had made his money and didn't need to dress for success. Make no mistake, the price for today's laid back ensemble, an Eton shirt, Gucci jeans, and Jimmy Choo shoes, would be enough to pay several players for a month.
It was all part of Niemi's intimidation game that had built a global satellite conglomerate, Haukka Communications, in less than a decade. Niemi didn't intimidate with physical force, but he insisted on knowledge superiority. He simply did his homework better than his rivals. If there was an emerging technology, years away from a prototype or patent, buried deep in an obscure university lab in a dark corner of the glove, he knew about it. And he was already angling for a share of the intellectual property. His business strategy was not to create but to discover, persuade, and, ultimately, own the proprietary assets before the world knew they needed it.
"Hello Victor, good to see you as always," said Stuart holding out his hand.
"One sec," said Niemi, ignoring the handshake while he finished a text. Stuart drew back his hand into his pocket. Tapping his Bluetooth earpiece on mute, Niemi finally made eye contact. "OK, so how do we look today?"
"The boys are ready, kickoff in 10 minutes," Stuart said with a hint of urgency.
"They better be. We need to finish with a win for the new shareholders," said Niemi with a direct glare. "And I found you two great new prospects from the US. According to Jack Issac, these kids can play. They just signed their paperwork to join our academy."
"Well, as Jack knows, our academy is full right now."
"Doesn't matter, you'll find room for them. I'm telling you, Stuart, we will make stars out of them. One looks like you back in your playing days, and the other one is the fastest kid that Jack has ever seen."
Stuart had only met Jack Issac once, at a cocktail party Niemi hosted after his hiring, and he was unimpressed. Despite his title of "Director of Player Development," the only developing he did was to poach athletic kids from other US clubs and ship them overseas.
The Playmaker Project Page 2
