The Playmaker Project

by Daniel Peterson

  "I know, Mom. Please don't worry, we'll be fine. I'll text and send pics," said Peter into her ear.

  Picking up his bag, Peter shook his Dad's hand.

  "I'm proud of you, son. You earned this," said Sam, giving Peter a pat on the shoulder. "Do your best and show 'em what Minnesota tough looks like."

  "Thanks, Dad, I will," said Peter, with a nod of his head but only a glance.

  "OK, dudes, we need to roll," said Jack ushering the boys towards the concourse entrance.

  As the three travelers meandered through the maze of ropes leading up to the TSA agent, Karen kept reminding herself of Peter's common sense and good judgment. He had always shown maturity beyond his age, able to think quickly on his feet. It helped ease her anxiety of seeing her baby boy head off to another continent. After picking up his bag from the conveyor belt, Peter turned around one more time to wave to both of his parents. But his eyes met with only his mom's. His dad had told him that this is the price you pay to be great. Get out of your comfort zone. Take a calculated risk. Put yourself out there. After all, it was only soccer, what could go wrong?

  After a bumpy, packed flight into O'Hare, Jack broke some good news.

  "We're goin' big time, boys," he said with a grin. "For the long flight to Helsinki, we’re goin’ business class, compliments of Mr. Niemi."

  "Shut up, no way," said Benny with eager eyes.

  "Get used to it, Gilbert. This is how we roll at FC Kotka," said Jack.

  From his many flights to Florida, Benny had always had to walk past the wide, leather seats to coach but not before admiring the array of buttons, lights, space, and free stuff offered upfront. Boarding the Airbus A350, Benny hustled over to his luxury seat, a single by the window. He relished the chance to get the envious glances of the masses as they wandered back to their cramped, knee-bruising rows.

  "Check it out, Pete," said Benny as he instantly reclined his seat to lie flat while simultaneously turning on his 4K monitor.

  "Dude, that's perfect for you," said Peter as he and Jack found their spots one row behind.

  "Do you guys always fly business class?" Peter asked Jack.

  "Whenever we have VIPs with us!" answered Jack. "Mr. Niemi takes care of his moneymakers."

  "Is that what he calls us?" said Peter.

  "Well, you're a moneymaker in training," said Jack. "But hey, as he tells me, we have to create the best players in the world if we want the rest of the business plan to happen."

  "What's the rest of the plan?"

  "Too soon, my young Padawan," said Jack as he crashed into his seat. "When the time is right, you'll know."

  Peter sat down next to the window and began to take in everything around him. Being the national airline of Finland, they naturally had to mimic the northern lights above the cabin with blue, green, and white LEDs forming the waving motion of Aurora Borealis. It reminded him of home, watching the dancing pastels in his own backyard late on summer nights.

  Peter looked forward to being alone with his thoughts for the next nine hours, and his imagination was already racing far ahead. He positioned his seat to peer out the window, or rather, two windows in this studio apartment in the sky. He declined the pre-takeoff beverage, opting for the overpriced bottle of water he had bought in the terminal. While Benny was busy trying every button available within his reach, including an unneeded call to the flight attendant, Peter listened intently to the pre-flight instructions as his mom had taught him to do.

  The A350 roared off the runway and banked to the north, then east on a flight path that would take them across the North Atlantic. Watching the colored patchwork of fields and farms below him, he wondered if Finland would look the same. Seconds after the pilot gave the all-clear for phone use, Jack sent a message to the boys.

  "Guys, here's that intro video that the academy put together for new recruits," Jack texted, even though he sat only a few feet away from them. "It'll give you an idea of what to expect in the first few days. Have a look, and we'll chat later. Right now, I'm gonna crash for a few hours."

  "Got it. I'll watch it right after I beat Real Madrid in the Champions League Final on FIFA," replied Benny with a soda in one hand and game controller in the other.

  Peter paused the music on his phone and clicked on the link. The video started with an overview of the FC Kotka campus, much like the shorter marketing version that Jack had sent to him and Eddie two months ago. His initial reaction back then was wide-eyed awe. The flyover clip showed the 14,000-seat spaceship stadium, the twelve surrounding emerald green, turf fields, and the gleaming glass residential hall that housed the academy's twenty-two young prospects. The Finnish narrator and English sub-titles compared the campus to those of Barcelona, Bayern Munich, and Chelsea only with a smaller footprint, for now. A massive banner hung from the wall of the indoor training facility, "Kunnioita perinteitä. Usko tulevaisuudessa." Peter paused the video to enter the Finnish phrase into Google Translate, "Respect the tradition. Believe in the future."

  Peter remembered Eddie's initial, skeptical reaction to the presentation by Jack. Without trying to insult his players, Eddie had cross-examined him, asking why a small but well-funded professional club half a world away was recruiting two decent but unremarkable players from Minnesota. The only elusive answer offered was that Peter and Benny "fit the mold" of what Victor Niemi was looking for. When pressed for a better definition, Jack would only smile, claiming that information was their competitive advantage and, thus, proprietary. Peter had only received interest from a few D3 colleges and only one serious inquiry from a D1 soccer program, so he agreed with Eddie's skepticism. But Jack's excitement was all that Sam Borg needed to hear. He convinced his wife and son that this was too good to pass up. For a safety valve, Karen negotiated the three-month trial allowing Peter to decide his future after that.

  Peter's attention snapped back to the video of recruits, some of whom could be his teammates in a matter of hours, wearing elaborate oxygen masks running on a treadmill with lab-coated researchers tapping on tablet computers surrounding them. The narrator boasted of assessments of biomechanics, biochemistry, anthropometrical measurements, and body composition for all academy athletes. Physical testing of speed, power, agility, quickness, and endurance compared recruits with age-matched cohorts so they could create a fully customized training plan for each recruit. It was all a bit overwhelming to Peter.

  Finally, there was a brief mention of cognitive testing and enhancement with the stated goal of "creating players equipped with the mental skills to withstand the significant physical and emotional stress that is part of all sport competition." The testing seemed vague to Peter, with no other details offered. Eddie had always emphasized the importance of the brain for any athlete, making a personal plea to his players to protect their heads from external injury and internal sabotage from alcohol and drugs. Privately, he had confided to Peter about his own cognitive struggles and his fear that once we disrupt the delicate architecture of the brain, it may never recover.

  "Every action you take on a soccer field starts in your brain," Eddie had told Peter. "See everything. Decide on your next move. Execute the skill." The only way to build this three-step process is from thousands of repetitions in training and in games. These exposures to situations create a database in the brain, waiting to be queried. While every instant of each game is slightly unique, Eddie would say, the brain can recognize subtle similarities and match them to the knowledge already stored in a player's memory. Those that mastered this search and retrieval become the stars, players like Messi, Pirlo, Xavi, and Modric. They were the playmakers.

  As the video ended, Peter stared out his window. Far below, the pastoral terrain suddenly opened up into 180 degrees of a blue ocean. As the plane headed out over the coastline, he glanced back to see the land fade away behind him. With his home country disappearing, Peter knew there was no turning around. Early on, there was the satisfying feeling of being picked, of telling those stuck-up hockey players
that he was off to play for an international club, and of seeing the genuine pride in his Dad's eyes for the first time. Now, the adventure was real, and his only choice was to "usko tulevaisuudessa," believe in the future.

  6

  Stepping off the plane at Helsinki International Airport, Peter thought he was back in Minneapolis. As he emerged from the jetway into the terminal, so much was familiar. Signs were in English. There were the same uncomfortable, black vinyl seats arranged in face-to-face rows. The overhead speakers played American 90s pop music, and the usual assortment of pizza, coffee and souvenir shops lined the corridor. The surrounding chatter was mostly in Finnish, he guessed. Still, his fellow travelers looked like they could be his relatives with their light-skinned, fit, business-casual appearance. After flying 4500 miles, it relieved him to find out that the world hadn't changed. In fact, this first impression of Finland was almost disappointing in its lack of foreign mystery. But it helped ease the transition to his new home, at least through the summer.

  Peter pulled out his phone to text his parents they had landed. His iMessage confirmed its delivery. So far, so good.

  "Dude, Burger King!" said Benny, pointing and picking up his pace. "C'mon, I'm starving. That fancy food on the plane just didn't do it for me."

  "Yeah, me neither," said Peter.

  "Go for it, guys. This might be your last chance to eat junk for a while," said Jack. "Once we get to the academy, it's all pre-planned, healthy nutrition, 24/7."

  "Then that means two Whoppers now and one stuffed in my bag for later tonight!" said Benny.

  "We've got about thirty minutes until the other recruits arrive. Then a limo bus will take us all to Kotka, about an hour away," said Jack.

  "Where are they from?" asked Peter.

  "Two from England, up near Manchester. Two coming from Russia, outside of St. Petersburg. And one each from Argentina and Japan," said Jack.

  "Dang, you recruited guys from Argentina and Japan? That's like on the other side of the world," said Benny.

  "I didn't, I just handle North America. But Mr. Niemi has recruiters everywhere looking for talent," said Jack.

  They ordered their food and sat down at a booth overlooking the gate area. Benny finished his first burger in three bites and was on to the second one.

  "So, are these other guys any good?" he asked through a mouthful of fries.

  "Of course, we only recruit the best," said Jack with a wink.

  "Jack, you always say that, but c'mon, Benny and I aren't exactly the best 18-year-old players in the US," said Peter.

  "Speak for yourself, dude!" said Benny.

  "Don't sell yourself short, Peter, you guys are just as good as they are," said Jack.

  Peter didn't like that Jack always deflected these types of questions, never having a real answer for them.

  "How can you be sure? Have you seen them?" asked Peter.

  "Pete, my man, here's the deal," said Jack, lowering his voice. "Mr. Niemi wants players who have at least one amazing physical characteristic, such as speed, size, strength or endurance, and a chip on their shoulder to want more from their athletic career. He's convinced that a hungry player, one who has a little more to prove, will work harder and do whatever it takes to succeed. Our academy coaches can teach soccer skills all day long, but the player that brings the drive to be the best is who we want. Once we have that, we'll be building a bigger trophy case."

  "You gonna' finish that, Pete?" asked Benny, eyeing half of Peter's sandwich.

  "It's all yours, buddy," said Peter.

  "Realistically, how fast do you think that can happen, you know, to win?" asked Peter.

  "Mr. Niemi has a three-year plan. First year, get you academy players into the senior team. Second year, win the Veikkausliiga to qualify for the Champions League. Then, in year three, take home that trophy," said Jack with his usual overconfidence.

  "Seriously? Without like signing a bunch of superstars?" said Peter.

  "Pete, once you see the academy, the coaches, and the other recruits, it will all make sense. We just need you guys to follow the program we've designed. You just have to trust us," said Jack, his eyes shifting down to his vibrating phone.

  "OK, they're here. Hang tight, guys, I'm gonna go round up the others," said Jack getting up from the table.

  Peter stared out into the river of passengers flowing through the terminal.

  "You OK, man?" said Benny.

  "Yeah, I guess," said Peter. "This whole thing is just weird, you know?"

  "No, enlighten me, bro."

  "I mean, Jack seems cool, but he's kinda clueless. When I ask him questions, it's like he really doesn't know the answer."

  "Yeah. But, hey, he got us this far, right? We'll figure out the rest once we get there."

  Peter felt his phone buzz. It was his mom replying to his text.

  "Great to hear, Peter! Sorry, we were sleeping when your message came in. Let us know all about it! Love, Mom."

  Peter smiled, only his mom signed her texts. He would miss her. Just three months, she had said. Just give it your best and then decide about the future. If nothing else, it would be a fun summer vacation, and he could be back in Minnesota and starting college in September. Or, he could be part of a professional soccer team building towards the Champions League. Not a bad choice, either way.

  He typed in his reply, "Love you too, Mom! Say hi to Dad and Eddie."

  "Whoa, check it out," said Benny nudging Peter and pointing.

  They saw Jack making his way through the crowd with four more recruits, already wearing FC Kotka warm-ups and snow-white Adidas shoes.

  "Gentlemen, let me introduce you to your teammates!" said Jack.

  Toshi Sato, nineteen years old from Osaka, a center-back taller than Peter with long, tousled black hair who gave an icy smirk as he looked up from his phone. Next to him were the two from the UK, Harry Marshall and Charlie Walker, both 20 years old but dissimilar in every other way. Harry, from outside Manchester, was built like a linebacker filling out his quarter-zip Kotka jacket with a chiseled upper body. He cropped his hair to a half-inch with a wave etched above his ears. Charlie, a Scot from Glasgow now living in Manchester, was more Benny's size with curly, red hair under his LA Rams cap. That left Tristán Perez, the 16-year-old Argentinian who lived near the Paraná River in Rosario, just like his hero, the great Lionel Messi.

  "Wait, are you the Tristán on YouTube?" asked Benny, eyes popping with admiration.

  Tristán smiled and nodded.

  "Dude, your videos are sick!" said Benny. "Pete, you remember me showing you this guy's tricks?"

  "They’re awesome, man," said Peter exchanging daps with Tristán. "Jack, you mentioned two from Russia?"

  "Yep, just got word that they caught a later flight, they'll be here later today," said Jack. "OK, men, our ride is waiting for us outside."

  "Right after we order food, mate!" said Harry getting in the Burger King line with the others.

  Peter and Benny smiled at each other and then at Jack.

  "I think you guys will get along just fine," said Jack as he pulled out his credit card.

  Traveling east on European route E18 between Helsinki and Kotka, Peter noticed the scenery resembled the rolling farmland of central Minnesota between St. Cloud and Fergus Falls. An hour past Kotka, the highway crossed the Finland-Russian border through sparsely populated areas, then through the western suburbs of St. Petersburg, ending at the city limits.

  In the limo bus, Benny had already figured out the onboard gaming system, challenging Charlie to a game of FIFA, with Tristán and Harry commentating beside them. Toshi sat alone in the back, sleeping with his head leaning against the window while Jack worked his phone and chatted with the driver.

  Sitting by himself, Peter pulled up a Google search of Victor Niemi, the man making all of this possible but someone he knew little about. Initially, Jack had described him as a tech billionaire genius. Still, Eddie clarified that Niemi hired the geniuses or boug
ht their companies. It's not that Eddie faulted Niemi's success. He just preferred people who created tangible things rather than those who just buy and sell their way to the top.

  First, Peter stopped at the Haukka Communications website, where the "about us" page described Niemi's life as a national treasure. Born in Kotka to a Russian-born mother and Finnish father, Victor Anton Niemi attended the KTH Royal Institute of Technology in Stockholm to pursue an engineering career. As a young entrepreneur, according to the promotional bio, Niemi bought a small cellphone manufacturer in Helsinki and turned it into a global, private satellite empire through smart deals and hard work.

  Photos of Niemi showed a man in his early 50s, slightly gray, tall, and broad-shouldered, giving speeches, cutting ribbons on new manufacturing facilities, and conversing with his employees. He always took a position of authority with his hand on top of someone's shoulder or standing when others were sitting.

  Peter went back to the search results page and scrolled down to find several articles with headlines that suggested a career path not as squeaky clean. A profile in the UK's Telegraph newspaper reported a pattern of legal strong-arming when dealing with emerging tech competitors. It would start with effusive praise for a young CEO whose private start-up depended on a new patent or critical engineer. All-expense paid trips to top sporting events or Mediterranean villas followed as a perk to discuss a new partnership. Haukka would submit a binding tender offer to buy the company with about two-thirds of the target acquisitions agreeing to merge. With patents transferred and technical talent signed to Haukka, the young CEO would find his role diminished, eventually accepting a buyout bid to leave the company. All reasonable in the cutthroat business world, except for the entrepreneurs who refused Niemi's advances. He stopped calling with invitations to social events. He planted disparaging press articles about the company's new technology. Niemi would partner with a competitor to either develop a competing product or grab market share away. Peter accepted that Niemi was a take no prisoners kind of guy, most billionaires are, but he didn't play to win, he insisted on it. Peter couldn’t help noticing the similarities to his dad.