João Félix, and the Fall and Rise of the №10
A brief history, from Kaká to João Félix
[Originally published on December 2020 in The Sport Universe.com]
In the summer of 2019, Atlético Madrid broke the bank in the signing of highly touted, mostly unproven, 19-year old attacker, João Félix. More than a prompt bid towards the elite of the soccer world, it was a statement of future intent by the Spanish giants, a sign of a new, more offensively-proactive era for the club. It did not come, however, without its fair share of criticism and doubt.
Shelling over 120 million euros for soccer talent is head turning any day of the week, but when spent on a player without the track record of contemporaries like Kylian Mbappé, and who is likely to only begin producing at a high level a few years down the line, such a transfer is scandalous. That Atléti sat as culprits, made the ordeal plainly shocking; after all, Diego Simeone’s team has scarcely been seen as creative hubs of the contemporary game. If anything, the Colchoneros are the blueprint for reactionary soccer.
João Félix came to prominence at Benfica. He joined from Porto’s youth system when he was 16, and quickly made his way into the first team as an 18-year old. Félix’s run in the Portuguese capital was eye popping: in his first full season with the senior players, he was directly involved in 28 goals in just 46 appearances, as his proclivity for playmaking came into full view. That year, Félix mainly played as a second striker behind Haris Seferovic, dropping into the midfield as the creative axis of the team. In his drifting between the last midfield line and the defense, in his control of the ball in tight spaces, and in his vision and elusive movement off-ball, Félix showed right from the get-go, a penchant for the no. 10 role, which today appears only sparingly on the European scene. His skill and potential were clear. Quickly, he was dubbed the next Cristiano Ronaldo (as begets all young Portuguese talents of a certain glamour), and a very public transfer race for his services took place in 2019.
It’s fair to say few expected Atlético Madrid to end up with the Portuguese. Though Simeone’s favored 4–4–2 formation, similarly employed at Benfica, could help Félix’s adaptation to the Spanish game, it was doubtful whether he would be allowed to develop freely within Atléti’s system. As the ugly duckling brothers to Real, Atlético play a tough, intense, and frankly, negative brand of soccer. Simeone has built a team in his image; as a player, the Argentine was equal parts bastard, work horse and tactical brainiac — the Gabi’s, the Mario Suárez’, and the Saúl’s of the world are natural fits under his management. Simeone has certainly coached creative players in his squads, Arda Turan and Koke are success stories there, but it is always team first at Atlético, and whatever creativity is employed, comes always as necessity, almost exclusively on the counter attack, and on the back of compact and aggressive defending.
There is no shame there — Simeone’s sizable list of accomplishments proves it — and in response to Real’s florid stars and prima donnas, fans enjoy the burly, forceful game played, traditionally, at the Vicente Calderón stadium.
In late 2017, however, Atlético moved to a new, shinier stadium, and, perhaps in response, there seemed to be a call for a new type of player, a less industrious, more elegant kind of talent. Thomas Lemar was the first in line. After a wobbly first season for the Frenchman, the Colchoneros doubled down, and along came Félix. Though questions were many surrounding the Portuguese, a year later they all appear answered, as Félix has not only won a starring role in Simeone’s offense, he’s also not shied away from his Trequartista calling.
Trequartista, in Italian, denotes a player who operates in the final quarter of the pitch, connecting the midfield and the attack. Traditionally, they were relieved of defensive duties, seeing as they provided most of the creative outpouring for their teams, setting up teammates for scoring opportunities or taking those on themselves. These are your number 10s. Familiar names include Maradona, Rivaldo, Totti, and Zidane — intelligent readers of the game, who can spot passes and runs before the opening presents itself, and have worked, historically, as the architectural engines of teams.
As Atlético don’t employ deep-laying playmakers, Félix, centrally connecting the lines as the second striker, exerts that role on a regular basis. Often, he will play with his back towards the goal, dropping in as a pivot to indulge the runs of his teammates.
And though he carries out a certain amount of effort defensively, usually in pressing, he won’t fall too deeply into the midfield to help advance the ball; he knows himself to be most effective in the more advanced areas of the pitch, and, in form, forces Simeone to adapt to him, as his striking partner is called upon to pick up the slack. Showy but always elegant, he dribbles with ease past defenders, displaying incredible control in tight spaces — against Bayern this season, his expertly pulled-off sombreros gave the Germans a humiliating headache.
Now, if we apply some context to the situation, that Félix is flourishing in such a negative team like Atlético Madrid is ironic, but perhaps not as surprising as one may have thought. Teams that field brutes like Simeone’s men, teams that focus on defense and hard work first, have always needed creative outlets if they are to achieve on the highest levels. Milan in the aughts had, in a sea of Gattuso’s, Ambrosini’s and Maldini’s, Kaká, Pirlo and Seedorf; Chelsea, around that same time, had Lampard, Gudjohnsen and Joe Cole to elevate José Mourinho’s oft defensive philosophy; and Atléti now, in between the bulldogs, have Félix, Koke and, hopefully, Lemar.
Defensive teams have, historically, played the fateful role of outsiders, who prey on the frailties of the mainstream, exposing them for the world to see. These are the teams that observe the structures in vogue, and purposefully engage in ways to exploit tradition. Because they reject the established rules of play, they must employ alternative, often innovative, tactics if they are to succeed on a consistent basis. And when they do, they become catalysts with enormous power of change, as the inevitable copycats show almost immediately.
From Mourinho’s Chelsea emerged the rapid, diminutive, untiring defensive midfielder, primarily tasked with breaking up play and functioning as the team’s first ball player. Nowadays, the pinnacle of that model is N’Golo Kanté, but back then it was Claude Makelélé, and his vital contributions were cemented in the “Makelélé role,” ever since a staple of the Premier League.
That dynastic Milan team on the other hand, held some of the keys to the contemporary developments of soccer. For one, it solidified in Andrea Pirlo the role of the modern Regista (the deep-laying playmaker responsible for setting the tempo of play), which so many teams have sought to mimic, and very few have come even close to replicating. It became, shortly thereafter, one of the tenets of Pep Guardiola’s version of tiki-taka, with Sergio Busquets, Xabi Alonso and Fernandinho all having been tasked with performing as Registas.
But it was in exploding Kaká onto the highest echelons of the game, where Ancelotti’s Milan channeled its most lasting effect: in the Brazilian’s play, we saw foretold the decline of the number 10.
One could argue the Premier League’s growing popularity might have a hand in it too, but while British teams were, even then, already playing without real 10s — the quintessential British midfield dynamo is more of a jack of all trades than a specialized architect; the reason Paul Scholes is so overlooked and Steven Gerrard so lauded — aside from Manchester United and Liverpool, English clubs weren’t regarded as the powerhouses of international soccer they are today. The English game was, as always, intense and competitive, but not the archetype to follow outside the homeland; there, Spain and Italy held the lead. La Liga offered fans the greatest stars in the world, albeit in concentrated doses, while the Serie A, the pragmatic alternative rooted in tactical excellence.
It is not a stretch to say that the successful tactics of those leagues, specially in light of their clubs achieving European glory, served as goal and model for the aspiring. Ancelotti in Milan, presided over some of the most tactically innovative teams of the time, setting up manifold blueprints for the attentive managers that followed his stead. From the initial midfield diamond, geared towards Rui Costa’s inspiring playmaking, to the subsequent 4–3–2–1, “Christmas tree,” formation, that aimed at capturing the best performances out of Kaká, one thing became clear through Ancelotti’s tenure, a new breed of midfielder had outlasted soccer’s traditional reliance on number 10s.
The Brazilian combined the high intensity play of box-to-box midfielders with seriously creative, at times even flamboyant, dribbling and playmaking. Sitting in midfield alongside the less mobile duo of Pirlo and Seedorf, he still had rigid defensive duties as a zonal marker, but as the most attacking creative outlet in the team, he also enjoyed a more or less free-roaming role on offense. Essentially, Kaká drifted all over the midfield through his games, and even out to the wings, but differently from a Gerrard or a Lampard for example, Kaká was never employed as a tempo setter, but rather, as its destroyer — like a true Trequartista, he had the freedom to create his attacks and engage in runs without much due diligence with the rest of his teammates (special nod here to his goals against Argentina in ’06, and against Manchester United in ’07).
In Milan, Kaká spearheaded a movement. His crowning achievements came in the 2007 season, when he won the Champions League and was elected best player in the world, becoming the last Ballon d’Or winner before the Ronaldo/Messi era.
Carrying out this movement, teams evolved more aware of traditional 10s, who became easier to mark, as the nascent playmaker in the Kaká model overtook Europe like a steamroller. As the first decade of the millennium drew to a close, the soccer playbook took on a new character: from finesse, towards industry.
Better build-up tactics replaced single playmakers. Midfields couldn’t bear defensive liabilities anymore. Number 10s, in turn, were forced to adapt: Thomas Müller, by foregoing possession, presented in his raumdeuter role a viable alternative; David Silva and Luka Modric internalized the need to drop further back into the midfield, taking on defensive assignments and a more rigid positional schedule; while Juan Mata and Philippe Coutinho took to the wings as hybrid playmakers.
It was in this new world that Pep Guardiola’s Barcelona flourished, José Mourinho’s Internaziole, and where box-to-box midfielders in the style of Paul Pogba or Yaya Touré became such prized commodities.
Still, there were certainly small moments of renaissance for number 10s; Mesut Özil through all the criticism he gets, can also be immensely lauded there, and Bruno Fernandes at Manchester United has been lighting up scoreboards recently. The problem I see though, is that their play exists very much within the confines of this highly technical, industrious game of ours. Özil and Fernandes are incredibly of their time, because they don’t break open current tactical systems, instead excel in the furthering of the norm.
Perhaps under different circumstances they might have been able to escape the stylistic entrapments of their generation. Perhaps inside a defensive juggernaut of a team they might impact the game beyond their context. Perhaps, if given a chance, they could have forced soccer away from technicality, and brought back the glory days of their position. But playing for teams that exude the mainstream, they can’t help but continuously feed it.
João Félix has the chance to revitalize the course of soccer and bring back an older model of playmaker into the foray. He has already opened up Atlético’s rigid schemes, to great success, and as he continues to develop, we might just see a tactical revolution spread through Europe. In the right place, at the right time, where the 10 once fell, it may now rise again; where Kaká once took, Félix may return.
