Real Madrid signing a seven-year-old allows a young prodigy to learn from the best when it counts.
It sounds like a punch line for a not-so-funny joke: mega-wealthy soccer club signs seven-year-old boy to contract.
Except there is no punch line, it's not a joke.
A headline like that is a catchy one, and the news that Real Madrid had snagged the services of Leonel Angel Coira, a shaggy-haired Argentinean who aspires to be the next Lionel Messi -- the shaggy haired 24-year-old Argentinean who only looks like he's seven even as makes millions starring for rival Barcelona -- rocketed around the planet in a heartbeat.
If you consider yourself a sports fan -- someone who loves watching the best of the best; who giggles delightedly at goal-of-the-week highlight packages or plays-of-the-year lists -- and found yourself aghast, well consider yourself a hypocrite.
Don't feel badly. That would make you like most sports fans -- lovers of sausage if not so comfortable with how they're made.
Those plays that we wonder at don't happen by accident, at least not anymore.
One of the founding myths of our sports obsession is that the athletic brilliance on which the multi-billion industry is based upon is somehow organically produced: the best kid in the schoolyard gets noticed by a kindly local coach, or is nurtured carefully by his dad, who maybe played a bit of semi-pro and has a treasure chest of secrets to share with a willing pupil, with lots of ruffled hair and ice cream after practice.
Or maybe it's the kid from the tough neighbourhood and the broken home who finds solace spending hours practising alone; building a magical set of skills to make his hardship disappear.
And there are examples of each to this day.
But the reality is that more than ever being truly brilliant at a global game means learning skills from the best at ever-younger ages. Haphazard doesn't cut it.
Clinics, camps, academies and private one-on-one instruction have taken the place of Willie Mays (whose dad, it should be pointed out, was an outstanding semi-pro player who drilled his son every possible chance) spending hours in the field near the house doing hook slides into imaginary bases; or Johnny Bench (whose dad was an outstanding semi-pro player who drilled his son every possible chance) passing afternoons away throwing stones in the air and whacking them with an old bat; or Bobby Orr skating on an endless frozen river (before leaving home at 14 to begin his pro hockey odyssey).
The privatization of elite athletic development may not be romantic, but it's not going away.
In that light the popular response to news about little Leonel being provided an opportunity to train with the best teachers in the world might be different.
Real Madrid is acknowledged as a top academy. The conditions pristine; the coaching expert.
And it's hardly child labour. At Dutch power Ajax -- long at the forefront of the academy model -- kids don't train more than three times a week until they're 12 or so; the better to stave off burnout and allow time for school.
Typically the emphasis is on skill development instead of wins and losses, thus allowing players to grow their games at their own pace and removing coaches from the natural temptation to select for size and power at ages when the physical disparities between players can be overwhelming.
Oh, and parents aren't allowed anywhere near the field during training. Bring your kid and keep your mouth shut is an ironclad rule.
And at the academies, the costs are borne by the club. They consider talent worth investing in. Sure they hope for a return -- the top academies aim to turn out players for the first team or sell their rights to other teams. But hard to see that as a hardship for a kid whose dream is to play professionally and a family eager to help make it happen.
Still think little Leonel is heading for a tragic childhood?
Contrast what the next few years for him and his family will be like compared to a Canadian kid with legitimate hockey talent -- the kind that anyone can notice from two ice pads away.
The burden for his development falls entirely on the family. It is up to them to chart the path, identify the best clubs and coaches, connect with the best instructors and somehow wade through the minor sports politics that inevitably surround talent.
Oh yeah, and it's also up to them to pay for it: A conservative figure to pay for the on-ice education of a prodigious young hockey player is $10,000 annually; it can easily cost more.
The calculus may be different in other sports in Canada and North America, but the theme is the same: if your kid is gifted it's going to cost you a lot of money and time to help him harness his potential.
And there's no guarantee that you will be able to get it right. Too much depends on the resources of a given family and the situation they happen to find themselves in.
The most experienced soccer thinkers in Canada argue that what has been holding the development of the Canadian game back has been lack of professionalism in the youth ranks.
It's a free-market argument: Pro clubs can't afford to get it wrong, so they're more incented to do it the right way.
Both Toronto FC and the Vancouver Whitecaps have big plans to create European type academy systems for top Canadian talent. Just recently TFC coach Aron Winter -- a product of the Dutch system -- announced the long-term goal for the club is to have kids as young as nine training with them.
If they can pull it off it will be an amazing chance for the very best soccer talents in the region who routinely have had to leave home as teenagers to try to find their way in Europe. You don't think some hockey parents (or baseball parents or figure skating parents, for that matter) racking up credit-card debt and getting the evil eye (or worse) from parents of other kids won't envy them?
Prodigies take time to master their gifts and delight fans the world over. For those truly destined to reach the heights of any sport (or any subject -- music, math, chess …) providing them the opportunity to realize their talent is the greatest gift that can be afforded them.
Should people be aghast that a seven-year-old has signed with a professional club?
Maybe. But maybe it makes more sense to save your indignation for some other kid who will never get the chance to be coached by the best to do their best; to know that they were given every opportunity to reach their potential.
