MOSCOW. (Ivan Dmitriyenko for RIA Novosti) - In modern soccer it is a widespread practice to invite players from abroad, known as legionnaires, to local clubs.
This dates from fairly long ago: European greats like Real Madrid or Juventus started looking for talent in countries with less developed professional soccer programs in the middle of the 20th century. It is easy to see that the giants are still kept afloat by aliens. What could Chelsea do without, for example, Didie Drogba, or Barcelona without Ronaldinho? The example of these old timers has been followed by other clubs, and now legionnaires are a common sight everywhere. Even foreign-only teams are considered normal. Fewer fans protest that they have no one from their own country to root for. But in some places they are still vocal, particularly in Russia.
Who do we root for?
The explanation, however, is easy. We are not yet used to legionnaires. They came to our teams relatively recently, when the U.S.S.R. collapsed. With many of our players leaving for big-name clubs in the West, or quitting the sport altogether, club managers could not help but fill the gaps with foreign players, taking advantage of the fall of the Iron Curtain. Soon, however, it emerged that the only distinguishing feature of the foreign product was the color of its skin, not the quality of soccer played. This was when the term "beach Brazilians" was coined, aptly describing the quasi-competence of the legionnaires invited. Even such stars as Robson and Marcao, who once shone on Spartak, proved to be of the "beach" sort.
The infiltration of low-quality players into Russian soccer assumed threatening proportions. Fortunately, things soon began looking up. Oil money boosted Russian soccer, and the country became a Mecca for foreigners seeking easy money and cushy jobs. Former Army player Jiri Jarosik was the first European-class player to come to Russia, in 2003. His signing was widely and proudly publicized, he was praised by specialists, and enthused over by fans ... And the Czech lived up to expectations. In the two years he spent in Russia he gave such a splendid performance that it earned him another spell with Chelsea.
The ice broke up. Ivica Olic, Fernando Cavenagi, Nemanja Vidic, and Francisco Lima are only a few of the names. Their play graced Russian championships. Special mention should be made of Army Brazilians - Daniel Carvalho and Wagner. A mere listing of their achievements would take a long time. CSKA owes most of its European Cup success to this pair, which displayed star-quality soccer in the most critical games.
A point to note: the legionnaires are driven by personal ambitions alone. Wagner himself has repeatedly said in the press that he views Russia only as a jumping-off ground for signing with a more prestigious European club.
But a rank-and-file fan is unlikely to bother with such niceties. "We do not care why they come, the point is that they do come," he would say. Arguably, the high percentage of high-priced legionnaires has added glamour to our championships. While the capital's clubs are vying to boast the "most precious acquisition of the Russian championship", fans talk their heads off discussing the newspaper stories tossed regularly to them, although headlines like "Moskva signs Luis Figo" or "Zenit has recently contracted Ze Roberto" can only draw ironic smiles.
Another Army player, Jo, has added one more page to the legionnaires' record this year. Despite his youth (the Brazilian arrived in Russia aged 18), his results are impressive: 16 goals before the summer break. Later, however, Jo was a bit disappointing, but he still managed to generate a lot of fan interest. For the rest, it is business as usual: Lokomotiv signs Celsinho; Spartak, Quincey; and Zenit, Tekke ... Who's next?
The other side of the coin
This side also exists, no doubt. The fact is that under-sponsored and meagerly-budgeted clubs, unable to cough up enough money for top-notch players, purchase the second best, or, frankly, good-for-nothings. Interestingly enough, the number of legionnaires on a team does not depend on its standing in the league table. Even on Torpedo and Shinnik, which are candidates for expulsion from the league, Russian names are few and far between. The problem is not only their poor financial status, but an ill-planned selection policy: in between seasons one team recruits up to 20 players, mainly on the cheap South American and Eastern European markets; they stagger through half a year, while in a summer transfer the line-up has to be recarved, often by another coach, almost 100%. It is easy to see what results from such mayhem.
But even this is beside the point. All these legionnaires - qualified and otherwise - block the way for young Russian talent. This year, for example, Russia's national junior team won the European championships. Its players were accordingly voted the most gifted, and the 17-year-old Prudnikov of Spartak was declared the best tournament player. What splendid prospects! But, in order to develop talent and repeat the performance on the country's national team (something we all dream about), that same Prudnikov needs regular playing practice with Spartak. It may be ten to fifteen minutes a game, but it cannot be missed. But this, for well known reasons, does not happen. A gifted youth can remain a hopeful until he is thirty, or be struck off the record as a complete failure. These circumstances finally forced the Russian Soccer Union to decide to introduce a quota for foreigners on Russian teams.
The drafting of a legionnaires' limit was a long, careful, painful and slow process, taking as much time as, say, the reform to abolish serfdom. And, like its predecessor, it fell flat, partly because from the start it met with strong opposition. This came from club presidents whose main argument was that they had long-term running contracts with foreigners, and a limit, if introduced, would lose them a considerable amount of money.
One thing became clear: the matter should have been addressed with the utmost caution. In an attempt to strike a shaky compromise between the two parties, the Union ultimately released the following figures: beginning in 2006, eight foreigners could appear simultaneously on the field, followed by seven in 2008 and six in 2010. All restrictions on national-team legionnaires were scrapped. Now that the championship is almost over, the limit appears to have had little if any effect.
"A Russian quota...
... "is eleven blacks in a starting line-up". The joke is often heard in the grandstands. The quota has failed to protect our soccer against a heavy peppering of low-quality legionnaires.
So what is to be done?
More and more experts are favoring a British-type quota for our championships. Foggy Albion bans any entry by foreigners who have played less than 75% of games on the national team over the past two years. Such a rigid rule has helped to make the British Premier League one of the strongest championships in the world.
But, unfortunately, in our conditions such a quota, however effective, is absolutely a no-go. Should it be introduced, the clubs will have their budgets squeezed even more (not every one of them is in a position to keep the stars) and the financial gulf between the capital's "select cohort" and a dozen Amkars or Rostovs forced to refill their ranks with stand-ins will widen to tournament matches, with all the resultant effects.
There is a proposal to smooth out problems between "the rich and the poor". It has been advanced by the Union of Gazprom's shareholders, whose sponsorship injections alone keep Zenit and CSKA afloat. The Union suggested big-name companies stop giving financial support to clubs employing legionnaires. But this radical proposal, which has some sense to it, has failed to gain any backing, and besides its drafters have been ridiculed.
There are alternative quota plans galore, although none of them is perfect. This is because the goal - raising the standards of Russian soccer and improving the showing of the Russian national team - cannot be met with curbs and restrictions alone; it is necessary to re-build from scratch. The Ukrainian Soccer Federation has an intriguing policy. It enforces no quotas on legionnaires, but for every foreigner signed the clubs have to contribute a certain sum for the development of children's and youth soccer. So we have here a contrast: Russia's best clubs - Dynamo and Shakhtyor - have key roles filled by foreign players, while the Ukrainian team reached the quarter-finals in the last world championships. Isn't that documentary evidence that their tactic is rational and well-thought out?
To sum up: the best option would be to encourage the clubs to fine-tune their infrastructure and embrace an effective training system, allowing them to sign legionnaires only in exceptional cases. Perhaps that would temporarily dent the quality of the Russian championships - something so feared by confirmed opponents of restrictions. But there are no gains without pains. If you want to achieve something, you must suffer.
